Chapter 1. "Prologue."
Commercial helicopter rotor wings thwiped as pair of red lenses reflect an image of a nighttime forest with a third-quarter moon. The dark figure moved its gaze away from the window to redirect its attention toward the pilot.
Just something in a place in the middle of nowhere. No names and only cash: a quick drop, standard procedure. The figure waved to the pilot.
The mood was authoritative, dark, and clouded as the night sky, all jokes and polite banter ignored, and the figure would immediately remind the pilot to shut up.
It is another day, another dollar. Hired for recon in a rural town—in a forest surrounding Tall Oaks, nothing out of the ordinary—but with the number of the calls the figure would get, it was a little frustrating.
There was a flicker of lightning from the North.
The figure leaned forward slightly, scanning the dark below. It had been clear all day, the clouds rolling in just before sunset; he was going to go home soaking wet. He brought his wrist communicator close to his mouth, "In position." The figure spoke with a masculine voice, and it was deep and husky.
"Roger that." The pilot's voice came from the radio. "Become the grey man."
"You know me," the figure replied. "I'm just a ghost."
The 'ghost' slid the helicopter door from one side to the other. Without hesitation, the ghost jumped down and used his parachute. The ghost's nose wrinkled to the soothing crisp rain while the forest becomes foggy and cold.
It took him mere seconds to let go of the parachute and fall to the ground. Not high enough to break his ankles, but the ghost had the desire to quicken the landing.
With a sigh of pain, he stood on his feet and observed his surroundings. There was a parting in the trees about a dozen meters ahead, a path big enough to be a narrow road, though the ghost went deeper through the trees. All the while, he was wrapping up his parachute. It was stuffed back into a bag and left underneath a large hole surrounded by rocks—a dead drop location for someone else to clear out the evidence.
Besides, the dead drop was an umbrella and a note. 'In case of rain.'
With the coat no longer dancing on the wind, the ghost turned away from the helicopter as it ascended upward. The whipping sounds of the rotors faded from his ears as the helicopter seeped into the evening sky with a red light as its only indicator. The ghost adjusted his coat then shouldered a duffle bag which held the remainder of his equipment.
The dim lights of his PDA illuminated, and the ghost checked the road ahead of him, and it appears in the map he needs to keep going straight until he sees the wooden sign in the middle of the path.
And thus, he continued walking quietly as possible.
It would be an hour's walk from the outskirts. The figure tugged on the front end of the coat.
Just like in all-new zones, the location would have its quirks and benefits. The benefits are usually part of the latter. Not that the ghost cared all that much. Most walks never killed a mercenary on their way to a job. The pay is good, and the work equally fulfilling. Not like the job was about removing the scum within humanity, but there's always someone willing to pay for wet and dirty work.
The mercenary paced slowly in certain areas to not kick rocks or snap branches. An ax murderer in the forest would be easier to explain than a fully equipped gun for hire. A lone hiker, a camper would venture off the path, or frisky teenagers would be enough to force the mercenary to bail on the contract. Cannot afford any mistakes to compromise the contract, and removing random people is not worth the risk.
Resting in a pack under the coat too, was a black bag which had a gasmask with red lenses and several air filters.
Four days ago, a call came in, more specifically, by a contract broker for a wealthy client. The client wanted the mercenary to retrieve something from a target hiding in Tall Oaks. There is something odd about the client, but the mercenary does need the funds to restock his dwindling equipment back at his safe house. However, the payment was a bonus, and the target was someone who may have unique ties to the criminal underworld.
At last, the mercenary saw the end of the road, between darkened green grass and a small town, came into view.
It was calm and peaceful, a perfect place to stop during a long road trip. Not that the mercenary would ever need one. Areas similar to Tall Oaks were always something the mercenary considered drab and mediocre. The residents in a place like this became a hive mind, where they would sooner tear each other apart socially to those who do not comply compared to their standards. Well, those who could afford to live here. The ocean nearby could have helped in the location's value, and there is enough nature to enjoy some tranquil isolation.
The mercenary studied the area carefully and plotted his approach.
The people of the town have no idea what is going on, and they only saw a well-dressed man in a trench coat walking with an umbrella. The mercenary glanced at his PDA. It looks like he was near the rendezvous.
Like always, it takes a professional to show up early for an arrangement. Punctuality is the standard.
The PDA went back in the pocket, and the mercenary paced further along the sidewalk. A couple of gentle nods to fool the locals. The immediate distrustful reaction helped the mercenary remain anonymous and a blip in the memory of unassuming residents. The place he approached was a diner and did not bother to read the name.
