A/N: GASP! She updated! Under Fire fucking updated!- That's right! I have updated! And I plan on updating a lot more (famous words, I know) but I mean it this time. This past while has been a blur to me and honestly, it's been kind of rough. I won't bore you guys with details, but fanfiction went on the back burner for me. If it wasn't for the wonderful MissRose514 messaging me every so often asking about updates for Under Fire, I probably would have never finished it. So, thank you MissRose514! And if you're reading this author's note, fellow Nivanfeilders, make sure to thank her too! She's inspired me to continue this story.
Anyway. Blah, blah, blah and Yada, Yada, I know. Thanks to those of you who followed, faved and reviewed the last go around. You guys are great!
Onward!
-Emil Lime
I've been handed my first mission-locate any and all information gathered by Henry Pretz and turn it over to Red and Vice-aka Leon Kennedy. Vice is convinced that he's communicated it to someone else. Some group called '3' told him so. Apparently it's a golden opportunity. Henry must have known more than he told me about this overthrow plan that's in the works for Insane City. Finding these files might just help me save this damned town-and put me another step closer to burying Red.
Status Report 5: Infiltration
Just as Red had said, it doesn't take him long to get everything together, bringing it back into the office and going over every little detail with me. The entire briefing takes somewhere around an hour, at least I think it does. Once I have a grasp of everything, we leave the room and quickly make our way out of the base. It's surprising how expansive this base is. I haven't really gotten to see the entirety of it, what with being confined to my holding cell for the majority of my stay. I'd figured it was big, obviously, but big doesn't describe it. Hell, it was huge, and that doesn't even do it justice. The large cement walls span for what looks like forever, merging together in the far distance before turning to god knows where. It was supposed to be a shopping mall, but I had no idea so much of it was completed before Red took it over.
Honestly, it's impressive. I'll give him that. Still means he's compensating for something in my books, though.
We leave it, heading out onto the crappy paved streets. It's empty, save the high rise apartments I can see across the way. They circle the mall, probably the city too. No telling how many people live behind those dark glass windows, cowering under their beds at the crack of gunfire. What a horrible life.
"Vice's camp is down about seventeen blocks. His territory is in dispute with another gang's right now, so be careful. If you die before you can give me the information, I'll mutilate your corpse and display it for the other men to see." There's a humor in his voice, but don't doubt he'd do it. That's the kind of asshole he is.
"Thanks," is what I manage before sparing a glance back at the imposing base. Red's done well for himself here, taking over an entire city, slowly bleeding out and consuming the surrounding area. I can't wait to take him down, wipe that arrogance right off of his face. Turning back, I step forward, heading quickly along the damaged road. When I turn back again, Red's disappeared into the safety of his prison. Honestly, these high rises were the perfect place to position snipers. It's a wonder he even ventured as far as he did. I guess they guy's got some serious balls.
For the most part, Insane City is dilapidated beyond repair. Cracked roads and sidewalks, broken glass and dented metal. The fragmented corners of buildings are clearly branded by gunfire. It's like walking through hell. The silence is eerie, but the surrounds are even worse.
It's like the sun doesn't shine on the city at all, a perpetual night casting its long arm over this forsaken place. Maybe it's the high rises. Maybe it's the smog. Maybe I shouldn't think about it.
My feet carry me further as I count the blocks in my head. Five. Six. I can see eyes peering through the windows, peeking past the curtains before abruptly being pulled away. Civilians, maybe? A child trying to sneak a glance into the hell they've been imprisoned in? Or maybe it's more akin to Red's warning.
A turf war, brewing along Red's boarder, right where Vice's and another gang's mash together.
Not terribly surprising, honestly. This place is in so much turmoil, a couple of bloody squabbles are to be expected. But interesting all the same. Could it possibly serve as motivation to whoever Pretz had warned me about? It seems plausible. Someone big plans to take over Red and many other big players in the city using underhanded means, just to gain some territory.
Nothing justifies the death of innocent people so much as power, right?
Fourteen, fifteen. Suddenly there's an eruption of gunfire, bullets spraying into the building beside me. Rushing to the wall, I duck behind the corner and peak around, spotting the culprit. Men, dressed in a similar fashion as me, are exchanging bullets with another group of men. Less-than-legal weapons discharge, more metal bits wedging themselves into the surrounding walls. A man is hit, downed, his comrades letting out a string of curse words.
"You'll pay for that, you motherfucking V!"
More bullets, more cussing.
