RESIDENT EVIL

by DarkAngelus1

I was playing REmake, and started wondering just what it had to be like for the characters between games. I mean, beyond the files and short endings. So, I did a little marathon with all the main games, and this is what I got. Chap.12 is up! Please, R&R

5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer; I don't own Resident Evil, or any of it's characters. I'm just a humble fan who's waiting impatiently for RE5(get on it, Capcom!).

Synopsis: I was playing REmake, and started wondering just what it had to be like for the characters between games. I mean, beyond the files and short endings. Not to mention, why they killed off some potentially decent characters so quickly. So, I did a little marathon with the main games, and this is what I came up with. This is what happens when I get bored. So, here goes nothing. . .

Author's Note: I've tried to stay true to the RE timeline, but I've found so many contradictions from different sources that I can't be sure I got it right. So, if I've made any mistakes, I apologize.

RESIDENT EVIL

Chapter Five

Hunk made his way through the sewers beneath the Raccoon Police Department, grateful for the helmet that filtered out the noxious fumes. The tunnel was dry right now, but the water marks on the walls showed that it filled on a regular basis. He was not looking forward to tramping through it on the return trip. He'd worked in worse places in the past, but there was something disquieting about underground missions. Especially, in an Umbrella facility.

But this was what they paid him the big bucks for, he reminded himself. He and another member of the U.S.F.U., Miguel Rodriguez, were half of the mercenary unit sent to retrieve the G-virus sample from William Birkin's secret underground laboratory. Two more mercenaries waited back at the sewer entrance, assuring that their mission wouldn't be affected by any outside interference.

This mission had been authorized by Christine Henri, the woman who had replaced Jacques Pollet as supervisor of the U.S.F.U.. Pollet had been his immediate supervisor before suffering an undisclosed 'accident' after the Spenser Mansion incident. Bullshit, Hunk thought cynically. Umbrella's board of director's hadn't liked the old man, and had eliminated him after he had refused to resign. The Umbrella retirement plan. You had to love it.

Hunk paused as he heard voices up ahead, then motioned Miguel forward. He ignored a ladder to his right that led to a ventilation fan, approaching a small alcove on his left. Two maintenance workers were talking as they repaired a cracked section of the stone wall. Hunk shot the taller one through the heart, while Miguel took the shorter worker with a head shot.

He shook his head as he turned away, his boots tapping a quiet staccato on the stone floor. He hated killing these poor schmucks simply because they happened to be here, but orders were orders. No witnesses, that French bitch had told him coldly. Go in, kill Birkin, retrieve the sample undetected. Those were his orders.

Well, two out of three wasn't bad, he thought, grinning beneath his helmet. He didn't care what Christine Henri said, he wasn't killing Birkin. The man was a scientist, not a soldier. Sure, he might throw a major hissy-fit when they took the G-virus from him, but it was his creation. He'd have a right to be pissed, and Hunk wasn't going to kill the geek for it.

And neither would Miguel. He slanted a glance at the shorter man, a seasoned merc like himself. Rodriguez wouldn't fuck with him on this. He was Mr. Death, usually the sole survivor of these missions. If the other man wanted to live, he would do as Hunk told him, and leave Birkin the hell alone.

This was it, Hunk thought firmly. This would be the last job he did for Umbrella. Once the sample was in his superiors hands, he was gone. He had decided against taking the surveillance gig in France. He was going to get Billy's new identity set up, take the kid to Europe, and stash him someplace safe. He'd send whoever got the job on a wild goose chase, and he'd warn Redfield that he and Chambers were being watched. He'd offer to take them to Billy, and his kid brother would make him an uncle. What more could any man ask for?

Billy would have the life that those Marine assholes had stolen from him. Hunk would become a ghost after this; he didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to keep Umbrella out of his life. He would work from behind the scenes and try to clear the kid's name, but he didn't think he'd have much luck there. The military had done a damned good job of covering the African incident up. He'd try, because it was what Billy wanted, but he wasn't expecting any results.

Still, it was the least he could do for the kid. Billy's father had made his life hell for six years after their mother's death, and Hunk's presence in the house had only made things worse. Billy Coen Sr. might have gone easier on his own son if he hadn't been forced to live with a constant reminder of his wife's first marriage.

And he had other things to worry about, Hunk reminded himself as they left the sewers. He and Miguel hit the tram station, and rode the tram to the main laboratory. He took out the security guard roaming the main hall and checked the security room. Satisfied that the guard had been alone, he waved Miguel forward and entered the central lab complex.

A catwalk led to a small covered area which housed the laboratory's main power unit. They turned right and followed the walkway with the red light over the entrance. They entered the corridor quickly, killing any workers who crossed their paths. They were mostly scientists and researchers, and not a gun among the lot of them. Most were so absorbed in their work that they never even saw the bullet coming.

He shook his head at the waste as they approached Birkin's main lab. "Remember, Birkin's not to be hurt," he told the other man coldly. "Disable him if you have to, but don't kill him."

"Roger that," Miguel said quickly, more than willing to go against orders to keep Death from killing him.

They crept through the entryway and entered the lab, their machine guns drawn. "There he is."

William Birkin's blond head came up as they entered, surprise etched into his youthful features. He grabbed a handgun from the counter, his chair flying as he stood and pointed it at them. "So, you've finally come."

Hunk lowered the TMP slightly. "Doctor, we're here to collect the G-virus sample."

Birkin's narrowed blue eyes went back and forth between them, the gun following as he began to back away. "Sorry, but I won't just hand over my life's work."

The scientist's left hand hovered over a silver durilium case in a protective manner, and Hunk knew where the sample was being kept. Birkin's elbow hit a canister on the counter and sent it tumbling to the floor. His blue eyes widened dramatically a split-second before Miguel began to fire. Hunk grabbed the barrel of the machine gun and shoved it down, cursing fluidly under his breath.

"Careful," he said, keeping the anger out of his voice, "you might hit the sample."

But it was too late. Birkin took five shots to the right side of his body and was thrown into the counter. He slid down it slowly, a look of shock on his too-young face. His shoulders slumped, his chin dropping to his chest, as blood began to pool on the metal floor beneath him.

Hunk knelt beside him and put his hand on the silver case, glancing briefly at the fallen scientist. Poor bastard, he thought as he opened the case. Several clear capsules filled with purplish liquid lined the case, along with at least four blue ones. The T-virus, he thought with surprise. He hadn't realized Birkin was still working on it. He closed it with a decisive click, and grasped the handle firmly.

"That's it, all right." He rose to his feet, grateful for the helmet that hid his furious expression. He gestured towards the door, keeping his voice even as he said, "Let's move out."

They moved rapidly through the complex, backtracking through sewers beneath the police station. Hunk was enraged as he led the way, unable to believe that a seasoned soldier like Miguel Rodriguez had lost his cool like that and killed a non-combatant--against his express orders. Birkin had been an egghead, goddamn it! So what if he'd had a gun? He and Miguel were both wearing body armor. They could have taken a few hits from that damned pea-shooter the doctor had and simply disarmed the man. Killing him had not been necessary.

Not that Miguel would outlive the scientist for long, Hunk thought with cold fury. As soon as they heard from the other half of the unit, he was going to eliminate the other man and stash the body. No one fucked with Mr. Death and lived to tell about it.

He dropped back slightly, letting the other man take the lead, and contemplating taking him out now. It might be months before he got another chance, and who knew what might happen between now and then. He was drawing a bead on the back of Miguel's helmet when the transmitter in his helmet crackled to life.

"Alpha Team, have you retrieved the sample, yet?"

Hunk flicked the switch on the side of his helmet. "Affirmative," he said simply.

"We'll meet you at the rendezvous point in one minute."

"Roger." He glanced at Miguel, pissed that he didn't have enough time to kill him the way he'd planned. Now, he'd have to wait until they got back to France, and kill the guy at a later date. Damn, but he hated being thwarted!

He took the lead once more, quickly leading the way to the sewer entrance. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. "What--" Oh, shit!-- "What is that thing?"

The monster stood at least twelve feet tall, it's skin a deep purple, its exposed muscles blood red. It roared at them, the sound echoing off of the stone walls, even as it's right hand began to morph. Three large, sharp claws grew out of the hand, a slitted eye appearing in the creature's right arm. The monster took a step towards them, and he was jarred out of his fascinated trance.

"Fire!" he yelled, bringing up the TMP and pulling the trigger.

"Fire," Miguel echoed, stepping forward as he unloaded his gun into the B.O.W.. It slashed at the mercenary and he went down with a high-pitched scream. It advanced on Hunk slowly, the remnants of a white lab coat and its blond hair marking it as one of the facility's scientists. As his gun clicked dry, Hunk had a sinking feeling that he knew which scientist this had once been.

He shook his head as it lifted its arm, unable to believe that his life was going to end like this! The monster brought its claw down, and fire burned through Hunk's chest as it was sliced open. He dropped like a stone, landing hard on the damp stone floor. The creature drew its arm back for another blow when a scream caught its attention. He caught a brief glimpse of two armored soldiers, the other half of his unit, before the B.O.W. tore them to pieces.

Hunk held his breath, remaining as still as possible, as what was left of William Birkin came back. He watched through fuzzy eyes as the bioweapon stomped on the virus samples, which had somehow spilled out of the case. It had probably opened when he'd dropped it, he thought distantly.

He didn't know how much time had passed when the mutated scientist finally lost interest in the destroyed samples and simply loped away. He was headed towards the tunnels that led to the lab, and Hunk felt sorry for all the people that were going to die tonight--himself included.

He thought of Billy, and all the plans he'd had for them both, and felt like crying for first time since childhood. After three long, frustrating years, he had finally been given a chance to help his little brother, and he had fucked it up by getting himself killed in a goddamn sewer.

I'm sorry, kid, he thought as his awareness began to fade. I tried.

Billy moved through the darkened house quietly, a pair of borrowed sneakers leaving faint impressions in the thick carpeting. He had found the running shoes in one of the upstairs closets, along with a bevy of weaponry. Ada's secret stash, he thought with a fleeting grin. Somehow, he didn't think she'd mind his raiding it, considering the circumstances.

He adjusted the weapons pack he wore at his waist and crept down the stairs. So far, none of the zombies had managed to make it into the safe house, but he wasn't taking any chances. From his roof-top vantage point, he had seen more than one person go down under the sheer numbers of the undead monsters. He was determined not to become one of them.

