Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the below piece of fiction, Capcom does.

Warning: Nothing

Authors Note: Sorry for the slight delay in the chapter. Convention season is starting up, and with that comes the 'cosplay rush', in which I run around like a chicken with my head cut off. So I've been doing a lot of crafts as of late and have been getting distracted with figuring out how I'm going to make certain things. In any case, I hope you enjoy the 3rd last chapter of SoF!

Chapter 43- Leaving

A certain recluse, I know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky. ~Kenko Yoshida

"So what exactly are we doing here?"

"We're confronting Irons."

"Under the guise of planning some counselling with the resident police psychologist?"

"Yes."

"But why? I mean, weren't you the one who said we have no proof?"

"Yes, but we have our word and we have the ability to put pressure on both Irons and Umbrella. If they know we're not going to be quiet, then maybe they'll try so hard to keep things under cover that they'll eventually slip up."

"I thought you had given up."

"I didn't say I had given up."

"Destroying Captain Wesker's desk and screaming about us being retarded seems sort of like you gave up."

"Don't call him Captain."

"Why not?"

"Because he's not our captain anymore."

"Was he ever?"

"Okay, that's enough you two," Jill said, her voice snapping Chris out of his death glare on Brad. Giving him one last dangerous look, Chris then brought his attention to Jill beside him, a small smile on his lips.

"Sorry, were we talking too much?"

Rolling her eyes, Jill sent Chris a blank stare. "You know why I broke that up," she said, running a hand through her hair, gaze returning to the clock on the wall in the waiting room. It was Monday, two days after the memorial, and they were official sent back to work, whether or not all of them had agreed to the psychological assessment. Chris certainly hadn't agreed to it, figuring whoever Irons hired to help them would be part of the conspiracy, and therefore would not really listen to whatever he had to talk about. Besides, Chris hated psychologists. No one got to know what was going on in his head save for himself—it was safer that way. Especially now…

So even though he had not gone through the assessment and evaluations, he was allowed back at work the same as everyone else. His side still hurt, his head still throbbed, and he felt dirty and tainted with the STARS patch sitting on his arm, but he knew he had to go back. He was no good sitting at home doing nothing, and if he quit working for the RPD he'd be even further away from his redemption. As much as he hated to admit it, his job gave him valuable resources that he could use to aid their cause to take down Umbrella. So he got up in the early morning, pulled out the extra STARS shirt he had, snatched the recently cleaned dark green vest with its worn sides and frayed edges, and put them both on along with the mask that he had to wear in the public eye, shielding them from the monster that lurked below. It was once easy to pretend everything was all right; that his career was rewarding; his relationships blooming; and his sense of self was strong within him. But after that fateful day in the mansion, Chris knew he would never be the same, not when the curtains had been pulled back to show that he, too, was just a puppet. No longer did he have all the things that made him him, and instead he was just another actor on the stage, desperately trying to stay in character as the set burned around him.

Now he had to play the part of the old Chris Redfield; the one who never shied away from conflict; knew the difference between right and wrong; the one who had played the part so beautifully before. No one could know something was wrong—no one could know that there was more to his grief than what met the eye. Save for Rebecca, Chris' true self was hidden in his heart and mind, infecting and torturing him, but staying locked away where it belonged.

And it was easier to play the part when he had something to do. So when he arrived at work, the first thing he said (after apologising to everyone for his tantrum the other day) was that they should go talk to Irons. By standing back and not saying a word, they would be sending a message that they were weak and were going to let Umbrella get away with what they did. Chris would not let that stand, though, and convinced everyone to go see Irons as soon as they could to at least symbolically show that they were not going to roll over, no matter how strong Umbrella was. They had to say something, because who else would? When they signed up to join STARS, they promised to protect the people of Raccoon City, and they were all going to see that oath through.

