Episode One Point One: Should Have Seen This Coming On
For many years the Umbrella Corporation has been the world's largest supplier of pharmaceutical products. As well as being the leading brand in the field of medicines and medical equipment, they are also a strong presence in the electronics and armaments industry, providing goods and services, as well as employment, on an international scale. Despite its thriving legitimate enterprises, however, the conglomerate derives much of its capital from less tasteful endeavours, such as illegal research into biological weapons for various nations and wealthy groups the world over. With its attempts at perfecting the Tyrant virus, a mutagenic compound capable of transforming men into living Gods, this multi-million dollar company stands divided. Some wish only to solidify and strengthen their own power, while others seek to create the next step in man's evolutionary journey. Unbeknownst to the general public, the power struggles within the organisation have affected some of the most profound disasters in living memory, and it is likely that yet more lives will be lost before these conflicts have reached their resolution.
During the year 1998, a viral outbreak at the facility located in the Arklay district earned the attention of the local community's S.T.A.R.S unit, a group belonging to an agency initially formed for the express purpose of combating cult terrorism. The team became aware of the Tyrant virus and its effect on the unprepared human test subject; an infected individual would decay at an accelerated level and would operate solely on the impulse of hunger for living flesh. Decimated by the creatures they had discovered and betrayed by their Captain, an agent of Umbrella, they attempted to warn the unwitting people of the corporation's clandestine activities. At first discredited to an unknowing public, months later their initial fears became realised, and the nearby burgeoning metropolis known as Raccoon City was contaminated. Through the interference of bribed public officials it was not long before the situation raged out of control and the government stepped in to circumvent a nationwide disaster by quarantining the area. After several weeks, with the state within the cordon declining constantly, the President and his staff elected to sterilise the zones afflicted with the virus. The citizens that were not already dead perished in the systematic aerial bombardment that destroyed the city utterly.
In the aftermath of the disaster, all information pertaining to the mysterious plague that had been allowed to spread unchecked throughout the growing community was confiscated by various government agencies or by Umbrella itself in an effort to conceal the truth. The survivors of the catastrophe either went into hiding or were secretly executed by the corporation in order to ensure their silence. Around this time, a domestic terrorist group arose composed of the surviving S.T.A.R.S members, attempting to bring the company's transgressions to light. Due to the negative publicity garnered by the renegade organisation, the law enforcement agency of the same name was disbanded at the behest of a distrustful public. Some months later, the band of Raccoon City escapees disappeared without a trace.
In 2005, an inquest into the events surrounding the 1998 disaster revealed that the conglomerate, Sun Enterprises, one of Umbrella's competitors, had been responsible for the events that had transpired in the Arklay district. Essentially playing the scapegoat for the creators of the T-virus, Sun was forced out of business. With their demise, however, came further outbreaks and it wasn't long before the people of America were constantly besieged by the sickness that turned humans into the living dead. Countless thousands lost their lives, and many more were reanimated to become part of the roaming cavalcade of zombies. Furthermore, with the artificial contaminant having come to be public knowledge, the corporation was free to continue their experimentation without the need for secrecy.
In the year 2010, a privately-sponsored investigation organised by the President of the United States and carried out by a clandestine group known as V.O.I.C.E, or the Viral Outbreak Investigation and Containment Effort, produced new information regarding the Umbrella Corporation's involvement in the Raccoon disaster. Reasoning that opposing the corrupt conglomerate on the public stage was tantamount to suicide, particularly considering their power in the fractured society that was modern day America, S.T.A.R.S was resurrected as a task force to perform acts of government-sanctioned terrorism against them. Aided by an unknown benefactor within the company, the head of the crippled nation embarked on a clandestine and personal war against the organisation responsible for inconceivable damage to his country and the world.
The lobby of the Umbrella Corporation's largest administrative complex in the country was a luxuriously decorated chamber that exuded a sense of unattainable wealth, almost suggesting that even the people who circulated within were not rich enough to dwell inside. A reception desk managed by two formally dressed men stood before two elevators, and was flanked by a pair of sweeping, curved staircases that ended in a balcony which composed the second floor of the hall. There were further doors that led to various other parts of the ground level secreted behind the stairs so as not to disturb the otherwise perfect, self-centred indulgence of those who only ever entered the area in order to use the lifts. The entire room had an autumnal theme, decorated in reds, golds and subtle browns that would have been warm and inviting if not for the strong sense of inferiority it instilled. On this particular evening, the building was receiving a notably important member of the company's upper echelon, and so the main entrance was patrolled by various heavily armed and armoured security personnel, giving the impression that the tower was busier than it normally was at this time of night. It stood in stark contrast to the street beyond the glass and steel façade, which was devoid of life at this late hour, even in a city that was yet to feel the brunt of the wandering zombie menace.
Despite the habits of most citizens of modern America to be safely at home before dark, most of the lobby's occupants were not suspicious at the presence of a non-descript black Transit on the road just past the empty courtyard between there and the building. Most were so concerned with thoughts of their own boredom that they didn't even notice that the van turned to reverse across the concrete plateau towards the entrance at a rapid pace, and were only made aware of its presence when its rear ploughed into the front doors, exploding through in a shower of glass and fractured metal framing. The majority of the security personnel patrolling the hall dove to the floor in an attempt to avoid both the shower of sharp fragments and the oncoming vehicle. Before it had even rolled to a stop, however, the back doors were thrown open and a figure clad in navy blue fatigues and black tactical equipment hopped out, closely followed by five other figures in similar uniforms.