By the time he had realized what was happening, the infection had already spread through Raccoon City. The media was telling people to stay in their homes and let the military its job, even as they showed images of barricades being constructed at three of the four entrances to Raccoon City. Apparently, the experts were baffled by the sudden wave of cannibalistic murders that had swept through Raccoon City like wildfire, and no one knew the cause of this horrendous incident.

Billy snorted to himself as he sidled close to a window and peeked out. "Umbrella, of course," he muttered with disgust. Somehow, the T-virus had made its way to Raccoon City, and Umbrella hadn't bothered to let anyone know it. He had waited here most of the day, hoping that Hunk or Ada would show up with news. Now, the streets were literally crawling with the undead, and he couldn't afford to screw around any longer. He'd left a note upstairs, in the room he'd been using, just in case his brother or his girlfriend were actually stupid enough to come back here. Somehow, he didn't think they would.

As of ten minutes ago, the tram line connecting Raccoon City to Stoneville had still been open, and that's where he was going to go. If he could somehow beat the Army there, he could get the hell out of Dodge before he was either eaten, infected, or arrested. It was on the other side of town, and he had a good thirty miles or so between here and there, but it was probably his best bet. The military were already camped out at the west exit, which was only ten miles away, so he couldn't go there.

No, he thought as he watched the zombies mill around in the yard, he'd head for the only open exit left and hope like hell he made it. He had no intention of dying here tonight, not when Rebecca waited for him somewhere in Europe.

"Fuck!" Billy swore in a whisper. "I really hate this shit!" He checked his .45, more out of habit than any real need. It was fully loaded with armor-piercing bullets, as was every other gun he had on him. He only had three first-aid sprays, and he really hoped that he wouldn't need them. He'd also found a few grenades, but they wouldn't last long if the news reports were accurate.

He knew there was a good chance that he wouldn't make it out of this, but he steadfastly pushed the knowledge away. He had survived three years in military hell, and one horrific T-virus outbreak. He could survive this, if for no other reason than he refused to let himself be beat by anyone. He was alone and he was outnumbered, but he would not let himself be killed by any damned Umbrella bioweapon!

He'd checked all sides of the safe house, and the zombies were everywhere. They hadn't managed to break the windows yet, but they were quickly closing in. He might as well go through the front door. He was going to have to shoot his way out, anyway.

Billy approached the front door, swallowing hard as he heard the moans that were much too close for comfort, and threw it open. Several zombies turned in tandem, and he took off running. He shot two that got too close, the enhanced bullets making their head to explode, and smiled grimly.

"Two down, six-hundred-thousand to go," he muttered with dark humor.

He dodged a particularly gruesome corpse that was missing it's left arm and jumped over a crawler. He fought his way out of the community and took Park Street towards the heart of Raccoon City. He dodged the zombies when he could, taking their heads when he couldn't. He reloaded as quickly as he could, but the few seconds that took continually cost him. He was being forced back as wave after wave of undead surrounded him, losing precious ground with each passing moment.

"Oh, hell no!" Billy shouted, lashing out with his foot and kicking several to the ground. "I am not dying here!"

He traded the Magnum for a M-16 machine gun and began to mow through the hungry mob. He aimed for their heads, not really expecting to kill them all, just praying to create a gap big enough for him to escape through. Soon enough, he had knocked down enough to run past the immediate throng. He was almost through when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders from behind.

Billy felt himself being dragged backwards and fought of a rush of panic. He pulled uselessly against the creature's hold, knowing even as he struggled that it was futile. He lifted the M-16 and aimed blindly over his shoulder. He uttered a short prayer and pulled the trigger. The hands holding him disappeared, and he shot forward, climbing onto the roof of the nearest car.

The station wagon rocked as the zombies rocked it, and Billy widened his stance to keep his balance. He swayed with the vehicle, his breathing a little too shallow as he sought to calm himself. He ignored the moans that filled the night air, as well as the ringing in his ears, as he got a good look at his surroundings.

The ten feet between him and Central Street might as well have been miles. A sea of zombies stood between him and freedom, if there was any of that left in Raccoon. Despair filled him as he realized that, no matter how much ammunition he had, or how powerful his weapons were, he wasn't going to make it out of Raccoon City alive. If he wasn't completely devoured by the reanimated corpses who were throwing themselves against the car, then he would end up infected with the T-virus.

An image of Joseph flashed through his mind, and Billy smiled sadly. He honestly didn't know which would be worse, dying and being resurrected as a zombie, or dying and being resurrected as a super-B.O.W. Either way, he wouldn't be human anymore. Hell, he might not even survive as himself. Who knew what kind of damage the virus was capable of doing to the human mind. Joe had gone from a nice, frightened guy to a cold, implacable son of a bitch in the space of a few hours. He didn't want that to happen to him.

"No way," Billy mumbled, putting the M-16 away and drawing the Magnum once more. "I'd rather die as a fucking human."

But not quite yet. He had at least one more trick up his sleeve before he resigned himself to the inevitable. He pulled one of the grenades from his waist pack, absently cataloguing the way it felt against his palm. He pulled the pin, drew his arm back, and threw it as hard as he could. It quickly disappeared, swallowed by the undead throng. He knelt and grabbed the luggage wrack on top of the old station wagon just as it exploded. His heartbeat skipped as a large gap formed in the zombies' ranks. He rose, intending to make a run for it, when more of the desiccated B.O.W.s poured into the hole. The gap was gone as quickly as it had formed, and his hope fled with it.

He gripped the Magnum tightly, his thoughts turning to the woman he loved. Rebecca had been gone for five weeks--thirty-five days, to be exact. He still didn't know where, because Hunk had repeatedly refused to tell him, and now it was too late. He would never be able to tell her that he loved her, or even know what it was like to hold her in his arms and kiss her senseless. He was going to die in this godforsaken place, and she would never know what had happened to him.

Billy looked down as one determined zombie began to climb onto the hood. His dark blue eyes narrowed as he lifted the Magnum and blew its head apart. The headless corpse slid off the hood, leaving a trail of coagulated blood behind, and dropped to the ground. Two more took its place, and Billy's eyes filled with moisture even as he killed them.

God, but he didn't want to die! he thought as he replaced the spent rounds. As depressed as he had been the last three years, he didn't truly want to take his own life any longer. All he wanted was to find a way to clear his name, and live to a ripe old age with Rebecca Chambers.

"I'm sorry, Rebecca," he whispered hoarsely. "Please, don't forget me."

He thought of his brother, who had tried so hard to help him, and was swamped with regret. He hadn't had a chance to apologize to Hunk for treating so badly after learning that Rebecca had left. Hunk had gone on yet another mission, then another, and Raccoon City had simply gone to hell.

He would always be grateful to Hunk for believing in him, and he hoped that his big brother realized it, and wouldn't blame himself for this. He lifted the gun and pressed it to his temple. He squeezed his eyes shut and used his thumb to pull back the hammer. He whispered another apology even as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Billy suddenly found himself flat on his back, the air knocked from his lungs. The impact knocked the Magnum from his hands, and he scrambled after it. He reached the side of the car, his eyes widening dramatically. The gun was forgotten as he observed the bodies that now lay scattered around him. He turned and was astonished to see hundreds of zombies lying in pieces all around him. Many of them were on fire, the scent of burning flesh quickly filling the air.

He glanced behind him but didn't see the Desert Eagle. Fuck that, he thought suddenly. I am not going after it. He fumbled with the weapons pack and grabbed the shotgun. He didn't know who had set the explosion that had just saved his life, but they had done one hellova job. The zombies' numbers had been drastically reduced, and he knew that this might be his only chance to get away.

He leapt to the ground and ran for his life. As he approached Central Street, he contemplated taking a southern detour. Kendo's Gunshop was no more than a block away, right across the street from the Raccoon Police Department. He could use some body armor, as well as another .45. But there probably wouldn't be much left, and he'd be risking his freedom if he were recognized by any of the R.P.D.

In the end, he decided that it wasn't worth it. He turned left on Central, flinching as he observed the carnage of Raccoon City's main street. Smoldering police cars sat at odd angles at either end of the block, their doors standing open, the barricades they'd been guarding in pieces on the ground. As he approached Central Station, he observed a single helmet lying on the blackened pavement, the remnant of some cop's riot gear. Its mirrored visor reflected the chaos that was Raccoon City almost as eloquently as the single shotgun that lay beside it.

One of the many burning bodies surrounding him rose with an awful groan and staggered towards him. Billy eyed it warily, hating that he had to let the thing close in order to conserve ammo. The last thing he wanted was to be set on fire by damned thing. He could feel the heat of the fire as it raised its flaming arms and reached for him. He fought the urge to back away, adjusted his aim, and pulled the trigger.

The headless took another step towards him before falling forward. Billy jumped out of its way, whirling around as he head more moans behind him. Damn, but he had to get off the streets, he thought as he blasted his way through the thinned undead army. He needed a place to regroup, and try to get his bearings.

He took a right just past Central Station, a smile lighting his fine features as he observed the neon sign. He made his way to the Taxago station, a scowl replacing the smile as he observed four zombies shuffling around the pumps. "Figures," he muttered angrily, pumping the shotgun once.

They began to advance, and he let them draw closer, taking careful aim. He blew the heads of two at once, pumped another round into the chamber, and shot the third. It's head disappeared, as well as part of one shoulder. He used his sleeve to wipe the gore from his face and took aim at the last zombie.

It dropped to the pavement, its head gone, and he stepped over it nervously. "Fucking zombies," he muttered sadly.

He reloaded as he approached the store, hoping that there weren't more waiting for him inside. He pulled the door open, wincing as a bell jangled overhead. "Well, hell. There goes the element of surprise."

Billy held the old Remington before him, cautiously scanning each isle.

When nothing jumped out at him, he relaxed fractionally, switching the shotgun to his left hand. He approached the cooler and scowled darkly. Of course, all the bottled water was gone, he thought caustically. He grabbed a bottle of soda and chugged it down, tossing the empty container aside with a burp. He grabbed another and shoved it into his waist pack for later. He took few candy bars from the nearly empty shelves and hoped that no one else had beaten him to the money.

He rounded the front counter and popped the register open. "Figures," he sighed as he observed all of the small bills. He grabbed them and stuffed it into his pockets, before checking under the tray. "Bingo!"

He grabbed four fifties and two hundred dollar bills and quickly pocketed them. As guilty as he felt about stealing the money, he needed it, and there was no else here to claim it. He was damned lucky that no one else had beaten him to it. Looting was usually the first thing that followed a disaster like this.