Of course they had to wait to see Irons, especially after such short notice, and that left time for small talk—only it had turned into more of a thinly veiled argument between Brad and Chris. Since Chris had voiced his opinions on Brad's behaviour, Brad had retaliated by acting a lot like a small child; goading Chris on in an attempt to get him to lose it. It had turned into a mutual dislike, one that Chris was more than fine with keeping up. Brad was a liability and always would be. Why support him when he had not supported Bravo and Alpha team?

Besides, it was good training for Chris to have someone continually harass him. He needed to keep his emotions in check if he was going to get anywhere in this mission of his, and flying off the handle at the smallest of things wasn't going to work. He needed to be calm and collected—he needed to close himself off from his emotions. Although it was hard not to just throw a chair at Brad's head.

"You sure he's going to see us?" Rebecca asked, putting down an old magazine that had been there since before Chris had even moved to Raccoon.

"Why wouldn't he?" Barry asked in return, cracking an eye open, his arms crossed over his chest and legs splayed out. He looked very relaxed given the current situation, and Chris figured he had probably taken a cat nap.

Shrugging, Rebecca picked the magazine up again, although she didn't open it and merely played with the curled in corners. "He probably knows we're not here to talk about our mental health examinations, so he might be nervous and not wanting to talk to us about his cover-up."

Sighing, Chris rubbed his face with one hand before stretching his side out gently, feeling the muscles seizing. "He'll see us. He has to, especially if he knows what we're here to talk about. If he doesn't, well… it's sending a message."

"Why not ask Mindy what he's up to right now?" Jill suggested, knowing the extent of their previous relationship more than anyone else.

"She's not working today," he said, noticing a different secretary behind the large desk, her brunette beehive hair visible behind the computer screen. Chris was actually worried that he hadn't seen Mindy at all since the mission a week ago. She had been high strung for a while (and still hadn't talked to Chris about what was really bothering her), so perhaps she had decided to go on a small vacation… although she probably would have told him.

"You okay?" Jill's voice once again snapped Chris out of his worried thoughts, and he simply sent her another smile.

"Yeah, just thinking. I do that on occasion."

Rolling her eyes, Jill gently nudged him before once again staring at the clock on the wall. "You've been spending a lot of time in your head."

"Haven't we all?" he asked, going to look at the clock as well. "I mean… there is a lot to contemplate."

"True… Just don't get lost in there." Her voice was soft and quiet, making it so he was the only one to hear it. Tearing his gaze away to look at her, Chris began to realize how observant she was, and admired her for a second as she watched the second hand tick around the white and black center.

"I won't… And if I do, you'll pull me out, right?"

"Of course; we've got each other's backs." He could see the smallest, barley there smile appear on her lips, and Chris couldn't help but smile back as a safety net formed underneath him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad—this new persona idea he had going on— if he had someone to act on the stage alongside him. Monologues were always easier when you weren't the only one standing there.

Of course the moment was ruined when the phone in the room rang loudly, making everyone visibly jump—including Barry, who seemed to have genuinely passed out while they waited. Everyone's attention immediately went to the secretary's desk, and they watched as she slowly picked up the phone on the third ring, her attention still on the screen in front of her.

"Yes?" she said, her voice low and calm. Chris swore he could hear some French in her accent, and shifted ever so slightly to see if he could see her face. For some reason she sounded and looked familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint why. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, and brought his attention back to the clock when she put the phone down and stared directly at him. Awkward…

"Irons will see you all, now," she said, standing up with a few folders in her hands. "It's just down the hallway behind the mahogany door."

This time Chris could tell that her accent was definitely French, and he knew for sure he had seen her somewhere before… Where he had seen her, though, was a mystery. Maybe she had been working at another place like his dentist or something before she started here—hence the familiarity. Chris didn't want to dwell on it in any case, and stood up along with the rest of them to follow Barry through the door. He was the last one to go through, and when he turned around to close the door he noticed she was still standing up, folders in her hands as she watched him.