At the head of the column, Lieutenant Shakahnna Morgan stood as a decidedly stout testament to the nature of the reformed S.T.A.R.S organisation. With her flame red hair tied back in a simple ponytail, the unmistakable sparkle of gleeful anticipation resided in her green eyes, perfectly complimenting the broad grin plastered across her rounded features. Spreading her arms, the four blades affixed to each of her gloved hands gleamed in the brightly lit foyer's interior. Attached to her belt was a line of grenades interrupted on either side of her waist by holsters for her matching Colt .45 semi-automatic pistols, these weapons mere toys in comparison to the Desert Eagle strapped beneath her left arm. It was clear from how comfortable she seemed with her cat claws, however, that she did not favour ranged combat or the use of firearms when there was an opportunity for violence in a close proximity.
With an almost mirthful abandon, the soldier advanced on a downed security guard who was beginning to clamber to his feet, and nonchalantly thrust the tempered knives that acted as an extension of her hand into the top of his head. As he slumped to hang limply from the implements impaling his skull, she wasted no time in placing a foot to his shoulder and pushing him backwards to free her weapon. With bright eyes she scanned the area for her next target, the warm smile on her face an incredibly disconcerting factor considering that she had just fatally lobotomised another human being. Springing forward, she slashed the wrist of a second man with her left set of blades as he raised his sub-machinegun to fire upon her, causing him to drop the firearm, before she spun on her heel and left a trail of deep gouges spurting crimson in his throat with a backhanded right stroke. Behind her, the remainder of her unit spread out from the Transit, providing her with covering fire against the Umbrella personnel who had been somewhat quicker on the uptake and had begun to shoot at the attackers from elevated positions on the staircases and balconies, even as her rampage achieved a comfortable pace.
Stepping quickly towards one of the dumbstruck guards, she locked her left arm around his right as he attempted to gun her down and rammed her claws through his side, paralysing him with shock. Almost as though she were dancing with him, she brought him around to protect herself from the bullets of his team mates with the flak jacket that he was wearing. With a flick of her right wrist, she opened four long gashes across another's throat, watching him slam to the floor choking as she twirled her unwitting partner headlong into a different soldier. With the heavily-bleeding body of one of his comrade's hanging limply in his arms, the fifth of her victims went pale with fright moments before she lunged forward and skewered him through the face, the blades burying themselves in his eyes before she allowed the couple to slump to the floor, leaving her former prop to bleed to death.
A sixth lunged for her in an attempt to grapple with her, only for her talons to slice the flesh of his forearms to ribbons as she hopped neatly out of his reach, before she thrust herself forward and rammed her forehead into his face to break his nose. As he recoiled, she darted forward and began to claw at his crotch with joyous abandon, ripping the area at the apex of his legs to shreds. She permitted him to slump to the ground, clutching at the bloody hole where his groin had once been, before pouncing with her full weight onto a further opponent, sinking her blades to the hilt in his stomach and eviscerating him gleefully as he hit the floor. Warm blood spattered her face as she looked up, her teeth still bared in a cross between a manic grin and a bloodthirsty snarl, despite the serene look in her eyes, clearly in her element and having the time of her life.
The skirmish between her partners and the opposing force came to an abrupt and bloody end as the combined fire of her unit filled the last remaining Umbrella employee with ragged holes, their honed marksmanship having already whittled away the hostile security personnel during the course of Shakahnna's rampage. The redhead, still crouched over her final victim, raised her head to survey the carnage that she and her fellow S.T.A.R.S members had wrought, noting with a degree of disappointment that there were no further targets for her. A subtle pout appeared on her lips, before she rose to her feet and her expression returned to her usual, steadfast smile. She eyed the twitching corpses of her former playmates with a degree of fondness, and appraised the hunched bodies of those that had died in the gun battle with an aim to evaluate the work of the others. It was with great pride that she noticed very few stray bullet holes, most of her team mates' shots having been directly on target. There was a wealth of affection in her for that group, not least because they provided her with covering fire so that she could enjoy her melee combat and not worry about being made dead. She casually hopped up onto the varnished surface of the circular reception desk and sat, swinging her feet back and forth as the rest formed a rough semi-circle nearby.
The group's leader and the redhead's direct superior, Captain Shawn Dresden, held his MP5 at a low-ready position as his team swiftly confirmed that there were no longer any enemies in the vicinity. With his strong build, hardened facial features and even temperament, the dark-haired male was every bit the commanding officer. He wore his uniform with some pride; as a career soldier he had been part of several organisations in the past and none had been as distinguished as the one he was currently a member of. Though it was admittedly a far cry from their roots in law enforcement, the agency itself was still pursuing a moral objective, particularly considering the corruption inherent in Umbrella and the crimes that it had perpetrated, though the oblivious public would likely not see it that way. It was unlikely that the former members of S.T.A.R.S would condone their actions either for that matter, but most of the current operatives were driven both by an inflamed sense of justice and personal revenge that had become indistinguishable from each other over time.
The Captain didn't like to pry into the affairs of his subordinates and so for the most part he left them to their own devices, except where it was necessary for him to know. The history of the soldier who went by the name of Kane Marshall, a compact, muscular man with nearly black hair, darkly ringed eyes and an almost perpetual scowl, was one that necessitated his attention, but which neither of them cared to comment on beyond their initial discourse. This was due mostly to the fact that the man in question was not a very pleasant individual, and as such even the group's commanding officer disliked having more than the minimum amount of contact with him. As the group readied itself for the second stage of their incursion, he leaned nonchalantly against the desk some feet from Shakahnna and folded his arms, giving the impression that he was already getting bored.