Billy heard a noise towards the back of the store and ducked down. He glanced up at the security monitor, but couldn't see anyone. Either he was hearing things, or something was waiting beyond the camera's range. He cautiously peeked around the counter, but could see nothing on the main floor. His navy gaze flicked to a dimly-lit archway, and he sighed heavily. He couldn't leave without checking the back rooms. What if someone was actually alive back there?

He crept cautiously into the back and checked the office, relieved to find it empty. He glanced at the bathrooms with another sigh. Shit, he hated this part! he thought as he eased the door open. It too was empty, and he let out a relieved breath. He locked the door behind him and went to the sink. He cleaned the blood off of him as best he could with liquid soap, slicking his hair back from his face.

Billy gazed at his reflection, hating what he saw there. He looked tired, worn down, dark circles spreading out beneath his eyes. His features were drawn, little lines bracketing either side of his mouth. God knew, the changes weren't from physical exertion. Tonight was the first time he'd seen any action in months. No, the haunted look in his eyes was from stress, caused by the nightmares that wouldn't stop, and a past he couldn't escape.

He washed his face one more time, using cheap paper towels to dry it. He avoided looking at his reflection again as he turned away. He looked like shit, and he knew it. Still, he didn't quite look sick, just as tired as he felt. Which was good, he reminded himself. Otherwise, he would to be shot by the first survivor he came across--if he came across any.

He left the bathroom and walked through the store, knowing that he had a long way to go before he hit Stoneville. He heard the unmistakable creak of a door opening and whirled around. Shit, he'd forgotten to check the storeroom!

Billy raised the shotgun, his midnight eyes narrowed, as he waited for whatever monster he'd missed to come into view. A man stepped into the light, a red bandana covering his hair, a pair of black sunglasses hiding his eyes. Billy cursed soundly and lowered the shotgun an inch, thinking that his luck was still as rotten as ever.

"Hello, Billy," Joseph Frost greeted in a rumble.

"Joe," he returned cautiously. "What are you doing here?"

Joseph shrugged his big shoulders casually. "The same thing you are, I'd imagine."

Billy inclined his head, taking the opportunity to study the other man. He'd gained weight, Billy thought, taking note of a surprising increase in muscle mass. He was a hellova lot bigger than he'd been two months ago, and not a bit of it was fat. Being a bioweapon obviously agreed with him.

Joseph studied him just as closely, noticing the circles beneath the younger man's eyes, as well as the weight he had lost. He didn't look like he'd been infected, but Joseph couldn't be sure. Just because he was able to sense other creatures infected with the T-virus didn't mean that he'd be able to detect the infection in Billy.

"You look tired," he stated, setting his own shotgun on his shoulder in a deceptively casual gesture. "Are you okay?"

Billy snorted at the reluctant concern in his voice. "Like you'd care," he spat bitterly.

A rush of anger burned through Joseph, and he tamped it down almost absently. He became angry so often that suppressing it had become second nature. "Shooting you was an accident, Billy."

"Yeah, I know," Billy acknowledged with a shrug. He watched the other man's eyes flash through the black-tinted lenses of his sunglasses as he added, "If I'd believed any differently, I would have let Hunk kill you."

Joseph nodded slowly, surprised to find that he was actually worried about the escaped convict. "Who was the man who helped you escape me?" he askedcuriously. "Was he an old comrade from your time in Force Recon?"

"No," Billy returned shortly. "Hunk is my brother."

"That makes sense," he murmured, half to himself. He removed the sunglasses and met Billy's gaze evenly. "You look sick, Billy."

Billy tensed at the dispassionate tone the other man used. "I'm not infected, if that's what you're worried about."

"I didn't think you were." Joseph mimicked his shrug, his sculpted features impassive. "I just wondered what you'd been doing the last two months. I'd expected to run into you sooner."

Billy stiffened, hiding his alarm behind a hostile expression. "You looking to correct that mistake, Joe?" he asked in a sneer. "Maybe finish the job this time?"

"No," Joseph responded flatly. "I'd planned on restraining you and dropping you off in front of the R.P.D."

He laughed, but the sound wasn't pleasant. "I would have forced you to kill me, Joe. I'll be damned if I'll let the military do it. They've taken enough from me as it is," he added roughly.

Joseph didn't respond, merely shrugged again. "Where are you headed, Billy?"

Billy ran a hand through his damp hair, eyeing the other man with suspicious eyes. As much as he hated being alone, he wasn't stupid enough to trust Joseph Frost again. "I thought I'd head east," he said at length, settling for a portion of the truth. "Maybe grab something to eat in Stoneville before I moved on."

Joseph smiled slightly as he recognized the lie buried in Billy's truth. Now, he knew where to find him if he needed to. "You'd better hurry, then," he said neutrally. "There was a military convoy heading that way from the north right before the explosion on Central."

"Great." Billy pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately not to think about what might happen once he got to the exit. "I, uh, I'd better get going, then."

"Yeah, you probably should." Joseph didn't offer a collaboration, fairly certain that Billy wouldn't take it. And he didn't quite trust himself not to hurt the other man if he lost his temper. "Do you need any ammunition?"

Billy blinked, surprised by the offer. "Uh, no, but thanks," he said hastily.

He stood there for a long, awkward moment before turning away. He could feel the other man's gaze boring into his back as he reached the door, and was half expecting to be attacked. Luckily, Joe didn't seem too interested in arresting him anymore, for which he was infinitely grateful. The other man had had two months to learn how to use those enhanced abilities of his, and Billy wasn't sure he could take him if it came to a fight.

He laid a hand flat on the metal frame and paused, watching the other man's reflection in the dirty glass. "Did you ever find your girl, Joe?"

An expression of intense grief crossed Joseph's face. "Yes, I did," came the hoarse answer.

Damn, Billy thought with a wince. "I'm sorry," he offered in a quiet voice.

"Yeah, so was I." Joseph slipped the sunglasses back into place, taking refuge behind the darkened lenses. "Did you find Rebecca Chambers?"

"No, but I will," he answered with resolve.

Joseph nodded once. "Good luck, Billy."

He half-turned and gave him crooked smile. "You too, Joe."

The other's man's response was a slow, chilling smile that showed just how much the T-virus had changed Joseph Frost. Billy turned away from that disturbing smirk and faced the door. He drew a deep breath, pushed it open, and once again immersed himself in the nightmare that was Raccoon City.

Joseph waited until Billy was well out of sight before ambling to the door. His enhanced eyesight revealed several zombies in the area, but none of the Cerberus' he so hated, or any of the reptilian monsters that had attacked him earlier in the evening. He found himself hoping that Billy made it to Stoneville, even though the odds were stacked against him. The man was a survivor. It was a trait they both shared.

He hadn't been surprised by Billy's hostility; he'd shot the man, after all. What had taken him aback was the criminal's question about Jill. The last thing he had expected was concern from a murderer like Billy Coen. Maybe, the man really was innocent, as he had claimed.

Joseph shrugged as he checked the Remington. He was no longer interested in apprehending Billy Coen. He could care less what Billy did, or how many people he might or might not kill tonight. He had his own problems right now. Like the hours he'd spent running from that huge monster that kept chanting, "S.T.A.R.S", like a goddamned broken record.

He'd first run into the giant down by the R.P.D. building, where it had spoken what was apparently the only word it knew, before attacking with a swiftness it shouldn't have possessed. Joseph had spent several minutes shooting it into submission, scored some ammunition off its downed body, and walked away. The creature had shown up less than an hour later, forcing him into another battle.

He'd lost track of how many times he had fought the bioweapon. He'd tried telling it that he wasn't a member of S.T.A.R.S., but he had no way of knowing if the creature understood him. Whether it could or not, it didn't seem to matter to the B.O.W.. The damn thing seemed determined to kill him. And if he'd still been human, it would have.

This monster was different from the other infected creatures he had fought. This one wasn't stupid; it had taken a shot at him with a rocket launcher at one point. It might not be able to communicate, but Joseph had a sneaking suspicion that there was an all too human intelligence behind that ugly piecemeal face.

He laughed to himself as he shoved the door open, making no attempt to be quiet. The door's hydraulics gave under the force of the blow, and the glass door tore away from its frame. It tumbled to the ground, the reinforced glass webbing with cracks. He stepped outside with a predatory smile, almost looking forward to the next confrontation. He was through running from this thing. It was time to see just how effective his super-human abilities were against a B.O.W. that was seemingly unstoppable.

He had a grudge to settle with it, as well. He had been standing outside of the Raccoon Arms apartment building, gazing up at Jill's window, when the creature had fired that rocket at him. He had dove out of the way, taking refuge behind an abandoned van. With horror, he had watched the building collapse in on itself. He had rushed to the rubble, intent on searching for the woman he loved, but the monster had attacked and driven him away.

Joseph shuddered as he made his way east, past the Raccoon Press building. That was the worst part, he thought with guilt. He had drawn the creature to Jill. He'd been watching her window, ignoring the chaos around him, waiting greedily for each small glimpse of her. She had looked out her window often, her expression one of fear and disbelief. She had been home when that fucking monster had destroyed the building, and there was little chance that she had survived the blast.

Which was why he was turning the tables. He wasn't going to wait for the bioweapon to catch him unawares again. He was going to track this fucking thing down, taking advantage of his ability to sense the infected, and he was going to kill it. Jill Valentine would be avenged.

He turned left on Warren Street and headed north towards Raccoon Street, where it ran parallel to the Raccoon-Stoneville tram line. He found it blocked by numerous vehicles, most of which were on fire. He backtracked south, checking the two side streets that crossed over the Circular River. Both small bridges were out, one completely destroyed by God only knew what.

Joseph swallowed his frustration and continued south, turning east on Flower Street, where a large steel bridge had built. It seemed to be intact, and he sighed with relief. He crossed it cautiously, noticing that the T-virus seemed stronger the closer he drew to the other side. While he couldn't have described the feeling that filled him when confronted with another infected creature, he could definitely feel it. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

He turned north on Good Street, thinking idly that whoever designed Raccoon City had done a horrible job with the street names. The sense of infection became stronger, as did the number of zombies he encountered. As he approached Raccoon University, the feeling intensified, and he was filled with a sense of dread.