"She's creepy," Chris whispered when he had closed the door, but the only person who could hear him was Brad, and he seemed content enough to ignore Chris' statement. He was probably the only one who was freaked out by her, though. Getting past the familiarity that he felt gazing upon her, her general aura made Chris on edge—the fact that she was staring at him with her cold, blue eyes wasn't helping matters much, either. But once again he didn't have time to think about how troublesome the woman was before they had entered Irons' stuffy, dark office. He always felt a little too cramped in the office, and he had only visited a few times when he was part of a big operation that either went well, or horribly, horribly wrong… like when Wesker was shot or Jill was held at gunpoint. The fact that the walls were lined with awards, medals, and dead animals did nothing to ease Chris' nerves as they all congregated in the small office, their breathing already too heavy for the room itself. It also didn't help that Irons had been smoking a cigar, the smoke clouding the top of the room, hovering above their heads and floating down enough that they had to breathe in the dirty smoke.

Most of the tension came from what they were there to talk about, though. As soon as Chris saw Irons sitting behind his desk, he felt a sudden rush of anger and rage overtake him, his face going flush and his hands balling into fists. He wanted to rip that tie off, stuff it down his throat so he choked on it, and then slam his face down onto his perfectly polished mahogany desk for what he had done. He wasn't just upset at Irons for what he was doing with Umbrella, either—he was also pissed at whatever he had done to upset Mindy. Anyone who would make Mindy cry deserved to be thrown to the dogs. Or zombie dogs—that would be more fitting.

"What do you guys want?" Irons barked out, voice gruff. His hands were perched on his stomach as he lounged back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant and at ease in front of them, but failing due to his moustache twitching every so often, showing how on edge he actually was.

Good.

"To speak with you," Barry said, and everyone fell in line with him deciding Barry probably had the most tact when it came to such situations. Besides, everyone else was too afraid to say anything in fear of what might be blurted out. They needed to be professional about it, and Chris had a feeling that if he began talking he'd probably end it with another desk-smash temper tantrum. That would not help their case at all, that was for sure.

"Well, speak then because I've got a meeting in ten minutes," Irons said, puffing up a little in his seat, much like an angry cat.

"A meeting with Umbrella?" Chris asked, arms crossed over his chest. So much for saying nothing.

"Chris," Jill hissed out, smacking his side gently as Barry began to speak again, eyeing Chris a second before getting them back on track.

"We're here to talk about your comment on how the other STARS members died at the memorial. The whole 'gas leak' explanation you've concocted."

"What about it?"

Chris resisted the urge to hurtle a blunt object at his head, and simply stayed rooted on the spot as everyone else in the room visibly stiffened. For once, Chris thought that Barry was actually going to act out on one of his urges—his fists balling at his sides, jaw clenching, and nostrils flaring. He looked like he was going to beat the shit out of Irons, and he wasn't about to stop him if Barry decided to do just that.

"You're lying—you're covering it up," Barry finally said, voice calm and even despite his aggressive stance. Hearing Irons sigh, Chris raised an eyebrow and watched him stand up, his hands shoving the hem of his vest back down as it shifted on his larger frame. Staying behind the desk, Irons went to investigate the medals adoring his wall, fingers drumming against the large mahogany desk.

"I think you should all learn something," he began, gaze still on the medals before him. "I got this job because I knew how the game worked. I did my part, I did what was asked of me, and I played it smart. I excelled faster than most because I had money backing me—I had the right

people with the right agenda making sure I got where I was. I earned it, no doubt about it, but the people I had support me were invaluable allies—allies that are incredibly… powerful.

"Because, you see… we have Umbrella here—we're a city founded by a mega cooperation. A cooperation that pumps this city with millions, possibly trillions, of dollars; that is not something you just look away from," he said, turning away from the wall to stare at all of them. "What I'm saying is that there is no place for self-righteous behaviour in Raccoon. It's been corrupt from the very beginning, and you can either fight it, like all the other idiots do and eventually fail, or you can sit back and let them do what they're going to do. There is no stopping them."