The other members of the unit were somewhat less guarded with their personal affairs, perhaps because there was nothing particularly interesting to say. Sage Burroughs, a rapidly greying, middle-aged man and the oldest soldier in the group, had been an operative with V.O.I.C.E, the agency behind the secret investigation that had brought Umbrella's chequered past to the government's knowledge, and had simply joined S.T.A.R.S through a sense of rational progression. Much like most of the reformed organisation's volunteers, he used an alias, though Dresden somewhat suspected that "Sage" was an old nickname, mainly because he had never known anyone as insufferably logical, and thus no one more worthy of the comparison to a mythical wise man.
Almost in complete contrast to the group's silver-haired tactical expert was the towering figure of Matthew Lewis, who was possibly one of the most thick-skulled people the Captain had ever had the pleasure to meet. He was an exceptionally good-natured fellow, but the fact remained that he was dense beyond belief. When not following orders from his commanding officer, he was obediently following his girlfriend, Amy Decker, around, which had been his reason for joining their organisation in the first place. Seeing the two side-by-side, with him being a giant of a man, tall and heavy-set, and her being a delicate and attractive female, one would be forgiven for thinking that they made an incredibly odd couple. However, between them they made an incredibly capable pairing; she possessed the necessary brains and beauty, while he had more than enough brawn to balance the equation. They were partners, which was why when the young woman had become a specialist with the organisation, her lumbering boyfriend had joined the ranks of the agents to work alongside her. All told, Dresden liked the both of them. She made an invaluable contribution to their group, and it paid to have a man his size around when someone needed threatening even if he wouldn't usually harm a fly, not to mention the fact that he made a fairly convincing jack when the Transit had a flat tyre.
The last member of the group was a fair-haired individual of average height and build by the name of Chris Carter, a relatively non-descript young man with tired blue eyes. He was the junior of the six soldiers and the latest recruit to the unit, though he had been with a different S.T.A.R.S team prior to joining the one under his supervision and had already proven himself to be an asset. Much like the Lieutenant, he was an upbeat human being who largely kept to himself insofar as his recent past was concerned. From what the Captain had seen thus far, he was capable and maintained at least a façade of professionalism, unlike the redhead's own rampantly sadistic behaviour during a mission. He seemed a perfectly ordinary person; quite the contrast to the eclectic bunch of misfits that their agency usually attracted and whom the leader had become accustomed to, but there were no conceivable problems if they achieved their objectives as planned.
With that in mind, he reached into one of the pockets on his flak jacket and withdrew a small, leather-bound notebook, to which was attached a metal ball-point pen for convenience's sake. Opening it on his left palm, he began to make notations on the most recent blank page with a practiced efficiency that came from doing just that several times during a mission. It was something of a ritual to be performed between stages of any operation.
"I daresay that welcome wagon was indicative of security at this building tonight," he commented, continuing to scribble as the rest of his group allowed themselves a moment of respite, "keep your wits about you; I don't want any mistakes. We'll move on shortly."
"Right," Kane grunted, fishing through the pouches attached to his vest and retrieving a cardboard carton from within, before flipping the top open and taking one of the cigarettes inside between his lips. Reaching back into his chest pocket, he produced a lighter and held the flame to the end casually. "Shak?" he asked, offering the packet to the Lieutenant.
"Nu uh, I'm cutting down," she informed him with a gracious nod, "but thankies anyway."
"Captain, is it really necessary to calculate a score every time we have a fire fight?" Sage queried, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free left hand as he waited, "we could conclude this operation much faster if we maintained our focus. It's hardly appropriate to turn this kind of work into a game, after all."
"Noted," the commanding officer responded, non-verbally counting the bodies slumped throughout the lobby with a trained eye and evidently not paying the older man much heed, "as usual. But I have no intention of becoming humourless any time soon. It isn't the most sensitive take on mass murder, I know, but better a joke than nothing but guilt."
"To each their own, I believe, is a popular expression," the greying man said flatly, leaving his superior to his own devices now that his objections had been made clear. The Captain shot him a thin smile.
"You always say that," Matt pointed out, his voice almost suggesting that this fact was somehow revelatory. This elicited a broader grin from the unit's leader, who was honestly amused by the simplicity of the larger male's mental processes.
"I add your score to this as well, Sage; if I didn't know better I'd swear you were just a sore loser," he said, to which the older man simply raised an eyebrow and looked away, unwilling to comment.
"What are you arguing about?" the blond recruit asked, eyeing the booklet as Dresden secreted it away on his person once more.
"Arguing suggests dissent, kid, I won't stand for insubordination or disrespect from anyone, against anyone," he asserted, quick to lay down the rules of engagement to prevent difficulties later on, "he was simply ensuring that we recognise his status as a conscientious objector to the game we play."
"Game?" he wondered aloud, "what game?"
"The brain child of the Lieutenant here," the dark-haired individual began, patting the outside of the pocket that contained the palm-sized journal, "the League Table. Essentially, for every zombie, armed civilian, security guard, hired gun, corporate soldier, B.O.W, scientist or executive you eliminate you will earn points proportionate to the importance of the target. Every point you earn is recorded in the book. I will admit that it isn't the most orthodox form of amusement, but it's what we do; any problems?"
"I'm not exactly Umbrella's biggest fan, I did join S.T.A.R.S after all," the youth explained, unable to keep the surprise he felt from widening his eyes, even if he wasn't going to express whatever deep ethical dilemma their insensitivity had provoked in him, "to be honest, I think these people have it coming for perpetuating this cycle of fear and death. And besides, we're killing them; I doubt making a note of that augments the sin considering how profound it is to begin with."
"Smart, but sin is subjective," the ebon-haired, brooding male presence stated bluntly, evidently not someone who apologised for things that he didn't consider himself to be guilty of, "as far as I'm concerned, we're just taking out the trash."