Joseph stopped just on the outskirts of the R.U. campus, stunned to see what appeared to be over a hundred zombies milling around the large university grounds. Most were dressed in the latest fashions, marking them as students. Why the hell were there so many people here after hours? he asked himself incredulously. Why hadn't these people gone home, and barricaded themselves inside? Better yet, why hadn't they simply left Raccoon City while escape had still been possible?

Quite a few of the reanimated corpses were wearing military gear, their sidearms still in their holsters. Joseph shook his head sadly. These men had been Raccoon's City last chance for survival. Instead, they had died in the Hell Raccoon had become, only to be resurrected as mindless monsters.

Well, Joseph thought with disappointment, there wasn't much point in staying any longer. He wasn't going to find that huge son of a bitch here. There couldn't be anyone left alive, let alone any members of S.T.A.R.S., to draw the creature here. Maybe, it was time to give up, and head towards Stoneville himself.

He would look for survivors on the way out, though. These men had been highly trained soldiers. Surely, one or two of them had made it to Stoneville?

Joseph sighed and reloaded the Remington. He snapped it closed and pumped it, the noise attracting more attention than he would have liked. An older man in a gray suit turned towards him, a small triangular tie-pin marking him as a R.U. alumni. The zombie's throat was missing, a loose piece of skin flapping grotesquely as it rushed forward.

Joseph jerked the shotgun up and blew it into oblivion. He frowned as it fell, shot another that drew too close, and stepped over the remains. Granted, he didn't have much experience with zombies, but the few he'd run into since waking in the Arklay Mountains had been slow as hell. When had these things learned to move so quickly?

He blasted his way down the street, only to draw up short as he reached Raccoon Street. The intersection was blocked by one of the tram cars, which was lying on its side, its windows broken. Several bodies littered the ground around it, a few even hanging out of those windows. Apparently, he and Billy weren't the only ones who'd thought of escaping this way.

Joseph glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching mob and made a decision. He ran to the tram car and jumped over it, landing in a crouch on the other side. He rose slowly, the Remington coming up as he surveyed his surroundings. The street was nearly deserted, he noted with surprise. Maybe some of those police barricades down by Central had actually held!

Unfortunately, that hadn't helped the Army much. Three transport trucks sat in the middle of road, camouflage-clad bodies scattered around them. The convoy hadn't even gotten close to the exit, he thought sadly. So much for his hope that he'd find a few hold-outs. It looked as though they had been overwhelmed by the mass of mindless zombies, just like everyone else in Raccoon City.

He heard the unmistakable patter of running feet and hastily reloaded. He set the stock against his shoulder and swung to his left, his eyes gleaming behind darkened lenses. His enhanced vision was able to detect a lone man running his way, this one moving too fast to be a zombie. Joseph waited with barely leashed patience as the man came running out of the darkness, his yellow vest liberally splattered with blood, covering the S.T.A.R.S. logo that Joseph knew was there. The man saw him and stopped dead in his tracks, his brown eyes widening dramatically.

"Joe?!"

"Brad," he greeted flatly.

Brad Vickers stared at him with shocked. "But you're dead!" he stammered with disbelief.

"I get that a lot," Joseph returned, deadpan.

"Jesus!" The other man swallowed hard and took a step closer. "Does Jill know you're alive?"

"Yes," he said in clipped tones, "she knows."

"S.T.A.R.S.."

Brad jumped violently, his dark eyes widening even more, if that was possible. "You have to get out of here, Joe. There's a monster after me!"

Joseph looked past him, smiling slowly. "You go ahead, Brad. I'll take care of this."

"But you're a member of S.T.A.R.S.," Brad protested. "That thing wants us all dead, Joe! You have to run!"

He slid his sunglasses down his nose, revealing the monster he had become. "Get out of here, Vickers--Now."

The other man let out a terrified cry, turned, and ran back the way he had come, away from the only viable exit in Raccoon City, and towards the creature that was apparently stalking them both. Joseph shook his head in disgust and pushed the shades back in to place. Brad Vickers might be an excellent pilot, but he should never have been allowed to join S.T.A.R.S.. To put it bluntly, the man was a coward.

Joseph used the heat trail left by Brad's shoes to track him, following the tracks west along Raccoon Street. He'd stopped lamenting the changes in his body weeks ago, and had started teaching himself how to use his newfound abilities. He wasn't human any longer, and he never would be again. It was something he had struggled with, the remnants of his humanity conflicting with the more predatory instincts that the T-virus had unleashed within him. He had searched tirelessly for a cure, a way to reverse what had been done to him. Once he had realized that he couldn't, he had forced himself to overcome his abhorrence and learn all that he could about the T-virus, and just what it could do to the human body.

What he'd learned is that he was damned lucky. Period. He appeared to an anomaly, an unexpected by-product of the T-virus. He hadn't become a mindless zombie, whose need to feed was the only reason it existed. He hadn't been turned into a MA-121 Hunter, which almost resembled a skinned gorilla, and was capable of decapitating a victim with one blow. He hadn't become a Tyrant, which was some kind of super-soldier B.O.W.. Although he hadn't been able to find any pictures of the creature, the written descriptions didn't match him, and shared only a faint resemblance to the creature stalking him.

He'd found references to other creatures, along with detailed descriptions, from the S.T.A.R.S. reports that he had read. None of them had matched him. His survival had been pure chance, a whim of fate, completely unprecedented. He wasn't supposed to exist.

Which was just fine with Joseph. He was officially dead. The only people who knew of his existence were a mass-murderer, and his probably dead ex-girlfriend. No one would ever believe Billy, and Jill wouldn't say anything, either way. Whether she loved him or not anymore, she would never reveal his existence to Umbrella. She might tell Chris--eventually--but it would go no farther than that. He'd made sure of that with his threats against the other man.

Joseph had gone through Redfield's apartment twice since his departure from Raccoon City. Both visits had only served to frustrate him. If Chris had found anything new on Umbrella, he had either hidden it someplace else, or taken the information with him. Joseph hadn't even been able to ascertain where Chris had gone. He had covered his tracks too well.

Joseph hadn't tried to contact Jill, again. He had watched her from afar, but he hadn't approached her. She had been jumpy, constantly looking over her shoulder, as she'd gone about her daily business. He knew that he was partly to blame. She had taken his threats to heart, cutting off nearly all contact with Chris, which had shocked him. He hadn't thought that anything could separate them. Apparently, he had become very scary indeed, he thought with a touch of bitterness.

But that was the past, he reminded himself brutally. Jill was dead, killed because he hadn't been able to let go. As far as he was concerned, he had killed her himself, and the man he had once been had died with her. Joseph Frost was dead. Now, he had to decide just who--and what--he wanted to be.

The shoeprints turned south where Raccoon crossed Warren Street, and Joseph scowled as he followed them. More backtracking, he thought angrily. Leave it to Brad to fuck up like this! He'd been no more than two miles from the exit, and he'd still run in the opposite direction. Not that Joseph cared what happened to Brad Vickers. After what he'd read in his teammates' reports on the Spenser Mansion incident, Brad deserved whatever he got out here tonight.

Joseph found himself approaching the gas station where he had met Billy two hours ago. He had only met slight resistance since leaving the university, the number of zombies drastically reduced by the controlled explosion the R.P.D. had set off earlier in the evening. They had finally managed to do something useful, although it was too late for the citizens of Raccoon City.

He heard gunshots up ahead and took off running. He followed the sounds and was disappointed to discover that it wasn't Brad fighting the monster. A young blond man in an R.P.D. uniform was backing into the alley behind Emmy's Diner, shooting at a group of zombies that was slowly pursuing him. His blue eyes were narrowed in concentration, a look of fierce determination etched into his youthful features, as he vainly pumped bullets into their chests.

Surprise and a detached sense of curiosity rooted Joseph him in place. He hadn't expected to see any more live policemen in Raccoon City. The few that had survived to clear Central had retreated into the R.P.D., or died in the streets as they'd withdrawn. What was this guy doing outdoors, in a clean uniform, all by himself?

Joseph watched for a few moments longer before losing interest in the survivor. He wouldn't be alive for long, and even Joseph wasn't capable of taking on that many zombies at once. He also was not the prey that Joseph sought.

He turned back to Warren Street, scanning the pavement until he picked up Brad's tracks once again. He followed the rapidly cooling marks back to Flower Street, pausing as he reached the intersection. The trail continued to his right, but Joseph's senses were telling him something different.

"S.T.A.R.S.."

The B.O.W. appeared at the end of block, the rocket launcher nowhere in sight. The creature stood motionless, a bizarre sight in thick black leather, its exposed heart beating in time with its breathing. Joseph put the Remington away with slow, obvious movements, his concealed gaze locked on the monster's. He cracked his knuckles loudly, hoping that this thing was smart enough to take the hint. The bioweapon shifted slightly, its blunt chin coming up, its single eye gleaming with what Joseph would have sworn was anticipation.

"Oh, yeah. It's on, you ugly son of a bitch," he muttered with his own excitement. "Let's see just how tough you really are."

The creature lowered one massive shoulder and charged. Joseph leapt out of its path as it rushed him with that blinding speed that had caught him off guard during their first battle. He landed lightly a few feet away, adrenaline flooding his already over-stimulated system. He threw himself at the creature, planting a boot in the center of its mammoth chest. The monster took a staggering step back, and he followed with a hard left hook, rocking the creature's head to one side.

The B.O.W.'s scarred face contorted as it frowned, and its left arm lashed out, sending him flying. Joseph slammed into a dumpster and dropped to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He sprang to his feet, pulling the broken sunglasses away from his eyes. He flashed a cold, predatory smile as he dropped them and stepped forward, exhilaration singing through him.

"That actually hurt," he told it, his voice lowering to a bestial growl. "But it'll take more than that to defeat me. Let's see how well you do without that patchwork head of yours."

The bioweapons single eyes flashed angrily at his words, and Joseph merely grinned in response, knowing that his own eyes were putting on a similar lightshow. He ran forward, stopped abruptly, and whipped his leg around. The roundhouse caught the monster in the jaw, and it stumbled once again.

He threw his body into the beast's and knocked it off of its feet. He followed it down, pinning its arms with his knees, and grasped the bald head between his hands. He began to twist it to the left, intent on pulling it off the body. He thought that he heard a faint snap just before he went flying over its head.

Joseph landed flat on his face and quickly rolled to his back. He jumped back to his feet, watching the monster as it pushed itself to its feet. "Hurt, did it?" he threw out tauntingly. "I guess you're not so tough when you're fighting an equal, are you?"

