Hello my freaky Bio-Weapon darlings! Chapter 4 is up! Again, sorry for spelling, I do filter through 'em a number of times, I just tend to over look things. I have completed the next chapter already, and will post that the following weekend or when I get back from the country. Leon will meet the Endurance crew in Chapter 6, so for now, enjoy!
The Tomb Raiders Resident
Evil Endures
Chapter 4.
Boeing Flight 727.
Destination: Europe.
Passengers: 200. Staff passengers: 21. Pilots: 4.
Survivor Count: Unknown.
Current location: Unknown.
Current date and time: Unknown.
Mission Details:
Target: Felucha Marriest. Terrorist.
Assigned Agent: Leon Kennedy.
Operation: Dark Friday.
- 2 weeks and four days: in.
Leon opened his eyes tiredly to a chill that creeped across his skin, but the heat of the fire in the room kept him warm, now with blue eyes blinking into focus and lazy at ridding the effects the drug still had on him, he remembered the events that transpired before he blacked out.
Pressure at the joints in his arms and wrists told him that he was again bound to the ceiling, only the right way up. His knees were slightly bent and Leon could feel the dirt and rubble under his bare feet that were brushing the ground. That alone caused him to mentally frown and an unidentified feeling spread through him, churning in his stomach and causing him to fight a struggle. Looking himself over, Leon again found himself weightless, both his long sleeved shirt and t-shirt had been stripped from him, along with his boots, socks and jeans, leaving him in his underwear and bare to the enviroment.
What? Taking his jacket wasn't enough?
In the light, his chest was blotched in black and blue bruises that gathered at his left side and inwards, wrapping around his chest in scattered patterns, strange highlights of an off coloured yellow showed the extent of the damage from the crash, and a doctor would report just by the sight alone that a number of ribs were cracked, if not broken.
Crazed mumbles and the clatter of metal drew his attention, and Leon looked to his left with a glare, spotting the man responsible for the current mess he was in, again, and Leon didn't like the fact that the man was in the same room as he, no more than a few stray meters away. Blood stained hands feathering over various blades and knives that lay arrest on a equally bloodied table, the rusted and sharp blades glinting silver gold in the fire light, the sorts of them looked like they came from a butcher shop, and Leon tensed.
With another gurgle in his stomach at the sight, Leon began twisting his hands in the rope which was knotted around one of the fish like hooks hanging from the ceiling, the strain in his arms aching but he did not relent his efforts. Though to his dismay, his struggles only alerted the psychopath of his awareness.
"D-do you know -how much b-lood is in t-the human b-body?" The man stuttered, back to him as the psychopath's hands idly observed each blade, holding them up to a near by fire and eyeing with insane curiosity, before moving to the next one, answering the question for him. "Six p-pints."
Leon didn't like the sound of that, and that sound was the unnerving realisation that the man was right. He could deal with the infected, fight off zombies, because they had aspects taken away from them by the virus, the thought process, their education and memory's. This man had obviously resorted to catabolism through what ever horrors that had wakened on this island, and the feeling was like that of an outbreak, only there was no virus to excuse the behaviour. The infected ones that still had the ability to think, to plan, to put a name to an object and its use, to reason with a situation or discussion, they were the most dangerous. Though some who understood what they were doing, had control over their minds, justified their actions; human beings, basically, and that knowledge was frightening.
The many torches in the room lit the area up in a warm, and sickly orange glow, shimmering a deep red off the blood that was painted on the walls, the splatter a measurement of past victims to this man's prison, because there was no virus here, these were the actions of a human being, and that frightened Leon more than what the un-dead did.
"It w-wont be long bef-ore the blood is d-drained... T-then the meat will be ready t-to cut. B-ut don't worry, y-you'll be s-safe... you'll b-be safe..." The man took a hold of a large jagged blade before turning around to face him, crazed eyes alight with insanity and hunger.
Leon struggled with more urgency as the man stepped closer, the blade gleaming in the light and causing him to panic with the man's intentions, sweat started to break out with the quickening if his heart beat. "Why are you doing this?" He demanded, trying to stall the man to give him more time to think. The first words he'd spoken since waking up, and he mentally signed when the man paused in front of him, thoughtful.
"T-to help you. To Free you. Y-you under -stand, d-don't you?"
