5. Curse
"Surprise, surprise."
"Damn!"
Hunk was confused as he thought over the civilian's question. Friends? His whole life and he still couldn't fathom the meaning of the word. Friends.
Or did she mean teammates? The same flimsy excuse for backup that always ended up either abandoning him or dying and slowing him down?
"Pay up, fucker. Told you I was right."
"Fine. Shit. I'll pay you when we get back."
Hunk never failed in his missions, yet every single one of his teammates always had. During his very first mission in the Umbrella Cleaning Squad, everyone had died and he was the only one on the chopper on the way back home. When he was flown back to headquarters, all he could think about was the next mission. He didn't even spare a thought for his teammates. He couldn't. If he did, he'd end up like them.
Mere fodder. Only corpses: Dead; Forgotten; Failures.
"And you! You're a pretty heartless bastard, aren't ya, Mr. Death?"
"Heartless? Try nonrefundable. I just lost 500 bucks on the guy. Sorry, Mr. Death. But I honestly thought someone would be able to come back with you."
"You had to admit. The last team they gave you had some really drilled guys. I see you still haven't shaken that curse, though."
Curse? What curse?
"You don't know? It's why you're still alive. The curse of being the last survivor. Because after surviving, all you've got to look forward to is surviving the next. And the next, and the next, until you just die, I guess."
"No. I don't think he has to worry about that."
"He doesn't?"
"No. He's Mr. Death, he's already dead inside, just like the rest of them. He just doesn't know it."
"Amen to that, brother."
"Amen."
So that's what it was, then. He could understand a bit, watching this pony-tailed woman clumsily negotiate for the life of her small friend. Mouth moving, eyes holding his gaze without quiver, she asked him a question.
His mind immediately went through rigorous internal searching for the answer to her question, simple but so maddingly complex at the same time, "Do you have any friends?"
Friends.
It chewed over in his mind, the meaning of the word- the definition- the ludicrous idea of other people being worthy of your trust or your past… the terrifying notion of letting them know you. Someone who could tell how Hunk was feeling, someone who could know how he was feeling, would surely never be categorized as a friend. No, if such a person existed, he or she would be recognized as a highly dangerous threat to be put down, which he would do with no exception.
On the contrary, according to the official definition, friends could also mean associates. Acquaintances, partners. Or teammates. So if Hunk did indeed have any friends, then that meant…
"They're dead," Hunk said.
Surely, the way he delivered his answer wasn't tempered with any kind of emotion, but the way the civilian creased her brow nagged at him. The way she frowned, a sad frown with great weariness, caused him to feel a tinge of regret for his answer. The Umbrella agent did not like this feeling. At all.
So he said, once more, "They're all dead."
He detested how soft his voice sounded now.
Even the little girl, Sherry, seemed to stop struggling to take pity on him. She was looking up at him and Hunk did not look down to her.
"I'm sorry," Sherry Birkin whispered.
"Quiet." Hunk snapped.
Claire Redfield inched closer.
He said, "It doesn't matter."
Never in his professional, nor personal life, had he been pitied, and he wouldn't start now, especially not from a little girl nor a civilian. After a moment, Claire lowered her gun and Hunk didn't. She stood there- a perfect target- this impediment to his mission.
Right now, he could just relieve his mission burden of her just as easily as he could choke the little girl to death. He could just kill the civilian and drag the girl to the heliport as prey, awaiting the monster to come so he could get the sample.
But he didn't.
Because no matter how much Hunk was required to go on with his mission –he only had ten minutes now, come to think- he wanted his answer. He wanted it now.
"Answer me, civilian."
She gave him an odd look. She said, "Call me by my name first."
A beat. They both stared each other down.
"Redfield, then."
Claire Redfield smiled gently, taking care not to look too victorious.
She said, "That's good enough."
The child relaxed in Hunk's grip. He couldn't fathom how much the situation had just slipped from his iron grasp to Claire's hands. Everything was going awry, he wanted to wrest control from the woman, but the damnable notion of 'friends' pestered him to the point of becoming a mental itch- drilling into the core of his mind. He lowered his firearm- but not completely.
If Claire tried anything, anything at all, he wouldn't hesitate then and there to kill her and leave her for the birds.
"A friend is someone you need," She said. "Do you ever need anyone?"
"No."
"Do you ever want to help someone?" Claire asked.
Hunk paused.
"If it's my orders, yes."
"What if it's not?"
"Then no."
"And secrets? Do you ever… let someone know your secrets?"
Stark indignation ran through him. "Of course not."
Claire was flabbergasted. "You're telling me you don't even know what 'friend' means?"
"I am aware of the overall definition," Hunk said. "It's the fact that they exist at all that eludes me."
"Why?"
Hunk could feel Sherry stirring in his grip. He checked his watch. Only five, and the mission.
But he had time.
He had time.
"I see no need for 'friends', or anything of the sort. The concept sounds like a merely ridiculous trifle, one to be done away with."
As if punctuating the statement, a loud bellowing roar shrieked through the room, much closer this time. Hunk looked towards the direction of the roar. Friends. What in hell could 'friends' of any sort do for him against that thing? Other than running away, or worse yet, getting in his way?
He looked back at Claire, who surely wouldn't provide the answer. And since she wouldn't provide any suitable answer, what good would she be to him? As a second roar came rumbling through the halls again, Hunk's trigger finger twitched.
Notes: I always loved playing as Hunk in RE2. I found it even more interesting that, unless one of them was a zombie cavader groaning your way, he never glanced at the bodies of the Umbrella team when he rushed past them, unlike Leon and Claire.
Hardcore.
Right, then. I absolutely hated the Resident Evil comic books (Unless I was drunk, then I found them to be great sources for story ideas), but one story had a special place in my heart, conveniently titled "Special Delivery". The two Umbrella helicopter pilots, jaded and sarcastic, constantly make sardonic comments as they drop canister and canister of bioengineered death machines to coordinates that their superiors supply them with. I love these guys!
Hence, their cameo appearances in the beginning,when they razz Hunk without remorse, as they surely would if they were ever called in as one of Hunk's rides.
Don't forget to review.
-Jeremy (Ronald)