The creature's reaction was swift but not totally unexpected. It lunged for him once again, this time making contact. He cursed as the B.O.W. grabbed him by the throat and lifted him high into the air. Joseph grabbed the large hand and calmly began to peel the fingers away from his throat. The creature merely shook him like a rag doll and continued to squeeze. Dread began to fill him as he realized that he may have overestimated his enhanced abilities. He lashed out with his feet in a desperate attempt to free himself, and heard an audible crack. He'd gotten a rib with that one, he thought with satisfaction.

His nemesis responded by drawing back its right arm and saying, "S.T.A.R.S.," with obvious relish.

Joseph's animalistic eyes widened as the skin of its palm split open to reveal a long, reddish protuberance. He began to struggle in earnest, even as the bioweapon shoved the embryo into his mouth. Joseph gagged as it was pushed down his throat, completely obstructing his airway, forcing him to either swallow it or suffocate.

The B.O.W. released him, turning away before he'd even hit the ground. Apparently, it had lost interest in him once it believed him defeated. Joseph coughed, wincing as his damaged throat burned in protest. His body began to shake, his stomach churning, as his system fought its alien invader. He tried to rise and fell back to the pavement, his vision blurring as his consciousness wavered. His last sight was the bioweapon as it stopped and half-turned towards him, the corners of its non-existent lips curling in a satisfied smile.

"S.T.A.R.S."

Chris sat on the porch of the ramshackle house he'd rented, sighing heavily as he reached for the glass beside him. He brought the glass to his lips and took a drink, gazing absently into the midnight gloom. He was oblivious to the beautiful French architecture all around him, his thoughts centered on Raccoon City, and the woman he had left behind.

Jill. He winced and took another drink, praying for that numb feeling that only alcohol could bring. It couldn't come fast enough to suit him, he thought bitterly. He had spent three miserable weeks waiting for Jill to come to Europe, mentally rehearsing what he would say when she arrived, only to have Barry show up alone. He had listened with disappointment as the older man explained that Jill had decided to remain in Raccoon and continue her own investigation. He would go back for her in a couple of weeks, after she'd exhausted the last of her leads, and she would join them then.

Yeah, right, Chris thought cynically. Barry had gone back to America last night, hoping to help speed that investigation along. So far, neither he nor Jill had called. She was probably still pissed at him for lying to her about his feelings. The few times he'd heard her voice over the communications radio, she had sounded so angry that he had been unable to respond. He was unwilling to discuss their situation in such an impersonal way, and was deathly afraid to hear her say that it was over.

He drained the glass and refilled it, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions rioting through him. He still grieved for the comrades he had lost, their bodies lost in the explosion of the Spenser Mansion. He mourned the loss of his closest friend, the woman he had loved for so very long, even as that loss filled him with guilt. It was his fault that they were no longer friends, his blunder that had ripped that friendship apart. He couldn't stop himself from loving Jill, but he damn well could have kept it hidden.

"Goddamn it," he whispered hoarsely, rubbing the sudden ache behind his eyes. Unfortunately, his head wasn't the only thing that hurt. The pain in his heart never quite went away. It was always there, casting a shadow over everything he said and did. It would spring up at the worst possible moments, shattering his concentration, and robbing him of his peace of mind.

Not that he had much left of that, he thought with a sigh. He'd had nightmares of the Spenser Mansion nearly every night for the last two months. He spent his sleeping hours running from the zombie Forrest had become, or watching Richard's death in an endless loop. He would watch, terrified, as an unseen enemy shot a badly injured Enrico. Sometimes, he saw Rebecca's death at the hand of Wesker, or Jill's as that damned Tyrant tore her apart. Once, he'd even been forced to watch as his baby sister was decapitated by one of Wesker's Hunters.

His sleeping mind made no distinction between his memories and his fears. In his dreams, Wesker always survived, his voice mocking as he taunted him. Chris would watch with horror, trapped in a world of nightmares, as his former commander changed into a monster. He'd wake just as the monster's claws sunk into him, his heart thundering in his chest, the metallic taste of fear lingering on his tongue.

"Chris?"

He jumped, startled out of his reverie. He turned to find Rebecca standing behind him, her pale green eyes just a little too wide. "What is it?" he asked with alarm.

"Barry's on the line. It's Raccoon City," she whispered, those eyes filling with tears. "Chris, there's been an outbreak there."

Chris closed his eyes as her words ripped through him. "No," he said roughly, jumping to his feet. He rushed past her, running into the house, his fear a living thing. He grasped the radio's receiver and depressed the button. "Redfield, here."

"Chris, it's Barry. Raccoon's been quarantined."

He swallowed hard. "How long ago?" he questioned roughly.

"The Army began putting up barricades at 16:00 hours yesterday, your time."

"That was more than twelve hours ago!" Chris slammed his fist down on the tabletop. "Damn Umbrella! Is Jill with you? What about Brad? What's your ETA?"

There was static-filled pause. "Chris, I haven't found them, yet."

"What?!" He slumped back in the chair, shock spreading through him. He shook his head to clear it and raised the receiver to his lips once more. "Have you checked the S.T.A.R.S. office, or their apartments?"

"There's been no response at the office," Barry responded grimly. "As for the Raccoon Arms. . .The building's been destroyed, Chris. I tried to search from the chopper, but I couldn't find a place to land. There were zombies everywhere."

Oh, God! Chris felt a hand on his shoulder and shuddered. He reached up and grabbed Rebecca's hand tightly, flashing her a tormented look. She squeezed his hand even as her tears spilled over. He looked away, unable to believe that Jill was dead. If she were, he would have no reason to go on.

"Keep looking," he said into the handset, his voice unnaturally quiet. "Don't give up, Barry."

"I won't, Chris. I'm going back to Warren Airport to refuel, and then I'll set out again. I'll keep sending out messages to any survivors. If Jill's out there, she'll respond."

"Yeah, she will. Redfield, out."

Chris set the receiver down with a trembling hand. He a hand through his dark hair, shutting his eyes tightly. Rebecca put her free arm around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. Neither spoke, both reeling from the knowledge that Raccoon City was doomed.

He pulled away and rose to his feet. "We should check CNN," he said abruptly. "See what they're saying about Raccoon."

"Yeah," Rebecca responded, sitting beside him on the sofa as he palmed the remote. "That's a good idea."

The television flared to life, and Chris quickly changed the channel. He frowned impatiently as the newscaster spoke of a low-level earthquake in some third world country. No one had died, and the property damage had minimal. Then, they moved on to the top story, and Chris' heart sunk.

Footage taken from the air showed an all to familiar story. Zombies in various stages of decomposition filled the streets of Raccoon City, attacking in such large numbers that they were overwhelming the R.P.D.. Ordinary people were being pulled out of their cars and devoured in the street, victims of a supposed cannibal cult.

Chris snorted at that. There was no cult, no cannibals. Only the dead rising and seeking live human flesh to assuage their insatiable hunger. The Army had put up barricades on at three of the four main entrances to Raccoon City, and were fighting their way to the east to secure the last.

He heard Rebecca gasp beside him and glanced her way. She was still crying, her expression one of shocked horror. He grasped her hand and she clung to him tightly, her eyes never leaving the screen. Her free hand touched the dogtags that hung from her neck, and he knew that she was thinking about the man who had given them to her.

"I'm sure he's all right," he told her, hoping to stop the tears. "He was Special Forces, Rebecca. He would know just what to do in a combat situation, and he's been through this before. He probably isn't even there," he added for good measure.

Rebecca finally looked at him, her expression heartrending. "What if he's not okay?" she asked plaintively. "What if he hid in Raccoon City, and couldn't escape in time? The Army is there, Chris. Billy might still be there, hiding, or in custody. He could be dead or--"

Or worse, Chris thought even as he shook head. "If he's as smart as you say, he got out before it got bad."

"Oh, God," she whispered, "I hope so!"

He put an arm around her shoulders and let her cry. She was so young, he thought with a pang. She should be working in some hospital somewhere, healing sick people, not running for her life from Umbrella Inc.. He knew that she'd joined S.T.A.R.S. so that she could help those in need. She was a medic, a healer by nature. She might be a tough kid, but he didn't think she was meant to be a soldier. She was much too soft-hearted for that.

She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. "He has flashbacks, you know."

Chris shifted slightly and looked down at her. "Bad ones?" he questioned with concern.

Rebecca paused, her mind flashing to Billy's expression back in the Dead Factory, when they had discovered the skeletal remains of Umbrella's failed experiments. "When we found those bodies in the factory, he looked like he was going to cry," she said in a soft voice. "He looked so scared, Chris. Then, he turned away, like nothing had happened. He just. . .turned it off. That's when I knew he was innocent."

He nodded, his mind racing. Innocent or not, it sounded like Billy Coen had a lot of problems. "Are you sure this guy is what you want?" he asked gently. "It sounds like he's got some issues, honey."

Her head came up swiftly, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't care," she told him indignantly. "I love Billy. I may never see him again, but that doesn't change the way I feel about him."

"Okay, okay." Chris held both hands up in a classic gesture of submission. "Pax, Chambers. I surrender."

Rebecca burst out laughing, then covered her mouth with her hands, looking horrified. "I shouldn't be laughing, Chris. Don't make me laugh right now."

He smiled crookedly. "It's better than the tears, kid."

She flushed with embarrassment and nodded once. "Got it."

Chris ruffed her hair in a fond gesture and she ducked her head, batting his hand away. She opened her mouth to protest the brotherly treatment when the floorboards in the hallway creaked. Chris brought one finger to his lips and she nodded her understanding. He pointed to the radio, and she gave him a thumbs-up sign. She drew her handgun and went to the table, quickly putting the radio in its metal case. She mouthed, "Laptop," and he shook his head negatively.

He motioned her forward, placing his lips next to her ear. "Get to the car," he murmured urgently. "I'll get the computer. Wait until you see me to start it up. Okay?"

"Roger. Be careful, Chris."

Chris waited until she had climbed through an open window to draw his own weapon, an enhanced Glock17. He glanced towards the television, and used the remote to turn it off, bathing the room in darkness. He crept silently through the room, flattening himself against the wall beside the hallway entrance. He crouched and cautiously peered around the corner, not surprised to see two men in combat gear conducting a hushed search. He grasped his survival knife in his left hand and carefully pulled it from its sheath. He wouldn't use the gun until it became absolutely necessary. Stealth was the safest course of action here, though he hoped the knife would prove unnecessary.