Leon scoffed. "If you want to free me, then un-bind me, and give me my clothes back." He said as a matter of fact, giving his arms a pull to clarify his words, adding the last part angrily. Eye's narrowing at the look on the man's face, a look of curiosity, mixed with something akin to viewing a broken possession, and Leon jerked when the man raised a ghost like hand to press against the worst of the bruising gathered on his chest, causing him to wince at the contact against his injured ribs.
"Hmm..hm." The man mumbled some, a few unrecognisable words passing unheeded before those stutters formed. "Damaged... b-bones, no matter, n-no matter... S-strong, healthy.. g-good, good." The man moved to take another step closer, the blade coming to a rise.
Leon didn't even think twice.
With a sudden move that be-lied his state and condition, Leon pulled his body up with his arms, muscles straining and shoulder joints locking as he brought his legs up with force and kicked the psychopath in the chest, sending the man back a number of paces to crash into the bars of the 'cell' with a shout of surprise. Now with a second to spare, Leon looked up at his bound wrists to analyse an escape plan, and with a restrained smirk that just barely ghosted across his grim face, he looked back to the crazed man as the other stood up.
"Y-you! You c-can't do t-that!" The man's words became more stuttered the angrier he got, standing up after a few stumbles and gripping the blade with a vice lock of bloodied fingers.
"Bullshit I can't!" Leon countered back, glaring at the other with calculated observation, hands fisting in their bonds as the man took a agitated step closer. Leon wanted to see how much he can anger the other into making mistakes, and it seemed that how furious the man was now, it wouldn't take much else. If anything at all. For a second later, the man yelled in anger with a frighteningly fast move, covering the distance and before Leon knew it, the man was again in front of him, and Leon forced his body to turn to the side in attempt to avoid the blade that strikes.
He knew he hadn't acted fast enough, but being bound the way he is didn't help much either. The blade didn't stab into his side by the path that it was originally taking, whether knowingly or unknowingly the man intended it to go with the crazed move, and the rough sharp steel came to slice a deep jagged gash into Leon's side across to his naval, the path of the blade burning as blood splattered, awakened from its confinement behind skin. Leon jerked at the pain with a cry, seeing his attackers arm go back for another slice at his flesh.
He wasn't about to be cooked and served up on a tray with a glass of red wine, no pun intended. When his attacker pulled the blade back for another swing, Leon kicked up a leg, knocking the bloodied weapon from the others grasp, the clatter of steel sounding across the room when its hazard flight came to an end. The man fumbled for a second, crazed eyes angry with intent on beating the life out of him, and Leon again pulled himself up, swinging both legs up as the man came closer at a rush. However, instead of pushing the man away like he did the first time, Leon locked both legs on the mans shoulders and around the man's neck, before adding as much pressure as he could, choking the man with his knees.
He may regret doing this later, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he didn't like the idea of being someone's meal, not back in Raccoon or Hardivile Airport, not back in Spain or Russia, and not back in Tall Oaks or China. The psychopaths fingers dug into his thighs as the man choked, causing Leon to wince at the sting, he knew that eventually the crazed man will break free, the choking hold he had on the other was strong but wouldn't last to the last breath.
Leon could feel a throbbing ache in his shoulder again, the pull on his arms as they supported his weight wasn't doing any good, and adding to that, the psychopath was starting to struggle violently, fingernails clawing and leaving red welts on his skin, and Leon gasped when the man took a hold of his legs and pulled down, agony shooting up his arms and wrists.
His shoulder joints protested at the intense strain, and Leon acted on the force of it, locking his knees around the man's neck tighter, bracing himself before twisting violently to the side so suddenly that a distinct sound of a bone snapping resounded in the room, the psychopaths neck now bent at an odd angle, fight ceasing.
Before the body had a chance to fall, Leon used the purchase to pull his bound wrists free and over the hook, grabbing hold of the metal with bound hands before he could fall over with the slack body of the now dead mad man. Easing his legs down, Leon let go and his feet made solid steady contact with the floor, wincing at the sting of the welts on his thighs and the burn in his side. That could have gone better... He mentally cursed.
"Can't say this has happened before..." Leon muttered without much amusement, standing in a butcher 'shop' over the dead body of his 'chef' half naked and after snapping the said chef's neck with his knees, all the while being strung up and bound to a unnaturally large fish hook in the ceiling. As far as he was concerned, no, this did not happen, Hunnigan was not going to know about this.