"Well, shit," I murmur. I don't want to get mixed up in their little spat-which probably started over a 'your mom' statement. Staying low to the ground, I work my way past the intersection, keeping my footfall as quiet as can be. It's not good enough though. One of the guys turns his head and spots me.
"V!" Opening fire, I roll out of the way, making my way behind a mailbox. Blue, rusted bits fly around me as the barrage continues. Loading my pistol, I curse under my breath. I'm pinned. Of course, all I need is an opening.
The other 'V's start shouting, letting out rounds of led at their enemies. Turning past the mail box, I line up my shot. It's quick, right through the brain of the guy that spotted me. He's downed before anyone can even blink, my next bullet meeting the head of another guy just as they realize they're being flanked.
As the second one falls, one shouts, "Fuckers!" Pinned and outnumbered, they're quick to finish off, the last man falling when I lodge a bullet between his eyes.
Like after every battle, there's s moment of hesitation, of silence. Even after a quick victory. Closing my eyes and breathing deep, I say a mental prayer for them. No, I'm not religious-lost any sort of delusions like that when I joined the Military. That doesn't mean I don't stop and wish their eternal souls-or whatever's in there-some kind of piece.
It's after that point that one of the V's stands up, calling over to me. "Hey, good shooting, bro."
God, I'm not young enough to be anybody's 'bro'. "Thanks," standing, I look over at them. "Had to take those SOB's out somehow, right?"
The lame comment earns a chuckle from the other guys. The man from before nods, "Good thing you were around. Come on, let's head back to base with some trophies. Vice will be fucking proud." I'd guessed it from the downed guy's reaction to me that these 'V's were Vice's guys. Who came up with that nickname?
Simply nodding, I watch the other guys loot the bodies of their enemies, pulling money, watches, phones and other things before pocketing them and heading down the street. I follow, listening to their conversation about how they really 'fucked those guys up'. It's a stupid mentality-and they're just so young. These kids can't be older than fifteen and they're already killing other teens for the hell of it, just because they're wearing different colors. Thankfully, it isn't long before we enter Vice's territory, guard towers crowded with teens allowing us access and radioing back to headquarters that we're on our way.
The area looks just as crappy as Red's section, the building dark with wandering eyes occasionally appearing in the windows. As we head deeper, I see more people, more kids, standing around with automatics slung over their shoulders. There are some civilians as well, walking quickly to grocery stores or back to their apartments. They don't linger, and they don't take their time to discuss matters outside.
When we reach a high rise, I can tell just by looking at it that that self-important prick Leon Kennedy is holed up inside. Entering, we pass several other guards before taking the elevator to the top floor. Larger, older men greet us there, "What's your business with Vice?" one asks.
It's a quick flip of words from the teens before we're allowed to enter, a large office space where Vice is sitting. He smiles when he sees me, though addresses the group. "What's my men brought for me today?"
Looking around the room, there are hundreds of items pinned to the wall and atop shelves and his desk. Random items from necklaces to clothing to hairbrushes. There's even a porcelain doll, face half broken in, sitting on one of the shelves. All I can do is shudder at the thought.
One of the boys speaks up, "We took down a couple fuckers on the border. Brought back some trophies." He steps forward, laying some of the various items on Kennedy's desk. The rest remain pocketed and unmentioned. No doubt for trading later.
Rather Vice knows they're hiding stuff or not, I'm not sure. But he gives a kind smile before looking through the objects. Carefully and slowly, he picks up each trinket and looks it over like he's inspecting diamonds. Rotated impossibly slow between his fingers, eyes dancing all over the objects, it isn't until several minutes later he places the last trinket down and looks up at all of us. His eyes have changed. They're no longer the welcoming, curious eyes. They're cold and calculating-the same eyes he had when talking with Red about this mission.
"How many did you kill?"
The boys glance between each other, me answering the question, "There were six guys."
Vice gives this freakishly annoying-as-hell knowing smirk, like he's just worked some kind of answer out of me without me knowing it. "And this is what you got from them?"
Another guy answers, "Yah. They were just a bunch of punks."
Taking another breath, Kennedy frowned. "You've gone and fucked up, kids." There's questions lingering on everyone's tongues until the blue eyed snake lifts up a hand with four fingers erect. Before another word is uttered, the four men standing around me are shot in the head, quick and simple. My breath hitches in my throat and I can only stare at the man before me. He's grinning. "They're going to bring me all kinds of trouble with those killings. And they couldn't even get something interesting out of them." Shrugging, he stands and waves his security away, the men nodding and dragging the bodies of the recently deceased with them. A trail of red follows after as the doors are closed behind us.