"Thank you for that, Kane," the group's authority figure said, before turning back to address the most recent addition to his unit, "most of us have seen enough of Umbrella's bullshit to ensure that we don't spare them a second thought when we're in the field, but in the three months that this agency has been operating, two of our members have insisted on being transferred to a different department. And since the organisation won't let us do our job without a minimum of six soldiers, I want to be sure that I'm not going to have to find a new one to take your place in a couple of weeks. So, how about it? Can we count on you?"
"Yes sir, I'm here to stay," Chris insisted, offering the Captain a salute, which was promptly returned in kind.
"Excellent, in that case, let me tell you about the two rules we have regarding the League Table," Dresden responded, as they both placed their hands back on their weapons, "primarily, we don't kill unarmed, innocent civilians, but I guess that one rather speaks for itself. Our aim is to destroy the corporation, and often the people who don't know what their employers are doing are as dangerous as the ones who know everything, but we aren't in the business of taking lives when it isn't a strictly necessary evil. If they don't mean anything to Umbrella then they don't mean anything to us. Just tell them to get a new job."
"Hear that, guys?" Kane asked darkly, banging his hand down twice on the veneered surface that he was leaning against, before shooting a glance down into the well that was created by its circular shape, glaring at the two smartly-dressed receptionists cowering below with a customary look of disdain, "might wanna start working on your resumes."
"Enough," the commanding officer told him, "its important to remember that though this is no longer a law enforcement agency, and our business is expressly revenge, we choose to exercise some discrimination in our choice of targets. As much of a cliché as this may be, we don't want to sink to their level."
"So what's the second rule?" the recruit asked, cocking his head slightly, to which the Lieutenant beamed broadly from her perch atop the reception desk.
"Castration earns double points because it's funny," she announced loudly, adjusting the straps on her bloodied cat's claws.
"Are you serious?" he queried, frowning deeply as he received nothing but the deadpan stares of the other team members and the redhead's gleeful nodding as his answer.
"Afraid not, son," the Captain confessed, turning his head to look at the manic Shakahnna who stopped grinning quite so widely, "anyway, as I already mentioned in the briefing, we don't normally raid administrative offices like this, but we have confirmed reports of a particularly high-ranking executive visiting the building tonight only. He falls within the upper echelon of Umbrella's managerial hierarchy and so the Lieutenant and I have seen fit to assign him the rare fifty point price tag. On top of that, we have reason to believe that there will be an Umbrella Special Forces entourage accompanying him, each worth fifteen, so this is a valuable opportunity for everyone here to improve their score."
"This might sound stupid, but what exactly does the highest scorer win?" the blond asked, shooting a further look at the sitting female, who promptly resumed her original expression, most likely in a bid to make him feel comfortable as part of the unit. Unfortunately, with her blood-spattered face, demonstrated penchant for castration and perpetual cheerfulness in spite of her rather brutal fighting style, she was perhaps not the best example of well-rounded, wholesome S.T.A.R.S member.
"If we score enough points then Umbrella goes tits up, of course," she informed him, hopping down from the desk, "that's a prize for everyone, right? Well, except the company itself, but who cares about them?"
"If that doesn't appeal then I'm fairly sure that I could find you something else to act as a suitable reward; I commissioned most of the Lieutenant's weaponry especially for that very reason," their superior added, "I should perhaps mention that the chances of you beating her score of eight hundred and fifty six are incredibly slim, however."
"I'll just have to make sure I shoot everyone in the nuts then, huh?" the youngest team member said, as the redhead sauntered past with an expression of supreme and unbridled self-satisfaction on her face.
"That's the spirit, toots," she congratulated, clapping him on the back and smiling. He decided not to draw attention to the effeminate term of endearment the female had tacked on to the end of her sentence.
"I suppose it's only fair to let you accompany her to the penthouse offices since you're starting from zero," the unit's leader pointed out, to which Chris nodded gratefully, though admittedly he seemed a little wary of the over-energetic second-in-command, "and since you're trailing by ten points now, Kane, you'll be the third member of the team. The rest of us will remain here and secure our exit."
"Shit, baby-sitting," the dark-eyed soldier muttered, flicking the smouldering stub of his cigarette to the floor and crushing it with his foot, before taking up his weapon and striding towards the elevator ahead of his assigned companions.
"Kane!" the commanding officer snapped, eliciting a dismissive wave from the left hand of the other man, casually retracting the statement. He was pursued by the group's latest recruit and its gleeful, flame-haired sadomasochist, who walked with a spring in her step.
The foremost of the three jabbed the lift's call button with his index finger and waited for it to descend as his two fellow team members stepped up behind him. He rapped his fingers on his weapon's grip as he stood before the metal doors, breathing a sigh of released tension as it came down to his level. Stepping in, he swung his firearm in an arc spanning the interior, searching for a target. Seeing that it was empty, however, he lowered his weapon and took a position resting casually against the wall with his arms folded. The others followed, the blond standing at the back of the elevator with his sub-machinegun at the ready, while their superior asserted herself directly in front of the metal doors, as they hummed closed.
"Be right back," she told the rest of the unit, winking as they slid shut with a cheerful, musical chime.
In his life, Chris had seen two sides of Umbrella. Primarily it had been the chaos that they instigated in the streets, when the masses of zombies roaming the country descended on a major population centre and caused untold damage to the lives there. Now, standing in the elevator of one of the corporation's most grandiose administrative buildings, he was bearing witness to the luxury that had been bought with the money that came from causing such catastrophes. The comparisons angered him acutely. The box he was currently riding in was more luxurious than his entire apartment, and probably cost significantly more.
"So, Shakahnna? You don't look Indian, I have to say," he said eventually, voicing a concern that had been bothering him since their introduction at the briefing earlier in the evening.