He heard faint murmurs as the men spoke in low tones, and glanced down the hall once more. One man opened the door to the basement, and stepped out of sight. The second intruder crept down the hall towards him, a machine gun held out before him. Chris frowned and holstered the Glock, switching the knife to his right hand. He waited patiently, holding his body completely still, and the man drew closer.

The intruder stepped into the room slowly, faintly illuminated by the moonlight that peeked through the curtains. Chris waited until he had passed and rose silently to his feet. He reached out, a deadly silhouette, and swiftly grabbed the man. He looped an arm around the man's throat, cutting off his air supply, and dragged the man into the shadows. He lowered him to the floor as he applied pressure to the jugular vein, throwing a leg over both of the intruder's to keep him from kicking, and alerting his compatriot in the basement below. The man's struggles slowed, his movements becoming feeble and uncoordinated, before stopping altogether.

Chris shoved the unconscious man off of him and rose to his feet. He stole down the hall, avoiding the spots that he knew would creak under his weight. He ducked into his bedroom, closed the door, and went to the nightstand. He moved it to one side as quietly as he could and peeled back the floorboards. He retrieved his laptop, along with its power-pack, and silently opened the window. He holstered the knife, drew his handgun, and climbed out.

He dropped to the ground and took off running, hoping that the second Umbrella agent wouldn't follow too quickly. And he knew it was Umbrella who had sent them. They had been watching him for weeks, ever since he'd first landed in Paris. He had spent most of his time dodging their tails, and moving from place to place, all the while searching for a way into the main office. He'd done his best to stay one step ahead of them, but even he needed rest. Especially, with Rebecca in tow.

Chris cursed silently and hoped that Rebecca had made it to the car. If she hadn't, he would have no choice but to turn himself in, and try to free them both. Which would be nearly impossible, he acknowledged. Once Umbrella got their hooks into you, they didn't let you go. And he had no intention of letting them kill him, or turn him into a damned bioweapon.

He ducked down an alley, relief filling him as he spied Rebecca sitting behind the wheel of an old European compact. She smiled tensely as he approached, leaning out the window. "I'm glad you made it," she greeted softly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," he answered as he climbed into the passengers' seat. "What about you? Did you have any problems?"

She shook her head as she started the engine. "I didn't see anyone following me," she said as she pulled onto the street.

"Thank God." Chris ran his hands over his face in a weary gesture. "We'll go the abandoned airstrip, and used the offices there."

"We'll have to be careful, then," she reminded him. "They've been watching the airstrip ever since we landed, and Barry used it when he left."

"Not to mention the local drug lord. I know." Chris sighed heavily, resting his head on the back of the seat. "We don't have a lot of options right now, Rebecca. If we're careful, they won't even know we're there."

Rebecca slanted a glance his way but didn't comment. "Why now?" she asked instead. "We've been here for weeks. Why did they wait until now to come for us?"

"Because of Raccoon," he murmured, gazing out the window. "We know too much, and we're an even bigger liability now that Raccoon City has gained international attention. If we disappear, they may still be able to cover up the true cause of the outbreak."

"We can't let that happen, Chris," she stated fiercely.

He smiled faintly at her determined expression. "We won't, Rebecca."

She turned her attention to the road, and Chris suppressed a worried sigh. Raccoon City was done, he thought wearily. All of the people it had been his job to protect were dead, or as good as. He had hoped that the destruction of the Spenser mansion would be the end of it, but he had known better. They all had.

The reports of savage murders and monsters in Raccoon City had began to come in shortly after their return from the Arklay Mountains. Homeless people discovered mutilated in alleys, the mauled bodies found in Raccoon Park, the family who had been attacked in their own home, their remains covered in what appeared to be human bite marks. . .

Chris shuddered at the memory. If only someone--anyone--had listened to them! But Chief Irons had dismissed their harrowing ordeal as an exaggeration, if not an outright lie. He had been investigating them, as though the incident were their fault, instead of looking into the activities of Umbrella Inc.. He, Jill, Barry, and Rebecca had done what they could, pursuing their own separate investigations, while Brad had taken a leave of absence from his S.T.A.R.S. duty. They had found no conclusive proof, which was what Chief Irons had demanded after reading their reports. The loss of so many human lives, as well as those of his brothers-in-arms, had amounted to nothing in the end.

No! Chris told himself sharply. Not nothing. Somehow, he would find a way to expose Umbrella Incorporated for the monster that it was. He wouldn't allow them to get away with any of this. Too many people had died, their lives and the lives of their loved ones shattered beyond repair. Umbrella would pay. He would see to it. It was that simple.

G-G-virus. . .

Hunk came to slowly, groaning as his head immediately began to pound. He looked down at himself and realized that he was sitting in a good three feet of water. The memories came rushing back, and his heart hammered in response. He glanced down at the trio of wounds on his chest, resisting the urge to touch them. He was hurt--badly--but he was alive. Now, he just had to find his way of the R.P.D. without running into what was left of William Birkin.

I have to bring it to Umbrella, he thought, forcing himself to his feet. He glanced around him, shaking his head to clear it. His spotted his TMP lying a few feet away, resting beneath the greenish water. He left it there, knowing that it would be ruined now that it had been submerged in raw sewage. He would have to rely on his other weapons, and his own survival instincts. Nothing he hadn't done before, Hunk reminded himself.

He had no idea how long he'd been out, or what was waiting for him in the building above. They had hit the complex late in the afternoon to avoid unforeseen complications. Yeah, that had worked out well, Hunk thought caustically. Still, it was likely that the skeleton crew that passed as the R.P.D.'s night shift were out working the streets. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to eliminate too many of Raccoon City's finest tonight. He hated killing cops.

He spotted something in the water, a small object that seemed to shimmer as the water moved over it. He reached down to retrieve it, and his hazel eyes widened dramatically. He snatched the glass capsule up quickly, unable to believe that he was holding an undamaged G-virus sample in his hand. He had watched Birkin destroy all the samples he had retrieved, so he knew that this wasn't one of them. As he secured the G-virus in his supply pack, he decided that it didn't matter where the hell it had come from. He now had the means to finish his mission, and the money he would make from doing so would go a long way towards helping him create his new life.

He grabbed his Magnum and checked it, relieved to find it dry. If nothing else, Umbrella knew how to make their survival gear completely waterproof. Unfortunately, that hadn't helped his sniper rifle. The impact of Birkin's attack had left the gun broken, and the scope in pieces. Hunk sighed and tossed them both into the brackish water. They were ruined, and he had a feeling he was going to need the room. At least, his favorite Desert Eagle had survived.

Something to be grateful for, he thought with a shrug, raising a hand to the side of his helmet. He flicked the tiny switch there, and his radio crackled to life. "Alpha Team, here. Mission accomplished."

"Roger. We'll rendezvous at the meeting point."

Hunk strode through the filthy water and jumped onto the concrete landing. He jogged up the stairs, sparing only a passing glance for the bodies in the water below. They were dead and it sucked, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do for them. He had to concentrate on keeping his own ass alive, now.

He went through the door, scowling at the eerie moans that greeted him. A female zombie in shorts and a tank top turned his way, her short brown hair matted with dried blood. He cursed and pulled the trigger, turning away as her head exploded, and taking aim at the next. It shuffled towards him even as its head disappeared in a shower of blood. The body pushed uselessly against the railing before slumping to the ground.

Hunk stepped over it, his gun trained on the two zombies that blocked the exit door. He took their heads quickly, watching without emotion as they hit the wall behind them. They slid down the wall in almost the same motion, leaving a grotesque smear of blood in their wake. He grimaced to himself, using his boot to nudge the legs of one zombie away from the door. He quickly reloaded, grasped the handle, and opened the door.

Three zombies turned towards him, their moans echoing through the cramped hallway. Hunk suppressed a shudder and raced past them, dodging their outstretched arms. He reached the gate and wrenched it open, shutting it behind him with a great rattle, grateful that none of the zombies he'd encountered so far had mutated into V-ACTs. That would certainly make this a hellova lot harder!

He jogged down the small stairway, grimacing as the damp stone walls of the Raccoon City sewer seemed to close in on him. He turned right at the bottom of the stairs, the Magnum coming up as a large striped spider dropped from the wall before him. He adjusted his aim and pumped a round into its overlarge body. It flipped to its back, its legs flailing as it died.

He turned left and moved down the tunnel, heading straight for the ladder that led to the police station. A slight twitter was his only warning as another of the large purple-tinted spiders tarantulas dropped into the water, blocking access to the ladder. Its multi-faceted eyes fastened on him as it reared up to attack. He pulled the trigger twice, wincing as the arachnid was thrown back against the ladder, its body exploding in a shower of macabre body parts.

It's abdomen burst open, and more than a dozen smaller spiders disappeared into the water before him. "Shit!" he muttered, "Just what I needed."

He ran forward, hoping like hell he was at least trampling some of them, and jumped onto the ladder. He immediately climbed it, not bothering to look back. Individually, the spiders couldn't do much damage. But if he let himself be overwhelmed, he'd find himself poisoned in a heartbeat, and then he'd never get out of this damned place.

Hunk reached the top of the ladder and found himself in the dog kennel. Three of the mutated Cerberus dogs came racing towards him, their desiccated muzzles drawn back over their teeth as they snarled. He shot the first as it lunged for him, sending it to the floor with a high-pitched yelp. He kicked the second away from him, knocking it into the last. They both hit the ground and he quickly finished them off.

"Goddammitt!" he roared, shoving the Desert Eagle into his waist pack and retrieving his shotgun. "Fucking Miguel! If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you myself!"

Of course, Birkin had managed to release the T-virus during his little rampage, Hunk thought angrily. He'd hoped that any outbreak would be confined to the sewers, and the laboratory complex below. That hope was now dashed. There was still a chance that the T-virus hadn't reached the upper levels of the precinct, or Raccoon City itself, though it was a slim one.

Hunk shook his head as he searched the kennels. He found a green herb in a clay pot and began to laugh. He scooped it up and ground it into a fine powder, then tucked it into his supply pack. He stepped past the dead Dobermans and pushed the door open.

Six zombies turned towards him in tandem, and he immediately brought the shotgun up. He ignored the two on his left, concentrating on the four that blocked his way to the exit. He aimed high and pulled the trigger, smiling grimly to himself as two heads exploded at once. He aimed over the still-shuffling bodies and stepped forward, blowing the head off what had once been a member of the R.P.D..