Kennedy laughs, "Sorry about the display there. Just setting the men straight is all." I only give a hard stare, increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. As vice clears his desk of the artifacts that were brought to him, discarding them in the trash, he smiles over at me, one that's filled with malice. "Glad you could make it, Cole."
"I just need to know where to start looking." So I can get this info, communicate it Red, give it to this arrogant brat and get out of here.
A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, "Eager to get this over with? I'm starting to think you don't like me very much." And what tipped him off to that?
Keeping a painfully straight face, I just reply, "I figure you want this information as quickly as possible considering the sensitivity."
Moving towards me, Vice places his hand on my shoulder, "Just remember who gets the info. That hand moves from my shoulder slowly up to my chin. He tilts my head towards his, "Just because you're Red's little bitch doesn't mean he gets to hear any of this. Right now he's loaning you to me. Disobey and I'll make more than just your throat hurt." That smile-cold and heartless. Mentally, I shutter but I keep my game face on. Pretending like his implication doesn't bother me gives me the power, not him.
It takes every bit of my control to not grab his wrist and break it. After another tense moment of staring, he finally lets go of my face and turns towards his desk, leaning on it. "Patrick's quarters have already been searched. His belongings have been sold for cash, so that's a dead in. I guess you can start by asking around. He was friendly with the other low-level juveniles, even though there was an age discrepancy. Search there first, I guess."
"Can I check out his quarters for myself?"
"Don't think I searched it well enough."
"A second pair of eyes never hurts," yes, actually. You probably missed something obvious while you were flipping that ridiculous hair out of your face.
Shrugging, he scribbles on a sticky note from his desk and hands it to me. "Feel free to check it out."
Taking it, I turn towards the door before stopping to ask one last question, "Where am I going to find these juveniles?"
I don't turn to listen to his answer, "Just walk around my territory. You'll find kids standing around talking big about shit." With that worthless answer, I leave, avoiding the trails of red that exist. My stomach churns at the thought of parents learning their child was shot at point blank range just because they brought their gang leader some crappy presents. It's a cruel world, this one.
Stepping onto the elevator, I quickly look at the scrawling on the paper. Floor 5, room 534.
Good enough. Clicking the floor, I watch the doors close, leaving me alone for the time being.
If this search is going to yield anything, I can't rely on Kennedy to have done a good job searching the area. If there's one thing I've learned about working undercover, it's that you leave clues for other agents everywhere. Nowhere obvious, like in a notebook, but in places people wouldn't think to look.
The elevator bings and I step off, crossing the hall quickly to locate room 534. It doesn't take me long, occasionally passing a gathering of men murmuring about this or that. Not much to my surprise, the door is unlocked and I let myself in.
What use to be an office space has been cleared and filled with two bunk beds. One's been stripped clean, the others are littered with crap-some obviously not belonging to the men who sleep there. Ignoring the thin garments scattered around and making sure to lock the door with the deadbolt behind me, I laid myself down on the mattress, ignoring the disturbing stains.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and clear my mind. This room is shared with three other loyal assholes. Daytime, it's probably empty. Nighttime, they're snoozing away in here and dreaming their nasty dreams. So daylight would be the best time to record information, although it'd need to be done quickly considering any long period of absence would bring about suspicion-why he's not marching around shooting people like the rest of the badass boys.
Opening my eyes, I glance around the wooden frame above me. Carving something in there would be too easy to find. Under his own bed maybe?
Rolling off the mattress, I drop underneath the bedframe and pull my cellphone out, shining the screen onto the dark planks above me.
There, carved into the wood is a sentence.
Not The Men, But The Man
Furrowing my brow, I don't have time to consider it when the door knob jiggles and a round of knocks come. Wiggling my way out from under the bed, I pocket my phone and unlock the door. Smiling, I'm greeted by a frustrated looking man. He gives me a hard glare. "You want to explain why the door was locked?"
He looks more than a little pissed off I'd barred him access from this room. "Sorry," I say, realizing I've got no good reason to have it locked in the first place. Rolling his eyes, he pushes past me, making his way over to the bunk above Patrick's. He doesn't even give me a second glance as he gets himself comfortable. "Hey," I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask.
I get a grumble as a response. "Did you know Patrick well?"
"What the fuck do you care?"
"I just heard about what happened to him is all…"
"If you ask me, the fucker deserved it. Was suspicious as hell."
I raise an eyebrow, "How so?"