"Hah, it's not Indian, it be's made up," she informed him, looking over her shoulder at him and grinning, "I like things that doth reek of quirk, and it does. Besides, you'd have to be pretty silly to use a real name when dealing with Umbrella."
"I'm using my real name," he replied, flicking the safety catch on his weapon on and then off again compulsively in order to occupy his fingers.
"Don't you worry that they'll try to hurt your family or friends?" she queried, turning around to stare at him flatly.
"They can't," he told her, sighing wistfully, "not any more, at least."
There was a moment of silence as the ramifications of that statement sank in and then the redhead gave him a sympathetic look. "Aww, I'm sorry toots, that's terrible," she said sincerely, reaching out to pat his shoulder as affectionately as possible when one considered that she was holding knives within a few inches of his neck.
"Hey!" Kane snapped, startling the other occupants of the elevator, "do you mind? Leave your safety catch alone."
"Right, sorry," the blond muttered, as his female superior stuck her tongue out at the other man and promptly resumed her position by the doors. After a moment, the youngest member of the group spoke up again, this time addressing the second male. "So why are you here?" he questioned, leaning against the wall as they waited. The individual who had been queried said nothing at first, before his scowl deepened and he glared at the youth.
"Alright, listen up because I'm only saying this once," he responded, looking at him through eyes that were narrowed out of habit, "and I'm only telling you now so you don't bitch about it later. I used to work for Umbrella's private military right up until a few years back when they left me for dead. Now I'm here for a little payback."
"You used to work for Umbrella?" the younger man asked, sounding somewhat incredulous, "and they let you work for S.T.A.R.S?"
"Shit, what's your problem?" the dark-haired individual scoffed, apparently unaware of the irony in his statement, "I just insisted a little stronger than most people do. Besides, I've got less reason to betray this group than you do."
"What do you mean?" Chris queried, to which the other man gripped the collar of his navy shit and unbuttoned it so that his partner could see the metal bracelet surrounding his neck with a small, red LED blinking from its surface.
"They're keeping tabs on me all the time," he explained, buttoning the upper part of his top to cover the band again, "and as sci-fi as it seems, there's a small charge in here that'll make sure I regret any decision to go back to Umbrella very briefly. So you don't need to get your panties in a bunch over me; I couldn't be a threat if I wanted to. Now shut up."
He stared for a moment longer, before he closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall back against the wall behind him as they waited to reach the upper level. "How about you Shak?" the blond asked. The female in question smiled to herself, before turning to face him, a beaming grin on her face as usual.
"Nu uh toots, airing one's dirty laundry in public is reprehensible, we won't be doing that," she informed him, waving a finger at him in a mock-chastening gesture, the impact of which was largely reduced by the fact that blood was shaking from her claws and spattering on the front of his uniform.
"Okay, I understand that, but it must have been something pretty bad for you to want to do this, right?" he pondered, scratching the scraggly growth of facial hair that was covering his chin, "I mean, for you to actually want to kill these people?"
"Exsqueeze me? They be's the bad guys," Shakahnna asserted, a slight wrinkle appearing at the bridge of her nose as she frowned disapprovingly, "this isn't a war; we're not fighting over land or because our belief systems are different, what they be doing is wrong. If they're punished for it after they die then so be it, but that doesn't mean they should be allowed to do as they like while they're alive. My personal feelings and motives have nothing to do with it."
Her speech concluded with the chime to indicate that the elevator had reached the penthouse and before the youth could respond in any way she turned on her heel and bounded out of the small box, evidently more concerned with scoring fifty points for the League Table than with any kind of arguing. She skipped ahead as the two males exited the lift in the manner of soldiers, using their weapons to scan the vicinity and constantly checking their blind spots. They accomplished quickly that which their female superior had surmised immediately: that there were no hostile presences in the corridor beyond the square chamber. With that, she bounced onwards down the hallway with a spring in her step.
"Erm, Shak, I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing," the fair-haired individual muttered quietly as he followed along in the energetic redhead's wake. She stopped in place and turned around to face him.
"You've got nothing to apologise for, you just said something silly," she informed him, smiling encouragingly, "but you're still young so of course you're prone to be like that. I've no doubt that you'll understand in time."
"I'm twenty-three, you know," he pointed out, to which she simply shrugged.
"And? I know plenty of people that age who are silly," she replied, before shooting a glance at their third partner, "I know plenty of people who are older and still silly. Like Kane."
"Hey!" the dark-haired male snapped aggressively.
"Do you chew him out as well?" Chris asked, somewhat bitterly. Unfortunately, when the expression on the young female's face momentarily became one of hurt, he felt inordinately guilty for his remark.
"Give what I said a little thought and maybe we can be talking about it later, okies?" the Lieutenant questioned, to which the blond simply nodded in agreement, this in turn bringing a smile back to her face, "in that case, come on toots, fifty points awaits."
Administrative Director Cecil Washington regarded his watch with an air of irritability, doing so for the umpteenth time in the past quarter of an hour. His aggravated sigh of discontent roused the attention of the leader of the black-clad Special Forces unit responsible for his safety, who turned to him, the gasmask on its face obscuring its identity. The executive matched glances with the glowing red pinpoints of light at the centre of the soldier's goggles momentarily before turning to stare out of the window at the dark city below. He was a gaunt man with well-maintained black hair that was beginning to turn silver at its edges and possessed an air of distinction in his expensive, tailored suit, which was grey in colour and had been embroidered in several places with the Umbrella Corporation's octagonal logo. The conglomerate's private military were wearing the customary generic uniform that made their relative position in the company's hierarchy clear, though most of them dwarfed him considerably in spite of his tall and lean stature.