He took out the legs of the last and stomped its head into the ground. He ignored the moans at his back and hurried into the underground parking garage. Three more Cerberus' rushed him and he rolled his eyes as he dodged them. He kept running, wanting to save his ammunition for the nightmare that he was sure waited for him in the precinct itself. He was suddenly certain that the usual skeleton crew he'd been expecting had been replaced with a full compliment of now-dead cops.

"Perfect," he mumbled as the caw of numerous crows greeted him in the basement hallway. Again, he didn't bother to fire, merely running through the U-shaped hallway. He reached the junction and turned left, doing his best to ignore the cacophony of cries that surrounded him, as well as the flapping of multiple wings. He followed the hallway left, then took a sharp right. The stairs leading to the first floor of the R.P.D. appeared before him, and he climbed them gratefully.

He heard the growls as soon as he reached the landing. Hunk scowled as he hastily reloaded the Remington, sympathizing with Billy and his aversion to the Cerberus'. They weren't the most dangerous B.O.W.s Umbrella ever produced, but they were definitely one of the meanest.

He ran down the hallway and blasted the first dog before it could attack. He pumped a second round into it just as another leapt at him. He threw himself to one side, tracking it with the shotgun as it landed just past him. He shot it twice, smiling grimly to himself as it let out that pathetic yelp he'd always hated.

He turned away and kept going, reloading as he neared the end of the corridor. He swore to himself as he realized that he was running low on shells. He considered using his Beretta, then decided against it. He had run into a lot of resistance already, and he didn't want to chance being overwhelmed by the bioweapons' superior numbers. He'd use the pistol only as a last resort, if his other weapons ran dry. Until then. . .

Hunk drew his beloved Magnum and entered the next area. He found himself just outside of the east office, where the moans of the undead could be heard. He merely sighed beneath his helmet and started forward. There was the body of a police officer lying at the opposite end of the hall, right in front of the door that led to an outside staircase, which in turn led to the second floor. It probably wasn't open--he wasn't that lucky--but it was worth a try.

As he neared the door, the dead cop began to move. Not in the least bit surprised, Hunk aimed for his head and pulled the trigger. The headless body dropped to the floor, twitching in that truly disturbing way. He stepped past it and grasped the door handle. It refused to budge, and he sighed again before turning to the office.

He counted six zombies as he stepped through the open doorway. He shot the one on his left as it reached for him, and it knocked the zombie behind it down as it fell. He turned to face the room once more, his green-gold eyes narrowing as he took aim. One cop was uncomfortably close, reaching for him with rotting hands. He pushed the barrel of the .45 against its forehead and blew its atrophied brains out the back of its head. He shoved the body away from him and, disregarding the zombie on his right, rushed forward. He quickly killed the two shuffling around the door and went through it.

Three zombies came at him from his left, their speed indicating that they were well on their way to becoming V-ACTs. "Shit!" Hunk exclaimed, shooting one and kicking him into the others to buy himself a little time. Two more zombies approached, one from his right, and one straight ahead. He took out the one on his right and ran past the body, whirling around and quickly taking aim.

The Magnum clicked dry, and he stumbled back as he reloaded. He closed the chamber with a quick flick of his wrist and began to fire into the small crowd of undead corpses. The smell of cordite mixed with the stench of human decay, reaching him even through the filters in his mask. His lip curled with disgust as he made his way into the precinct lobby.

Nothing but silence greeted him, and sighed with relief. He glanced briefly at his lavish surroundings before starting forward. He paused outside the door that led to the reception room and checked his supplies. He still had plenty of ammo for the Desert Eagle, though it wouldn't last long if kept running into such large numbers of B.O.W.s. The Remington only held five rounds, and he was down to ten. He frowned at the Beretta and wished that his TMP had survived his encounter with Birkin. But it hadn't, and he had no choice to but to continue if he was going to get out of this alive.

Hunk reloaded the Magnum yet again, wishing that he had broken down and got that semi-auto .45 he'd been eying for the past few weeks. If he survived this, he would, he promised himself. Until then, he was stuck with what he had.

He wondered fleetingly if Billy was alright, then pushed the thought from his mind. Just because it was T-virus hell in here didn't mean that Raccoon City itself had been infected. There was still a chance that his baby brother was safe with Ada. If not. . .

Hunk shuddered and quickly reminded himself that his brother was a tough S.O.B.. Billy had been through things that would kill most people, and he had survived. He had been Special Forces, after all. He knew how to handle any number of weapons, and he'd already been through one T-virus outbreak. He'd be okay, Hunk thought. He had to be.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the reception room, pausing as he realized that it was empty. He cocked his head to one side and listened. He hear a small, tell-tale click of movement behind the partition at the end of the room. Holding the Desert Eagle out before him, he slowly made his way to the divider. Another of the large purplish spiders came scrambling towards him, and he blasted it into oblivion. A second arachnid waited behind the first, its dead brethren impeding its progress. Hunk drew a bead on it just as it began to climb the wall. He took careful aim and planted a bullet into its tiny brain.

He replaced the two spent rounds and entered the next area. The corridor took an immediate right, and Hunk paused as he spotted a large pool of blood on the ground before him. A heavy, sigh-like hiss was his only warning before a large creature dropped to the ground before him. The enhanced Licker scurried towards him, its rapier-like tongue lashing out as it advanced. The appendage wrapped itself around his ankle and yanked Hunk off his feet.

Hunk hit the ground hard, his hazel eyes widening dramatically behind his helmet. He planted a hasty round in its shoulder, throwing the bioweapon to its back, and jumped to his feet. It recovered even as he did, and he quickly adjust his aim. He shot it once in its exposed brain, smiling with savage satisfaction as the gray matter exploded.

He glanced down at his ankle, wincing as he observed the blood which seeped through one particular spot. The Licker's tongue had been sharp enough to cut through his heavy combat boots, and he could feel the wound as it throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He released a slow breath and contemplated using one of his few precious healing herbs. He was still hurt from the fiasco with Birkin, and his stamina was lower than it should be as a result. He found that he was starting to tire, and that wasn't a good thing!

Still, he wasn't injured badly enough to waste an herb. He knew it would only get worse from here on in, but he was already halfway to the extraction point. He just had to hold out for a little while longer. He would wait until he truly needed to heal, he decided resolutely. For now, it was time to get his ass in gear.

Hunk reloaded the Desert Eagle, knowing that where there was one enhanced Licker, there would be more. Unlike their red-skinned brethren, these B.O.W.s tended to hunt in groups, like a pack of animals. They were twice as fast, had sharper tongues and claws, and twice as hard to hurt. On the upside, they weren't Tyrants or Hunters. Something to be thankful for, he thought with a pale grin.

He spared only a passing glance for the metal-shuttered windows as he continued down the hall. Of course, the emergency shutters had been activated. The police weren't stupid. If nothing else, maybe they had managed to keep this nightmare contained within the precinct. Hopefully, it would never touch Raccoon itself.

He heard the distinctive click of claws against concrete as he neared the next turn. Without pause, he rounded the corner and aimed low. He put two bullets in the bioweapon's head before it even had a chance to move. It died with a skull-penetrating squeal, and he winced as the sound cut through his head. God, but he could use a couple of aspirin right about now!

Hunk stepped over the bleeding monstrosity and went through the next door. He heard a rattling noise around the next bend and groaned silently. A freakin' Ivy! He hated the damn plants, remnants of the Plant 42 experiment that Birkin's people had been running in the Spenser Mansion. God only knew how they had gotten here, but that really didn't matter. Killing the damned thing without getting poisoned was going to be the real challenge here.

Fire was the most effective way of dealing with the mutated plants, but of course, he didn't have a flamethrower with him. It wasn't exactly standard military issue. He wished he'd thought to grab some phosphorous grenades, but it was too late to worry about that now.

Hunk held the .45 with steady hands and rounded the corner. The Ivy waved thin, whip-like tentacles around its body as it turned to face him. Its orange, flowery head opened, and he began to fire. It slowly began to curl in on itself, those feelers thrashing around its body as it died. He'd been lucky enough to kill it before it could spit its venomous poison, but he wasn't taking any chances. Those tentacles hurt like a bitch, and his ankle was already aching.

He waited a few moments longer before stepping carefully over the dead plant. He noted the boards covering the windows to his left, and the moans that penetrated their paltry cover. Shit, he thought angrily, the outbreak had spread to Raccoon. So much for his hope that the city would be spared.

Worry for his brother filled him, and he resolutely shoved it down. He couldn't do anything for the kid until he got himself out here. He'd take the sample back to his superiors, and then he'd lead a team back into the city. He would find Billy, one way or the other. Nothing short of death would stop him.

He heard the rustle of leaves at the next junction and swore to himself. He rounded the corner quickly, as he had before, and walked right into a cloud of poison gas. He coughed violently as the toxic gas seeped through the filters in his combat helmet. His head swam as he lurched away from the B.O.W., causing his vision to blur. His back came up against the wall, and lifted the Magnum with suddenly shaky hands. He narrowed his eyes and aimed for the greenish blur before him. He emptied the gun into the bioweapon, relief filling him as he heard a telling rattle.

Hunk slumped against the wall and dug into his supply pack. He pulled out an herbal mixture and popped it into his mouth. He chewed the powdery substance, grimacing at its bitter taste. He swallowed hard and slid to the ground, waiting for the herbs to do their job. He wasn't going anywhere until his body recovered, anyway.

His vision slowly began to clear, the trembling in his hands disappearing with the haze. Hunk reloaded the Desert Eagle wearily, hoping that he didn't run into any more Ivys on his way to the roof. He was tough, but he tired as hell. Exhaustion was slowing his reflexes, and it eventually it would begin to affect his reasoning. He needed to get to the extraction point before that happened. There was no way in hell he was dying for Umbrella Inc.!

"Fuck, kid," he muttered to himself, "I hope you're doing better than I am."

Billy hadn't had much luck in the past few years, but Hunk had faith in him. If he had been in Raccoon when the T-virus hit, he would've been smart enough to get the fuck out. He was probably waiting in one of the surrounding towns, hiding in some cheap motel, waiting to hear from his big brother. Hunk wouldn't let him down. Just as soon as he got out of here, he would start searching. He would not let Billy down, again.