He stood their for a second longer, sighing as his heart beat slowed down from the high of being someone's dinner, something he didn't expect to happen from another human being. The warm glow of the fire was comfortable against his skin despite the situation as he walked carefully around the dead man and over to the bloodied blade that had been an attempt to cut him up, kneeling down to grasp the handle and skilfully flipping it over his palm, the blade turned inwards and he started to cut the rope around his wrists.
With that annoyingly familiar task done, he stood up and took another moment to glance down at the psychopaths corpse, questions that needed answering filtered through his mind, anger and worry, also the odd expectation he felt that the man should get up again, because the fact that the man wanted him for dinner awoke that feeling of fighting against bio-terrorism.
The burning in his side reminded him that the chef had nearly skewered him, and he looked down with disdain at the blood that was slowly running down his stomach, the gash was a number of inches long and probably needed stitches. Though Leon knew that he'd have a hard time in finding a needle and thread around here. He guessed he'd have to deal with it later.
With a last glare towards the unmoving body, he traded his looks around the room, the feeling of being bare irritating him, though that feeling turned to a weird relief as he spied his clothes folded neatly on a near by dirty table. He made his way over being mindful not to step on anything sharp, and reached out for the items, his hand pausing when he again caught sight of the camera sitting next to them. Leon picked it up and turned it on again, the same photo coming up on the screen and sending shivers to travel across skin.
Amongst the eery blackness was the pale frightened face of Suzan, here eyes alight with fear in the darkness, and it was clear to Leon that who ever took this photo, clearly not Suzan, possible the chef, was an enemy, whether it was another crazed survivor or a Solarii, he didn't know. Leon swallowed, hitting a button to view the next picture, and his eyes softened. The photo that was taken back on the plane before everything went down. Reality has it, every second of life is measured, counted, time is always in motion, and motion can change from one point to another at any moment desired by fate. As fate had changed him forever in Raccoon City.
It seemed fate was out for more blood, more lives to toy with. Leon turned the camera off with fierce determination. He was not going to let fate win again.
Placing the camera aside, he reached for his clothes, thinking a moment before taking one of his shirts and tearing one of the sleeves off, pressing it against the wound to his stomach with a wince. His other shirt should hold it in place as he didn't have any bandages. Putting on his socks and still somewhat damp jeans from his trek through the flooded tunnel, hooking the belt through the loops and closing the buckle with a clank of metal then proceeding with his shirts. He winced painfully as he pulled the t-shirt over his head, bringing up a hand to rub idly at his sore shoulder, not knowing exactly why it was aching so much before pulling his 'one' long sleeve shirt over him, buttoning up the material and making him feel more decent.
The tight t-shirt he was wearing did its job in holding the cloth to the wound, but he could feel with annoyance as the blood slowly dotted the fabric, soaking the weaved threads in warm crimson. With a sigh, Leon took the camera and hooked the string attached to his belt after lacing up his shoes, seeing also that he still had the random wrench he'd picked up earlier, pocketing that and tucking the Japanese blade in his belt as well, he took a torch from a near by wall before heading to the opposite tunnel to which he entered from.
He could have sworn, the exit was no different from the entrance of the basement, the water no less dirtier or freezing, and again the difficult climb up the makeshift ladder was troublesome, hands coming close to slipping more than once on the metal. The shift of microscopic dirt particles between skin and steel bushing down as it was disturbed from its rest. Though this time Leon didn't nearly fall, this time his limbs were prepared for the route of exiting the butcher shop, his reflexes and mind focused on the expected and unexpected.
The sun was shining behind grey clouds, its white light position in the moody sky telling him that it had just reached mid day, and that he'd been underground for about 4 hours. Wild life had long before awakened, the sound of a birds song whistling merrily, the soft flutters of fluffy paws as rabbits hopped around and among the plant life gathered on the forest floor. Leon had seen little of this kind of world, where the only sound that reached your ears was the thrill of nature, and not the screech of car tires, people yelling, the sorts of city life. Though the feeling that breezed in the air still lingered, that hum of unnatural power, of fear, ready to strike a hush over the land, and Leon found that he couldn't relax like he would do in this environment.
Beautiful cloaking of the Islands nightmares.
The path that he soon found himself following lead him seemingly deeper into the woods, up a hill of dirt and stone then around a corner, and a shadow was cast over the clearing. Looking up, Leon stared in question-less curiosity and a unnerving wonder at a shredded parachute that was caught in the surrounding trees clutches, the branches unrelenting and imprisoning who ever had taken a rough landing here. The scene looked old, and seemed to have been built into some kind of shelter, the torn thick fabric of the parachute acting as a roof over another unlit camp fire.
