Disclaimer: Resident Evil 4 is the property of Capcom. All characters and the setting are borrowed without permission. I make no profit.
This little AU is just a what-if. What if the plaga had hatched somewhat earlier in the story? Like, say, just before his confrontation with Mendez in the shack?
I owe thanks to Bladed Crescent for inspiring me with this one.
1.
They weren't alone. The human's senses weren't honed enough to catch it. He stared into the darkened room, suspicious, flicking his light on once to check a paper on the floor. He took a slow step forward. But then, finally, something warned him of the presence at his back.
Mendez waited just long enough for the turning human to catch sight of the bulk behind him. Then he moved much faster than the surprised intruder suspected he could, wrapping the fingers of one hand around his opponent's throat and lifting the male's body into the air. He considered his captive's face for a long moment, trying to place him with the descriptions he'd been given of potentially valuable agents. There was a soft rasping sound in the rafters above.
"Tell me what you've learned here." He swatted away the pistol his captive was trying to draw. It skidded over the floor and vanished under the edge of a covered pile of junk.
"Fuck yo--gakh!" Ah, that look was familiar: a combination of rage and oxygen deprivation. He shook the human a little, ignoring the whisper of checked movement just over his head.
"Last chance," he said aloud, tauntingly.
And. . . the human went for his knife, fumbled it, and left a line of red on his hand. The knife hilt thunked off the side of the village chief's boot. His skills weren't adequate. Mendez nodded to himself, pivoted, and threw him.
A whisper of movement overhead, and the man hit the wall just as two clawed feet landed against it above him. Red jaws gaped and snapped shut as the dazed human began to drop to the floor. Bitores smiled as Leon's feet hit the ground, to the sound of claws and heavy jaws being tucked back out of sight. The headless corpse beside him spilled blood against his bootheels.
"Almost had me jumping too soon when you started shaking him," his ally admitted, the seams of his face closing back together. Once more, he looked slight and innocent, and completely human, although the floorboards creaked louder under his feet than they had when the human had walked. "Was sure that was the throw."
Bitores Mendez was beginning to understand Salazar's fondness for his bodyguards. Killing interlopers was so much more entertaining with company. Once he'd lifted a human, swung her, Leon had started his leap. . . and Mendez had slammed the human into the floor behind him. Leon had been so distracted by the new move he'd smashed facefirst through the wooden wall. And Mendez had started laughing so hard the human had escaped and had fought her way through another seven first-generation ganados before they'd caught up.
And then there was the time that Leon had forgotten the rules: wall meant to finish him, floor or rafter or furniture meant to restrain him for Saddler. He'd had to lunge forward, grab Leon's tail, and jerk him back from midleap. They'd both ended up flat on the floor, but Leon's expression had been worth his wrenched shoulder and the fugitive's hysterical laughter. He allowed himself a smile. He was feeling amusement much more frequently now.
He'd been so. . . bored before the agent had arrived.
"So," said Leon, motioning for a Ganados to move the body as they left the barn, "did Saddler notice last night's little raid?"
Ever cocky, Mendez thought, ever possessed of the American attitude that constantly put Saddler's back up. Leon must have been perfectly suited to his parasite; he hadn't seemed to have changed much since he'd allowed his symbiosis with it. "Saddler no longer drinks. The amount required wouldn't be worth the time of imbibing it. He rolled his eyes and said not to let you smash anything important."
"Knew he'd never miss it," Leon said, considering a listing, stumbling Ganados that had damaged itself on dynamite-throwing detail. He altered the course of his path, but barely broke stride as one foot swung up and caught it in the back of the head, shattering its skull. He stomped the ground once to shake off a stray bit of scalp and swaggered back to Mendez's side.
Mendez, always the faithful servant, reached a moment of perfect accord with Saddler and rolled his eyes. "That one was slated for El Lago duty."
"Weaving like that? He would have fallen off the boat in seconds. Why use broken tools?" Leon moved ahead of him to bump the door open, grinning at the room's occupants as he entered. "Well, we're done with work for tonight." He dragged the crate of wine he'd stolen across the floor to his chair, pulled out two bottles, and shoved it towards Mendez's bench. He swung his head to one side to survey the shapes chained to the wall, momentarily popping a claw to uncork his first bottle. "I'm betting. . . the little one hatches first, the one we had to gag second, and the heavy-set guy last."
Mendez looked at the three captives, head lowered thoughtfully. Saddler had quit telling them the order of parasite injection a week ago, by request. "The one we had to gag will be first to finish incubation. Such energy will only encourage the egg's struggles. The large human next; he's been pulling the chain and raising his body temperature. The little one last." He bit the wine bottle open at the neck and drank as one of the captives went still.
"Heh, nice talk, but you're just guessing. Still, much more interesting than those town leaders. They all hatched too close together to tell apart." Leon sprawled in his chair, still smirking with the high of victory.
Mendez rolled his eyes again. The man would never listen to his elders unless forced. Still, sometimes Leon's yen for action over words made sense. His parasite vibrated with a soundless chuckle, and he grinned with it, grabbed another bottle. . .
"No, man, you're just repeating yourself," Leon leaned forward seriously. "Relax. Too worked up, hunh? Don't worry. Hey, want me to teach you some English curses? It'll pass the time."
. . . and toasted the future.