"You're a sick son of a bitch," Chris growled out, stepping forward. Screw being the well-tempered guy of the group, Irons deserved to feel a bit of pain for what he just said. Like he was going to be paid off and used by Umbrella like Irons—he wasn't that far gone. He still had pride and a moral code that he was trying to fix again, and he'd be damned if he was just going to sit by and see the deaths of his friends as nothing more than a money grab. Everyone had to know why those men died that night, not just for the sake of Raccoon, but for the sake of Bravo team's honour. They fought and died in horrifying conditions, their flesh ripped apart and their mouths still open in terror, creating a morbid death mask, and everyone had to know this. They never had the chance to die peacefully, but if they broke open this case, then maybe they could rest in peace.

Irons just laughed softly when he saw Chris, a cheery grin on his face despite no warmth in his eyes. "I may be a sick son of a bitch, but I'm a practical one. One who knows not to fight something that I'm not going to win. I did you all a favour by covering it up, because you have no idea what Umbrella would do to you guys if they knew you were telling everyone the 'truth' of the situation."

Sitting back down in the chair, Irons crossed his arms over his chest, the smile gone, instead replaced with a grimace. "If I were you—no, if I were smart—I'd forget any of this happened. Go back to doing your job, and forget about what Umbrella was doing. It was a gas leak—nothing more or less."

"You're going to pay for this, same with Umbrella," Jill growled out, her lips pulled back into an ugly snarl.

"All I'm getting is a hefty pay check, Valentine… Perhaps we could do something with that money together?" Irons asked, winking before Chris almost got halfway across the desk, ready to pummel the shit out of the perverted fuck. So this was Irons' true colours—he should have guessed. Not only was he working for Umbrella, but he was also molesting women at the work place… women like Mindy.

"I'm going to kill you!" he shouted, scrambling over the desk. He had managed to grab onto his silk red tie before strong arms on either side grabbed him, pulling him back and off of the desk.

Standing up, Irons sent Chris a glare, a hand going to touch the tie he had ripped out from its spot under his vest. "That was a dangerous move, Redfield."

"It's not worth it," Barry said, trying to pull Chris back from Irons. Chris wanted to maim him—he wanted to hurt him, torture him, destroy him. Chris wanted to kill the sick son of a bitch and make him feel just a fraction of what he had been feeling every day since the mansion. Irons was willing to sell away the honour of his men for some extra money, and Chris wanted to destroy him for that.

"You're going to regret what you said in this room," Chris said, shoving Barry's hands off of him, the rage still there, but common sense had begun to creep into him, allowing him to see a bit more clearly. Getting into a fight with Irons was not going to do anything but get him suspended or maybe fired—another dishonourable discharge. "Mark my words—Umbrella's going to fuck you over just like everything else it touches."

"Get out of my office," Irons yelled, his thick finger pointing them out of the room, his body shaking with barely controlled rage. "Get out!"

"Like I'd want to stay," he said before shoving past everyone to get out of the room, adrenaline creeping up and down his spine, pooling in his gut and behind his eyes, making him shake and feel sick. Storming through the hallway back to the main office, Chris' anger brought sudden clarity, and as he passed the secretary he gave her one hard look. "You worked for Umbrella as a secretary at their head office downtown. I saw you when I was there for a meeting… Don't you dare fucking spy on me, STARS, or anyone at the RPD, or I will personally throw you off the top of Umbrella's main headquarters." The woman seemed slightly startled by Chris' comment, but did not have time to say anything else before he was leaving while the rest of the STARS members were entering.

"Where are you going?" Jill called out, but Chris kept walking. He needed some fresh air—he needed to get out of there.

"Don't follow me," he called over his shoulder before opening and closing the door to the waiting room with a loud bang. Storming through the hallways of the once comforting building, Chris hurried to the roof, a place that still brought peace to him despite everything that had happened. Throwing open the metal door, Chris ignored the men at the helicopter station and strode over to the railing along the edge, the skyline of the city already calming his nerves as the wide, open sky stretched out before him.