The guy shuffles around on his bed some before speaking. "He was always sneaking off in the night. He'd come back early in the morning and act like it didn't happen. Was probably off talking to his CIA buddies."
Or, giving his information to whoever's got it. "Any idea where he went?"
"A girl."
"What?"
"Viper." The gang leader who's been a rather big headache to the CIA and, apparently, to Vice. I guess even Vice has his vices. But what's she doing getting tangled up with his men? There's no way Henry stumbled upon her and became her friend. They wouldn't be walking the same circles. So how?
"Pretty fucked up," I add before heading to the door.
I'm about out of leave when he adds, "Close the door behind you."
Following Mr. Pissed-Off's advice, I close it behind me and head out. I've got to try and confirm if what was said is true or not. I spent the rest of the day talking with the other kids about any possible 'involvements' Patrick had with women. The rest say he mentioned a girl, though never by name. A lot of the kids thought she was imaginary. All in all, dark was coming and I hadn't gathered any more clues or evidence to support what I'd learned.
When night came, I headed back to speak with Vice, his security letting me in without any hassle. As I entered, he was leaning back in his chair, legs propped on his desk lazily. "Ah, Cole. So tell me what you've got." His guards left us again, closing the door.
"Not the information, if that's what you're hoping."
"Even I know you're not talented enough to get me that in a day." God, I want to punch this bastard. "Tell me what you've learned."
Deciding it's just better to tell him up front, I say, "I heard a rumor that Patrick might have handed the Intel over to Viper." Kennedy sits up in his chair quickly, his eyes wide as he regards me.
"Viper?"
I'm not liking the look he's got. "The source I got it from seemed pretty certain of that. Of course, you're best source is now dead in a ditch somewhere." The sarcasm on my tongue isn't missed by the blonde gang leader.
"You'd better think twice before questioning my calls, Cole."
"I'm not questioning them. I'm stating a fact. You had Patrick executed before you cleaned up this little mess. If you'd kept him alive, you could ask him where this information is."
His hands slam onto the desk, "That fucker got what he deserved and as for Viper-" He stopped himself. It's then that Vice's demeanor changes. A second ago, he looked manic, now there's a creepy calm over him. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You know what? It's fine. Viper isn't so hard to lure out of hiding." He lifts his head towards me, a hollow smile crossing his face. "Why don't you stay with me tonight? It beats sleeping with the cronies downstairs, don't you think?"
There's something in his voice that tells me it isn't a request. "Sure. Why not."
Side-stepping the desk, he walks past me and through the door. I follow, a bit concerned with how much he's swaying. Has he been drinking? What the hell's got him so stressed he needs to get himself drunk?
Walking down the hall, past several more bits of security, we reach a large office suite. Upon entering, it's easy to see how much remolding has been done. What was once an executive's office has become the personal living place of Leon Kennedy. A large bar is visible, several bottles sitting on the counter, a used glass still half full of a frothy beverage. Other things, large plasma TV, a bookshelf that's dust tells me he hasn't touched it, and a large California king sized bed. He's got quite the 'man cave', all the more reason to feel uncomfortable.
"I'll have dinner brought up here. Some of the guys I've got can seriously cook."
Actually, I'm not that hungry. "Thanks." Sitting at the bar, I keep my distance from Kennedy as he pours himself another drink. He pours into another cup, sliding it towards me.
"Drink up. You're my guest."
I take the small glass into my hand but don't sip on it, though with Kennedy's eyes locked on me, I feel unnerved. He raises an eyebrow, "What's the matter?"
Shaking my head, I reply, "Nothing."
"Then drink." He motions towards my cup, "To this partnership."
To this partnership. Right. Giving a forced smile, I nod, "To our partnership. I'm sure if we work together, we can get this information from Viper." He raises his glass to that. Together we down the contents of our cups in one shot, my stomach dropping as our cups hit the counter. Something isn't right. There's something very off about all of this. His sudden friendliness, his open invitation to sit and drink. The alcohol tasted off too. Shit.
I try to keep myself poised, "You said she's easy to lure."
He chuckles, "That's right. Viper is a smart fox, but she's got a weakness, just like anyone else."
I glance at him, seeing he's trying to balance the shot glass on its rim. "And what's that?" Setting the thing upside down, he gets up, a smile crossing his face as he looks at me, our gazes locking.
"It's that she hates to lose." Pain streaks across the back of my head as a force sends me to the floor. Everything turns white as the noise around me drowns into the silence of unconsciousness.