"Where the hell is he?" the Director growled, pulling back his sleeve and inspecting his timepiece once again.
"Urgent matters have come to his attention and he has been forced to take a short adjournment," the U.S.F unit's leader informed him, the voice emanating from the mask distinctly female and distorted eerily by the filter over her mouth as well as an abnormal level of emotionless neutrality that made her tone flat and level, almost as though she were simply regurgitating word-for-word what someone else had told her, "my apologies."
The executive sneered and gave a dismissive wave, unwilling to comment. "Tell me, Miss...?" he began, waiting for her to answer as he changed the topic of conversation.
"Sergeant Olivia Green," the shrouded woman said dully.
"Indeed, Sergeant Green, tell me, are you a good soldier?" he queried, moving away from her and seating himself at his desk, leaning back into the padded leather chair and lacing his fingers as he waited for the U.S.F member's response.
"My classification is that of the highest level, "she stated, "I lack the data for further extrapolation."
"You understand my concern, of course," the suited male replied, "I need to be certain that my safety is being taken seriously."
"My priority is to ensure your safety," she told him, continuing to stare at him from behind her breathing apparatus "I have been selected especially to match your specifications by my commanding officer."
"Naturally, I would expect no less from him, though it rather begs the question as to why a man like him needs surround himself with such talented officers, having no security concerns of his own," he mused aloud. As he had not addressed her directly, however, she did not respond. There was something almost soulless about her nature that put him in mind of a doll.
He turned his eyes away from her to take in the rest of her group. Unlike her they showed signs of life, shifting uncomfortably every now and then from one foot to the other, movements and motions that made the man that much more comfortable in their presence in complete contrast to the autonomous actions of their superior. There were two individuals posted by the window at her command, and another by the door, while her second-in-command stood at the other end of the desk. He was aware of the presence of two further groups of four soldiers who were patrolling the hallways and rooms throughout the upper level, and he could hear them talking over the radio at regular intervals to announce their status. Almost on cue, her radio gave a burst of static to signify an incoming transmission.
"Contact," one of her corporals said simply. The U.S.F commanding officer reached to the device on her shoulder, thumbing the button that allowed outgoing communication, her motions few and subtle, and any requiring a greater deal of effort seeming almost mechanical.
"Number? Specifications?" she asked. When there was no response, she pressed the same button once again. "Fire team two, locate fire team three and assess their condition," she commanded, before turning to the soldier posted at the door of the office they were currently waiting in, "proceed to this room's exterior and signal if there is any disturbance."
The man saluted sharply and exited the room, quickly and efficiently following the order that he had been given in the manner that he had been trained for. Washington could not help but wonder if perhaps the soldier was as pleased to be out of his commanding officer's presence as he imagined he was. The executive wondered exactly what it was that made the female behave in such a manner that even those who were trained to be emotionless and exercise no discretion of their own seemed eager to avoid her company.
"Something wrong, Sergeant Green?" the suited male asked, a perplexed look appearing on his face.
"No," she told him, her face as hauntingly blank as the mask that covered it.
"Boooriiing!" Shakahnna announced, loudly from her position, crouching within one the door frames of the uppermost floor's offices. As was regularly the case on a Saturday evening, she was blood-stained and elated with bullets flying inches from her right ear.
She had given herself a pat on the back for scoring the first fifteen points of the evening without the victim in question even realising that he had improved the redhead's standing on the League Table, impaling him through the back of the neck without so much as letting him know that she was standing directly behind him. Unfortunately, his superior had noticed her at that point and radioed the other members of his unit. For spoiling her foray into stealth she had sliced off his hand, though even with a segment of his body missing he had still been capable of punching her full in the face with his left, and only, fist, before she had gleefully decapitated him with one simultaneous swipe of both of her bladed gloves. At that point, however, the other half of his team had opened fire on her and she had been forced to move out of the corridor. Though not overly concerned with her own mortality, she was not an idiot either. And in spite of the fact that she had a newly-acquired burst lip to enjoy, thirty seconds was far too long for a fire fight in her opinion.
"Not really the word I would use," Chris replied from the doorway opposite hers, before spinning out into the hallway and unleashing a blast of gunfire from his weapon that peppered the walls, missing the enemy soldiers, who ducked into offices of their own to avoid his bullets. Further from the conflict, Kane could be heard swearing loudly as he too laid down a hail of nine millimetre fire in their direction.
"You know what makes boring stuff more interesting?" the Lieutenant asked, grinning broadly as she reached to her belt and unhooked one of her grenades, looking at the blond with an expression that conveyed her intentions just as efficiently as the explosive device sitting in her palm.
"Are you serious?" he stammered, to which she rolled her eyes.
"Some day, toots, you'll get to know me better and realise that I'm always serious," she informed him, receiving nothing but a blank stare in response, "now cover me, okies?"
Obediently, the younger male spun on the spot again and sprayed the corridor in front of him, just as his partner took the ring of the grenade's pin in her teeth and pulled it out with a shake of her head. With that, she tossed it backwards over her shoulder and rose to her feet as her fair-haired subordinate ducked into the shelter of her doorway. There was a loud explosion and two synchronised male screams as the U.S.F members were blown up, and then the flame-haired sadomasochist whirled into the hall and skipped the now-scorched length of it to find her quarry.
She located the first victim lying bloodied amid a drift of loose paper, a piece of shrapnel embedded in his sternum, and promptly strode over to him, listening to him breathe heavily through his filter as he watched her through the cracked lenses on his goggles. Offering him an unsympathetic smile, she reached down and hooked her left set of claws into the front of his black uniform before lifting him up and stabbing him roughly through the eyes. Dropping him again, she turned around to find that her second target had been located lying face down amid the debris from a wall by her junior, who aimed his MP5 and executed the prone male via a gunshot to the head. Shakahnna contemplated playfully chastising him for taking her fifteen points, but instead advanced on him and clapped him on the back in a gesture of camaraderie.