Irons was such a prick—a prick with no fucking soul. He had sold them out; in fact, he had sold out the entire RPD. They were purposely blinded because of Umbrella. They weren't allowed to see what was really going on because Umbrella had money, influence, and an iron fist that ruled with fear. When Chris had joined the RPD, he wanted to do good; when he had entered a relationship with Wesker, he had wanted to do something good for himself; when he had decided to go after Umbrella, he wanted to do good for those who died because of their greed. But it was all for naught. His relationship was a sham, his job was a sham, and his redemption and peace for his friends was becoming a smaller and smaller possibility.

Raccoon City tainted everything.

Sighing, Chris once again reached inside his vest for a packet of smokes, pulling it out and taking one out. Lighting it, Chris sucked in the smoke and held it in his lungs for as long as possible before exhaling slowly. He wasn't going to back down, though. While everything else had been a sham, the drive that he had felt to right his wrongs was not—that was genuine. He would just have to come up with a new plan… one that would lead him to answers. Flicking the smoke, Chris watched the ash fall down to the streets below, mind still made up.

He was going to bring Umbrella down, no doubt about it. He'd just have to be cleverer than them.

**XX**

Coffee break was the best time of day, no matter where you worked. Even if you worked in a coffee shop and saw and worked with nothing but coffee, it was still the best time of day. Chris loved his coffee breaks because it let him wander around the center for a while, stretching his legs and seeing people other than his teammates for a little while. It was sort of like recess for adults, and he enjoyed it. Besides, he got far too antsy staying inside his office for too long. His legs would start to cramp; mind would begin to wander; and the fidgeting—oh, God, would he ever fidget. Barry had threatened to strap him down in his seat after one particularly fidget-filled day.

He wondered how his teachers throughout the years managed to put up with his ever increasing need to wander around and move.

But Chris loved coffee breaks. And that was why he was not happy when his perfect coffee break was ruined.

"What the fuck?" Chris yelled out as scalding hot coffee hit his chest, burning his skin through the now soaked white fabric of his shirt. Looking at the cop who had done it, Chris watched the man's face go from mild surprise to shock in a matter of seconds as he, without thinking about it, slammed his fist hard into his face.

"Chris!" Jill cried out, her hands grabbing his arm and pulling him back. Feeling the pain in his hand, the realization that he had hit the guy began to soak in, just as the blood from the cop's nose began to pool in his hands.

"F-fuck, man, I didn't mean to," the cop said, voice muffled as he cupped his nose, other guys in the break room bringing napkins for him. Chris didn't know what to say, his mind still blank as he came to terms with what he had just done. He had acted out, resorting to violence on a man who didn't deserve it. What was going on?

Pulling his arm away from Jill's grasp, Chris mumbled a sorry to the man and made move to leave, wanting to get out of there to clean up and get away from everyone's accusing gaze. But Jill's voice made him pause. "What happened?"

Not knowing what to say or do, but needing to keep appearances up, he turned and shrugged, winking to ease her nerves. "It was nothing," he lied before hurrying to the washroom, afraid of what he had just done and afraid of what he was feeling now. A part of him wanted to go back and pummel the shit out of the guy.

He had failed himself… again. He had been trying so hard to keep his emotions in check and not act out at the smallest of things, and here he was, punching a fellow cop over some spilt coffee. But he had been trying so damn hard to lock away any emotion that interfered with his judgments and his mission. No one could know there was anything wrong with him—no one could know how angry, frustrated, and grief-stricken he was. He didn't want to show his emotions or deal with them. It was best to lock them away and keep them away. They complicated everything—blinded him from his goals and from reality. He was not going to let anything get in his way of redeeming himself. But obviously bottling everything up was having consequences. He hadn't even thought when he reacted like that; he had just hit him, the anger boiling up as he looked at the cop's stupid, dumbfounded face.