Few useless equipments lay about, the odd sorts of logs and wooden boxes, tables and broken items laying about the dirt. Leon walked into the camp carefully, booted feet taking measured steps on the soil, observant eyes looking down and seeing other signs that someone else had been here. Nothing he didn't know before, and a camp fire doesn't get build at random, he only hoped that it was the survivors who built it and not the rebels or Solarii that he read about.
The camp was indeed a good one, and Leon found himself reluctant to leave it, though knew that sitting around will either get him killed, or he'd make very little to no progress on getting off this island, and the environment such as this one, so much different, and yet the feeling was the same as trying to get out of an infected city. He wasn't all in for the idea of staying here.
Surprisingly, the air was warm and he found himself suddenly realising just how cold the flooded tunnel had been, the numbness that cloaked his wounds de-frosting away slowly in wake of an ache. Leon really didn't know why he went in that place to start with, and he found himself mentally blaming Hunnigan again.
A birds flutter of wings caused him to blink, and Leon tore his eyes away from the prints on the floor, looking at the feathered creature as it perched itself on a near by table, head tilting to the sides and looking at him with beady eyes, seemingly questioning his existence. Leon looked back at the winged animal, short of smiling slightly at the intelligent innocence before it took off. A rest on the table behind where the bird had been, lay a book, and Leon paused, frowning at the randomness of the item, before filling the space between and brushing a dirty hand over the scared leather, before opening, blue eyes skimming the neat writing on dirty paper.
'It's clear that there are people living here, and they're organised. They're killing and recruiting, but why? It's like some kind of cult. But a cult of what? What do they want? What are they looking for?'
Those were the first words he read at random on the page, some of it he'd guessed already, the island was indeed inhabited by a group of people, though the term 'cult' had him frowning. Last time a place was run by an insane 'cult', was back in Spain when he rescued the presidents daughter, and that particular mission hadn't gone down well. In fact, it was a disaster, the only good thing that turned out was that he completed his mission, and Ashley had gotten home safe.
Everything else was a cluster, though this time, if it was indeed the same sort of craziness ruling this island, Leon knew he was prepared for it.
He decided that he'd take the book, tucking it in the waist line of his jeans. It was clear to him that another survivor had written the documents, and Leon knew that in this sort of environment, he'd need a few extra tips and 'study' to take in account of what to look out for, where to go, what to do, and hopefully find who ever wrote this book, if they were still alive.
It was then that Leon decided to move on, and he could only just make out some large mountains through the trees to the east which were a towering dark mass that boarded the land, and if he looked close enough, stilling his eyes fixed on the one spot, he could see a dark grey shift in the equally grey sky. Smoke, and a large amount of it.
The crash site.
At least now Leon knew where he was going.
Though there was no way he was climbing up that high, or going over the mountain, he also definitely crossed off the 'going under' the mountain option, if there was even a way, because Leon didn't particularly like caves or any underground structure or passage, buildings, of the sorts. The Umbrella facility in Raccoon City was a good kick off for his nerve about being underground, then there was the time in Spain, then in Tall Oaks Cathedral, and just past tense. No, he wasn't going underground again damn it.
Leon signed.
Through the dense woods and trees sway, he could see the mountains seemingly spread and distance themselves further north, becoming more scattered and divided, no doubt leaving passage ways to travel east without going around the entire island, a gap in the lands teeth.
Looks like he's going north, and cutting through to east.
Pity he didn't have a map, or could draw one at the moment, but then he's been without the directing ink and paper before, only he had Hunnigan to back him up with directions, that woman and her tech skills, satellite images, or dare he suggest, Google maps... Leon winced at that last part, for if she found that out, she'd probably hit him, and Leon had a good idea that despite the glasses and suits, she'd pack a rather nasty punch. Her style and personality somewhat gave him the impression that she was a soccer player back in high school, again, she will never know that thought.
His mind angled to a more serious matter on the thoughts of HQ, and that was his mission. Leon knew that with all the events that had transpired within 24 hours, he'd need a report for Hunnigan on the status of Felucha Marriest, the fact that he last saw the man on the plane before it crashed wasn't enough Intel on his part to confirm anything, for all Leon knew, the man could too be alive, stranded on this very island, with a very real and possible catastrophe in bio-weaponry form just waiting to be unleashed.
The crash site will be Leon's first hit for information, for there has got to be something or nothing that will give him the status he needs for his target.
:D Until next time. Elf out.