The diner has a beautiful view of the coast in the moonlight, though it was half empty.
The mercenary gently pushed the door open and entered. The umbrella closed then reversed back as it was flicked aside from rain droplets. It dribbled to the floor where the mercenary knew no one except employees would want to converse. A young blonde waitress approached the mercenary, she had a narrow, oblong face with angular cheekbones, her hair was short, and it had razor edges around her cheeks, her eyes were hazel.
"Hello, sir." The waitress chirped. "Please pick a table, one of us will help you shortly."
The place had tables on the left side looks over the green street. On the other hand, the coast was in clear view from the small windows. It was decorated with flowers for a pleasant aroma.
"Yeah." The mercenary replied, and the waitress nodded. Without words, she turned around and took several steps forward to lead the figure to his table. As that happened, it was amble time to check the other patrons. An older man was not reading the daily newspaper while his eyes were too focused on the workforce, specifically, the feminine ones. At the far right, at a booth, sat a woman with a crossword puzzle: no need to stare at him, the newest customer. There does not appear to be any significant threats within the diner at the moment.
The mercenary chooses a table overlooking the street, and she gave him the menu. He didn't plan to eat anything, though a warm drink sounded great. He just did walk for an hour straight. Before the mercenary could get a word out, the waitress left to attend a different customer.
Glancing over the menu, nothing, in particular, stood out.
"Excuse me, sir?" the mercenary heard the voice of a woman. Without looking back, the woman continued. "Welcome, what would you like to drink?"
The mercenary glanced at her name-tag.
It read, HELLO MY NAME IS… Claire. In a font, half the size of the name-tags font.
Then something flashed in the mercenary's mind. He was taken aback by the name he read.
The waitress wore a clean white toque, double-breasted jacket, and black pants. Her face was definitely in a case file a long time ago… the mercenary recognized her. "I'll take coffee with cream, and is everyone this friendly?"
"Yes," she said with a smile. "It is something we do around in this area, so what's your order?"
The mercenary barely had enough time to process what he would like to nibble on, and she's asking for his order now? The mercenary only saw something which appeared to be the most appetizing. He looked back at the menu and spoke as calm as any reasonable person can be. "I would chicken soup." He pointed directly at a specific image on the menu.
"You got it, five minutes, and it will be here," she said and walked away from him.
The figure looked away from the waitress. His lips pursed up and, in a brief moment, scoffed to himself in a light laugh. 'Maybe there's something to my demeanor, which means I am supposed to order food quickly… but what are the odds I'd find someone like her? Here.' The mercenary thought to himself.
The mercenary was lucky enough; his table had a newspaper left behind by another customer. He took hold of it as he began his wait for his contact. Several articles caught his attention as he would fold it slightly to observe his surroundings for the wait.
The mercenary's wrist communicator started to flicker a small green light, and then he brought it close to his mouth whispered. "This is HUNK. I am in position."
...
A set of grey eyes opened to see a dull light brown ceiling since the arrangement of the waves and curls of the paint always looked like cracks from the lighting. Not normal enough to consider home, but not insufficient enough to desire to leave. There wasn't any kind of longing to be here in her heart, for everything is still feels new to her. Just a place hold her belongings. The eye closed as the owner shifted in the bed to her right side, the feeling of her warm liquid emotions was palpable, she was crying after having another dream about a ghost in her past, a little girl she left behind because she wanted to look for her only family.
She noticed the clock in the nightstand... 9:30 A.M. In its annoying darkened red lights. When someone is tired, the damn thing can be hard to read at times. The alarm on it was annoying enough to help with her daily life.
She heard a soft knock on her door. "Wake up, or you're going to be late." A voice that belonged to a young woman. The voice wasn't snarky nor angered, just one that sounded bored.
It was the voice of her friend Annie, someone that the grey eye owner rolled her eyes. It felt like her eyelids were weighed down by anvils, but was too awake to fall back into the embrace of sleep. She turned to her side to look away from the door.
The two of them were in a small town, five hundred miles from Raccoon City. The two of them planned to have a vacation and spend some time in this town, start their job, and be close to the ocean.
The grey-eyed woman is a good cook, she could make many things, while Annie is familiar with waitress work; so they decided to put their money together and open a diner.
Their business worked well enough, they gained a fine number of customers five months since they started to work, and their diner built up a good reputation. Several customers began to show up by habit to the place. Not that she minded at all; in fact, she appreciates all who made an effort. They had to earn a specific amount of money to pay the owner of the place, or else they will lose it.