"Nice work," she told him, smiling at him cheerfully, "you be's getting it now. And remember to tell Captain Shawn how many you gotted when we go back so he can write your score down."
"What the hell was that?" Kane snarled angrily as he approached their position, pressing the button on his firearm to eject the empty magazine there before slamming in a new clip. He was evidently displeased with something that she had done, and more so than usual as his customary frown seemed that much deeper. "You want to make our position any more obvious?" he growled, "if the guys guarding our target have any training at all, they'll be moving the V.I.P out of here already."
"There's no way I'm letting fifty points get away from me," Shakahnna informed him, wiping her blades on the front of her uniform before turning to walk down the corridor, "which means that we should be going now."
She walked ahead of the two males, leading them further down the corridor in search of the individual who would earn her a one thousand point total. She smiled at that thought and it brought the spring back into her step. As they reached the end of that stretch of hallway, however, they were accosted by a four-strong group of soldiers clad in black and wearing gasmasks coming around the corner to the left. Almost instinctively reacting to the presence of an enemy, the redhead clawed at the foremost figure's wrist, slashing his forearms and causing him to fumble his weapon. Grunting aggressively, the masked individual aimed a solid kick at the young woman's head, only for her to block the strike with one hand and impale the man's crotch with the other's talons. The three behind shouldered their sub-machineguns and opened fire without hesitation, forcing her to lunge to the side, dragging her castrated pin cushion along with her. The door to the office beside her splintered under her weight as the air where she had previously been standing was filled with flying lead and she hit the floor on top of it, her latest victim collapsing next to her in a bloodied heap.
Chris and Kane stood against the wall of the corridor, their weapons raised as the U.S.F unit continued its barrage, both waiting in relative impatience, though the latter was decidedly more aggravated. When the hail of bullets halted, a new member of the corporate militia stepped into view, only for the dark-haired male to tackle him roughly to the ground. The two fell through the open doorway, Shakahnna rolling neatly out of the way as they crashed to the floor where she had been lying, the S.T.A.R.S member taking the immediate upper hand and punching his opponent square in the air filter covering his mouth. Electing not to remain where they were, the two final troops rushed around the corner and quickly caught the last, unmasked individual in the passage off guard, grabbing him forcibly and shoving him to the floor. Seeing this, the Lieutenant hopped up and struggled her way through the door, stepping over the one dead and two living bodies in the office's entrance.
Uncharacteristically aggravated, the redhead slid her claws into the spine of the nearest enemy and pulled him backwards, holding him around the face with one arm and tilting his head back expertly, before bringing her blades to his throat and slashing his windpipe open. The four parallel gashes bubbled as he struggled for breath, dark red blood oozing from the wounds as she let him flop to the carpet below. Her fair-haired subordinate used the second attacker's momentary distraction to his advantage and kicked out, scoring a direct hit with the other man's groin, bringing his MP5 up and leaving a trail of bullet holes across the length of his torso. Most impacted harmlessly on the flak jacket, though the last two struck him under the chin and through the eye in turn. He staggered and then toppled backwards, slumping to the floor beside his companion.
The second-in-command of the navy-clad soldiers offered a hand to the younger man lying sprawled on the ground, who looked pointedly at the knives attached to the back of her glove and then stood up under his own power. "Thanks, but I could do without any more scars," he said apologetically, brushing his uniform off as he clambered to his feet, "still, thanks, I am grateful."
"Suit yourself, toots, but that is quite alright," she replied, smiling until she became aware of the other individual's blackened eye and the fact that he was favouring his left side, "you okay?"
"Yeah, he just kicked me a couple of times is all," he informed her, shooting a glance at the corpse of the soldier who had previously been standing over him, "although I guess we're more than even now, huh?"
"Uhuh," she agreed, turning around to find Kane still standing over the last of the U.S.F fire team and slamming his fists into each side of the downed individual's face relentlessly. The abused soldier lolled back and forth with each blow, limp perhaps because he was unconscious or dead. Shakahnna beamed and wandered around the corner in search of her target, while Chris clapped a hand on his dark-haired partner's shoulder.
"We should get moving," he said, to which the other male nodded, withdrawing his sidearm casually, flicking off the safety catch and pulling back the slide to chamber a bullet. Seemingly without conscience, he pressed the barrel to the forehead of the battered Special Forces operative and pulled the trigger. Then, with all the brooding nonchalance that the blond had come to expect from his companion, he snapped the catch back into place and holstered the pistol.
"Right," he grunted as he stood up, brushing past his junior briskly.
"Hey, do you get along with Shak?" the youth asked, following quickly behind.
"No, I hate her," the other grunted, without sparing his colleague a glance, clear that the feeling extended well beyond their redheaded partner.
"Really? You don't seem to have that kind of relationship from what I've seen," he commented, attempting to match pace with the short-tempered soldier.
"She assumes that because we're on the same team we must be friends; she behaved that way even around the people who disapproved of her little game, the ones who treated her like she was a monster or some kind of nut job," he explained, maintaining his focus on the corridor, "I'm not sure whether she thinks she'll change the way we act by being overly pleasant or if she's just one of those people who can't be an asshole. That or she's oblivious, which would be kind of pathetic."
"I think that's awful, I mean, would it kill you to be less of a jerk?" the younger of the two asked, which caused the elder to scowl deeply but still did not earn him eye contact, "besides, didn't you offer her a cigarette downstairs?"