Hunk pushed himself to his feet and started forward. He opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped through it cautiously. No more blind corners in hopes of ambush for him. He'd learned his lessons with the last Ivy. He found himself in a small hallway, and his memory promptly supplied his location. The darkroom hallway, Hunk thought with a small smile. There was a door to his right which led to a weapons room, but he knew without looking that it would be locked. Securing their weapons supply would've have been the R.P.D.'s first priority.

On his left was a corner which led to the precinct's darkroom, as well as the stairway to the second floor. He was almost out of here. He just had to take the scenic route back to the east side of the building via the second floor, and then to the roof. He would signal the extraction chopper from there, and fly out of Raccoon City with his skin intact. A good plan, Hunk told himself. Now, he just had to implement it.

He approached the spot where the hallway opened up and was greeted by the leathery rustle of leaves. Shit, more damned Ivys! Hunk scowled and slowly crept around the corner, firing as soon as he cleared the wall. Two of the mutated plants stood on vine-like legs, their orange heads turning towards him. He fired two rounds into each, watching dispassionately as they sunk to the ground, their vines twitching around them.

No more fucking around, he thought resolutely. It was time to get his happy ass out of the R.P.D., and out of Raccoon City. He restocked the .45 and headed straight for the stairs. He climbed them quickly, pausing as he reached the top. Was that music he heard? he asked himself incredulously. He knew for a fact that the R.P.D. hadn't installed any crappy music systems in the precinct. So, where the hell was it coming from?!

Hunk stepped onto the landing cautiously, the .45 trained on the corridor entrance. As soon as he approached the hall, a large figure appeared at the opposite end of it, its bald head gleaming under the dim lights. "Oh, shit!" he whispered fiercely, already firing as he began to back away.

The T-103 Tyrant walked towards him with steady, unfaltering movements. Hunk watched with anger and a hint of fear as the black leather trench coat it had been poured into was riddled with bullet holes. The Tyrant's blank eyes were locked on him, and the bizarre music grew louder with each threatening step that it took.

The Magnum clicked empty and Hunk hastily reloaded it. The creature had nearly reached him, and all the healing herbs in the world wouldn't do a damn bit of good if this thing killed him in one blow. He swore, aimed for its head, and pulled the trigger one last time.

The Tyrant came to an abrupt halt, its big body swaying, before dropping to its knees. Hunk watched with wide hazel eyes as it finally fell flat on its ugly face. He approached it carefully, the Magnum trained on its motionless body. He kicked it lightly, waiting tensely for a reaction. When he didn't get one, he took a chance and searched the body. He found a box of seven shotgun shells and nearly shouted with triumph. He might make it out of here alive, after all!

Hunk gave the huge bioweapon one last glance before sprinting for the end of the hall. He doubted he'd killed the thing, but he'd obviously stunned it, and he was getting the fuck out of here before it recovered! He ran past three ornate statues and hurried through the only door there. He was in yet another corridor, this one housing the Special Tactics And Rescue Service's office. Not that he was stopping there. S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't have anything he'd need, if any of them were even still alive.

He rounded the corner and saw several bodies in varying states of decomposition littering the corridor. Damn, but he hated the crawlers! Hunk traded the Desert Eagle for his Beretta and fired into the first body. It reacted instantly, trying to rise, only to drop back into a pool of its own blood. He stepped around it with careful movements, his eyes on what was left of the head. It didn't moved, although it never stopped twitching, and he knew that it was dead. The live ones tracked you with their eyes, and you could always catch the movement, provided that you were paying attention.

Hunk put three rounds in the head of the next two, passing the S.T.A.R.S. office. As he neared the corner a fast zombie was crawling his way, its desiccated features slack with hunger. Hunk took its head in a flurry of well-aimed shots, and it was done. He glanced down at the Beretta, thought of all the plants and Licker--not to mention the Tyrant--he'd run into already, and traded it for the .45. He doubted he'd get lucky enough to run into any more Cerberus' or crows.

He passed a bench with a broken set of handcuffs and shook his head as he ran past it. He took went through the door at the end of the corridor and was immediately confronted with one of the enhanced Lickers. He pumped two bullets into its skull and turned towards a row of chairs that lined the wall to just past it. Another of the creatures waited there, already turning its over-muscled body around to face him. He killed it as quickly as possible, cursing as another came around the corner up ahead. He used his last two bullets and reloaded the Magnum as another his from the northern corridor reached his ears.

"Jesus!" he panted, barely bringing the gun up in time to save his life, "Just fucking die already!"

The Licker dropped to the ground, sprung back to its clawed feet, and lunged for him. Hunk dropped back, firing into its greenish hide, and was rewarded with that horrendous squeal that passed as a Licker's death-rattle. "That's it! I quit!" he declared as he shoved more bullets into the Magnum's chamber. "I'm done. Umbrella can fucking kiss my ass!"

He gulped down air and forced himself to calm down. He had no choice but to take the G-virus sample back to France. He had been contracted and paid. But once that was done, he was gone. He would assemble a team of mercs from outside of the company and come back to look for Billy. He wasn't taking any more risks for Umbrella Inc..

Hunk crept around the corner, relaxing fractionally when he found the hallway clear. He went through the door at the end and found himself in the library. From here, he'd take the terrace to the east side of the building. He was almost there.

He left the library through the large double doors and scanned his surroundings with narrowed gold-green eyes. There was an Ivy waiting near the emergency ladder, and yet another on the far side of the terrace. He made a sound of pure frustration and started forward. As he neared the north end, he began to fire at the plant from a distance. Soon enough, it began its slow descent to the ground, wilting like the plant that it had once been.

Hunk stepped around it, jumping as one of the tentacles lashed out at him. He landed a few feet away, grateful that he hadn't been forced to fight this one in close quarters. He kept going, using the same tactic as he approached the Ivy on the east side of the catwalk. He didn't bother with caution once it was dead. He merely took a running start and jumped over the thrashing bioweapon, landing safely before the door that he needed.

He pushed the door open and the moans nearly deafened him. He counted seven zombies as he calmly reached into his supply and pulled out the shotgun. The two on either side of the door crowded the doorway, blocking his path, and blew their heads apart. They fell to the floor, and three more shuffled forward to take their place. He took the heads of each before stepping into the room to dispose of the two blocking the door. They dropped like stones, and he rushed past them.

Hunk yanked the door and was appalled to see three zombies already approaching from his left. He could hear another behind him, feel its hands clutch at him, as he blasted the three in his way. They were knocked to the floor, and he shot forward. One grabbed his ankle--the injured one, of course-- and began to pull itself towards him, using him for leverage. Hunk aimed for its head and cursed as the Remington did nothing more than click.

Hunk muttered under his breath as he shoved it into his supply pack and grabbed the Desert Eagle once more. He felt something hot on his ankle and realized that he was about to be infected with the T-virus. "Oh, hell no!" he said angrily, raising his left foot and stomping the zombie's head into a bloody pulp.

He ignored the others as they began to gain their feet and pulled the door open. He slammed it behind him, grateful that these damned things weren't smart enough to work doorknobs, when he heard it again. That damned music was playing, and he knew what that meant. He swore violently, brought the Desert Eagle up, and ran forward to meet it.

The T-103 Tyrant met him halfway, in the middle of the Z-shaped corridor. Hunk managed to fire two shots before the damned thing rushed him. He found himself flying through the air, the wind knocked out of him as he hit the wall behind him. Hunk ignored the burning in his lungs and forced himself back to his feet. The bioweapon lunged again, and he desperately jumped out of its way. He picked himself up and ran to the end of the corridor. He couldn't go back into the other hallway, because four zombies were just waiting for a meal there, and the Tyrant would just follow him.

No, he'd have to fight it out here, Hunk told himself as he put his back to the door, planted his feet, and began to fire at the approaching monstrosity. Luckily, the force of the .45 caliber bullets ripping into the creature stopped it from lunging for him, again. It continued to walk towards him with calm, steady steps, but it wasn't trying to squash him anymore.

It stopped after the sixth round, for which Hunk was infinitely grateful. He waited until it fell to the floor, ran to it, and kicked it as hard as he could. "Fucking B.O.W.," he hissed angrily, kicking it a second time before running past it.

He made it to the end of the cramped corridor and was out the door. Instead of the fresh, crisp night air he was expecting, he was greeted with the stench of death and decay. His ears were assaulted with the cacophony of groans that rose up from the streets below. Everywhere he looked he saw smoke from fires that burned uncontrollably, and he knew that Raccoon City was doomed.

Hunk shook his head and did something he hadn't done for a long time. He offered a prayer up for his kid brother, who had damn well better be alive, or heads were going to roll. As for the rest of Raccoon. . .Fuck 'em, Hunk thought without sympathy. They were dead, and he wasn't. He was getting the fuck out of here while he still could.

He pulled a rectangular box out of his supply pack and set it on the helipad. He opened it, angled the upwards, and pushed the button on the side. A signal flare shot into the air, lighting the night sky briefly, then disappearing in an arch. Hunk exhaled harshly, keeping an eye on the door, as he waited for the extraction chopper.

Four minutes later, the sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air came to him. Hunk smiled to himself even as he was blinded by the chopper's search-light. He waved the pilot forward and stepped back, waiting for the rope-ladder to be dropped. Soon enough, he was climbing his way towards freedom, grateful to even have the opportunity.

Hunk climbed into the hovering chopper and dropped gratefully to one of the seats. He strapped himself in and slowly pulled the combat helmet off his head. He closed his eyes as the wind blew over him, then forced himself to look at the carnage that had once been Raccoon City.

He looked away quickly, but the images of the resurrected citizens attacking one another lingered. He realized that the pilot was speaking and looked his way, focusing on something besides the death surrounding him.

"Once again, only you survived, Mr. Death." The pilot paused for a moment before continuing, his voice cold with bitterness. "Always, only you survive, Mr. Death."

Hunk gazed at the back of the pilot's helmet steadily, no emotion softening his chiseled features, ignoring the implication behind the guy's words. He could give a fuck what this asshole thought of him! He survived because he was the best. Period. If he knew how to fly a chopper, he'd toss this guy out the side and prove him right. Unfortunately, he'd never done well in the simulation exercises.

Hunk tuned the man out and leaned back against the chopper. God, but he was fucking tired! He sighed and closed his eyes again, this time not bothering to open them again. He'd nap for the little bit of time it would take them to reach the airstrip. Then, hand over the G-virus sample, turn in his resignation, and simply disappear. He would find his brother, take him to France, and become an uncle. Life didn't get any better than that.