Many times in the months they spent here, they were forced to pay a lot of money and spend the day without lunch or dinner.
Today, she sheepishly walked to her closet to take out a waitress's uniform. Dangling off a hanger, the young woman brought the front end of her uniform to eye level. HELLO, MY NAME IS… Claire…
"Claire Redfield." The young woman bemoaned her name.
She had an overprotective brother whom she rarely sees or speaks to anymore because of his job. Always out and about in the world. Though she still felt exhausted, Claire lowered the uniform and rubbed her eyes. "I'm awake," she shouted.
Then Claire looked at herself in the mirror, and her red hair was shorter than before, barely long enough to reach the end of her neck, for she wanted to try something new and change her appearance. It felt like a bad thing to do at the same time. She shrugged the thought off.
In a hurry, she left her room and ran to the bathroom to take her usual shower and the morning routine while her friend is downstairs fully dressed and preparing breakfast for the two of them.
There was a certain schedule they have here in the house, one day Claire wake up first get ready and make the breakfast, this day was Annie's turn to do it.
Annie prepared the plates and waited anxiously for her friend to come down. Her waiting lasted five minutes until Claire came down the stairs wearing a white tank top and black pants, her face looked red and puffy.
Annie noticed it directly after she came and took a seat in front of her. "Are you okay?"
Claire forced a smile. "I'm fine, do not worry about me, I just..." she stopped for a moment to take her breath. "Did not sleep well last night."
Annie seemed not to believe her, but she wasn't willing to pressure her to talk. "Fine, I made your favorite breakfast, sublime scrambled eggs," she said and pushed the plate toward her. Claire didn't react right away as she stared at the table. Annie noticed this and made her play to have the plate poke, Claire, in her ribs gently. She did so three more times until Claire chuckled at her best friend.
"Oh, thanks," Claire said and started her meal. In silence.
Annie was someone Claire met back in college. She made Claire's time on campus go from unbearable to tolerable. They had several classes together, studied together, and became best friends. Claire knew deep down she was lucky to have somebody like Annie as a friend.
Annie broke the silence, "So I think Mark is going to ask me out today." she said in an attempt to change the mood. Mark was a usual customer in their diner whom she happened to have a crush on him.
Claire smiled back at her. "Really, good for you, I wish you the best."
Annie finished her plate and went to the bathroom, and it gave Claire enough time to get rid of the urge to sigh and close her eyes to try and stop the memories. Many times Annie reminded her of Leon, a police officer Claire met in Raccoon city, she thought the two of them could have something, but they parted, and he moved on by working for the government.
She never wanted to admit it, but the feeling of loneliness has taken over her. Even Annie, her good friend by her side, felt the vibe.
Annie returned to the kitchen, took her bag off the chair, "Let's go, Claire,"
"Okay," Claire responded after her final bite of the egg.
They left their house at 10:15 A.M. it is their time to open and start working.
Their day was good and busy, Claire had to cook a special meal on the menu a few times, and they earned a good amount of money. Until nightfall came, and the storm hit the town.
Claire watched out the window in amusement, for she loved the rainy season.
"Maybe we should close, I do not think anyone will come in the middle of the storm," Annie called out to her.
Claire nodded in agreement, "just wait for a few minutes, maybe someone will come."
Claire went to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water for herself, and she took a seat in the nearby chair close to the refrigerator. She was taking a moment to rest when she heard. "Hello. Please pick at the table, one of us will help you shortly."
Claire put down the glass and prepared herself to leave and meet this customer. "Alright, deep breath." She repeated her mantra and closed her eyes. In a single deep breath, Claire felt calm again.
Claire made her way out of the kitchen, at the same time Annie came her way. "We got a new guy. I never saw him before," Annie informed her. Claire looked over her shoulder.
"Probably a traveler or something," Annie added.
Claire slowly made her way to his table, and she noticed he was tall with a medium brown straight hair. "Excuse me, sir?" she noticed he lifted his head, acknowledging her; still, he didn't turn to look at her. 'How rude.' Claire thought.
"Excuse me, sir?" she spoke. At last, the man looked at her. His eyes focused on her name-tag for a few seconds. "Welcome, what would you like to drink?"
"I'll take coffee with cream, and is everyone this friendly?"
"Yes," she said with a smile. "It is something we do around in this area, so what's your order?"
Thank you for reading.
Special thanks to The95will.