"What, like that precedes a fucking marriage proposal? Besides, I don't like her but if I was going to have anyone backing me up at a crucial moment then it would be her," he responded, finally glancing sidelong at the man who was attempting to walk beside him, "don't get me wrong, I could care less about the people in this fucked up organisation, but I want my revenge. I may be fighting the good fight, but I do what I do for me alone."
"You're a selfish prick," Chris informed him flatly, this time his stride outstripping that of Kane's as the dark-haired soldier slowed slightly.
"Fuck you!" he growled at the other man's back, before picking up his pace again to chase the two other members of his team as they advanced through the complex's penthouse. Further ahead he could see the Lieutenant rounding a corner and stopping dead, a broad grin appearing on her face.
"There you are!" she cried happily, and before her subordinates could catch up with her, she took off at a run.
Shakahnna's grin was in full bloom as she raced down the hallway towards the League Table's Holy Grail, the man in the expensive, grey suit evidently the one that she was looking for. Fortunately, there was also another U.S.F unit gathered around him and she began to salivate at the thought of all those points. It was doubtful that she would not have surpassed the one thousand point mark by the time this operation had concluded, and this pleased her no end. Luckily, the space between her and her quarry was not that great, and before the foremost soldier had even raised his weapon she plunged her claws to the hilt in his stomach, arching them upwards to puncture the organs within his ribcage before clutching him around the throat with her free hand and lifting him off his feet. She carried him forwards using him as a shield against the bullets of her opponents, even as the leader of the black-clad group gripped the collar of the executive's suit roughly and pulled him to the side.
"Suppressing fire," the female Special Forces member ordered emotionlessly, rearing back and kicking a nearby door open in a shower of wooden fragments, before unceremoniously tossing the well-dressed male through it, seemingly not so respectful of his status. The other soldiers under her command retreated, continuing to fire upon the approaching S.T.A.R.S members as they filed out through the doorway and into the room beyond the corridor.
Pouting at their unwillingness to play with her, she dropped the recently deceased male and gave chase, only to jump backwards when one of the three remaining subordinates doubled back and emerged into the hallway, spraying the walls with bullets. Ducking down as the man spun to bring his weapon to bear upon her, she swung her leg around in an arc and tripped him, causing him to slump against the wall. Having suffered a heavy blow to the head courtesy of the vertical surface, he lifted his right hand to ward away any attacks that might have been aimed at him, only for the female to slice off three of his fingers in a single swipe before kicking him firmly in the face and stepping over him in a bid to make haste after her true objective. As she had expected, Kane quickly pounced upon the downed man with his combat knife drawn and began to dissect him in a none-too-subtle manner. Chris arrived at the door as she made it halfway across the room, only for a new soldier to appear in the entrance opposite and level his weapon.
With reflexes that would make a cat jealous, the redhead dropped to the floor behind one of this office's various desks as the recent arrival pulled the trigger. The burst of semi-automatic fire passed over Shakahnna's position on the ground and would most likely have hit her had she not ducked at that exact moment, but unfortunately caught her young partner off guard. One of the rounds struck him in the armour covering his chest, the impact punching him off his feet and sending him slamming backwards into the wall at his rear. Incensed, the female grabbed one of the nearby swivel chairs and stood up, lifting it over her head and hurling it at the soldier advancing into the room, who blocked it haphazardly and recoiled when the seat back cracked one of his goggles' lenses. She was on him immediately, thrusting her blades at his torso, only to be denied by the presence of his MP5, which he used as a makeshift shield before drawing his own sharp-edged weapon and swinging at her. She parried, receiving a neat slice across the back of her forearm as the knife slid past, before twirling athletically out of his reach. When he made the mistake of stepping forward to reach her, she finished her spin with a swing of her right arm, bringing it up in an uppercut and impaling his head through the underside of his chin. Blood spurted from his mouth, the victor's claws visible between his teeth until she casually withdrew them from his skull and pushed him over with her other hand.
Chris was sitting in the corridor outside of the room rubbing his chest through his flak-jacket, while Kane stood nearby, evidently finished with the now-mutilated corpse that was bleeding onto the carpet without any sign of stopping. She crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You'll have to be more careful, toots," she said, pleased to see that he was unharmed but concerned for his well-being nonetheless, "don't want you to be getting hurt now, do we?"
"I guess not," the blond said, climbing to his feet using the wall as a prop and retrieving his MP5 from where it hung on its strap, "thanks, Shak."
"Okies, those three are either heading for the stairs, in which case they'll run into Captain Shawn and the others downstairs, or they're planning on doubling back to the elevator, which I like better as a turn of events because it means we can cut them off," she stated as the S.T.A.R.S members gathered in a triangle, "so you two are going back to the elevator in case they do that second one and I'm going to chase after them because I really want those fifty points."
The dark-haired male grunted. "That's a winner," he muttered sardonically, to which the redhead smiled and began to nod enthusiastically, leaving the scowling individual incredibly bemused.
"Are you going to be okay on your own?" the youngest team member asked, earning himself a look from his superior that oozed smugness that he had never encountered in such extreme measures before.
"Hehehe, I'll let you off because you're new, but I should probably have kicked you in the knackers for that one," she informed him, which caused there to be two people in the corridor who were incredibly bemused, "now let's hurry up before my fifty points have gotted away."
"Right," Chris said, shouldering his weapon as Kane simply nodded and did the same. She allowed herself a moment to wave after them as they made their way back to the elevators, before she turned to the path taken by the two remaining U.S.F members and the businessman they were attempting to protect. Grinning broadly, she cupped her hands to her mouth and called after them.
"Ready or not, here I come!"