Reaching the washroom, Chris threw open the door and closed it quickly, locking it despite it being a stalled room. Hurrying to the sinks, Chris started the taps up and went to clean his shirt, not wanting to look at himself in the mirrors.

It had been almost a month since the mansion incident—one long, horrible month since everything had gone to hell. His side had almost healed, his head was fine, the bruises were gone and the cuts had vanished or simply turned into small, white scars. Unfortunately, the emotional damage was still there, breaking Chris apart every night he went to bed until morning came where he'd rebuilt himself enough so that he could face the world again—a daily ritual now. He was a mess, and he would readily admit it, but only to himself. He wasn't eating properly, had become paranoid and untrusting, could not sleep due to the nightmares, and spent most of his time mulling over his ideas to stop Umbrella and save the world—a plan that was not working out too well. He was being stifled by working for the RPD, his every move watched, his every conversation heard, and he swore sometimes they were recording his thoughts.

He couldn't do anything to get information on Umbrella to share to the public—no one believed him and his team no matter how much they cried afoul. They had no evidence, nothing to back up what they were trying to say, and so they were left stranded without a paddle as the currents carried them further and further away. Chris had thought he would figure a way around it—one that did not involve quitting his job—but he had yet to come up with anything. Umbrella was proving to be as quick and dangerous as a snake, and his hands were already bitten and bleeding, the poison leeching through his system, infecting and destroying him slowly. Yet he would not stop until they paid for what they did.

But because he couldn't get a good, solid lead he was left lying awake at night, fending off the cold, dead hands as they tried to grab him and pull him under while he contemplated his options over and over again, mind going around in circles until the morning light came and he got up, put his clothes and his mask on, and then ventured into the outside world to live a life he wished he could truly call his own.

Of course this entire time Chris couldn't help but think of Wesker and how much he hated and yet still loved him at the same time. Wesker was always there, skirting about in the shadows of his mind, toying with him. He didn't want to think about Wesker; he didn't want to even hear his name or talk about him with the others in connection to the case. He wanted Wesker to just leave him alone, but that was impossible. Wesker was part of the infection coursing through his veins—a constant reminder of his sins. A constant reminder of why he was trying to reach that redemption.

Sighing when he saw the coffee was not coming out, Chris dropped his hands and went to turn the tap off, fingers pink from the cold water he had used to try and rub the stain out. Just another reminder of how shitty his entire life was right now—only this one reminded him of how fucking emotional he was even though he hated to admit it. But he wouldn't admit it, because no one could know what he was feeling right now. He had told everyone time and time again he was fine, and he was damn well fine.

Drying his hands off with a paper towel, he took one long, deep breath before exhaling it slowly, trying to rein in his temper before he ventured back out. He needed to go to the locker room down in the basement to grab an extra shirt he had stuffed in there long ago—he'd rather wear a wrinkled shirt than a stained one. Running a hand through his hair, Chris took another breath for good measure before unlocking the door and leaving the bathroom. No one appeared in the hallway at that instant to yell at him like he had expected, so Chris ventured forward to the locker rooms, turning corners quickly before he bumped into someone on the third turn.

"O-oh, sorry," he said when he ran into the shorter person, only seeing a flash of blonde hair under his gaze before they were pulling away.

"Chris!" Getting a clear view as they parted, Chris saw that it was Mindy, and immediately broke out into a huge grin.

"Hey, where have you been?" he asked, pulling her into a large embrace, forgetting about the giant wet stain on the front of his shirt. She didn't seem to mind, though, and simply hugged him back before pulling away.

"I got transferred a while ago," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, a large silver earring catching the light as she did so. "I now work down in the main lobby. You've walked past me a few times but you never seem to see me."

Now Chris felt like an ass. "Sorry, I guess I've been distracted lately."

"It's understandable," she said, sympathy written all over her face. Reaching out, she rubbed his arm gently, a small smile on her lips. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm… okay," he lied, smiling back. "You know how it is… just going through the motions. But I'm all right."

"Are you sure?" she asked, dropping her hand. "I mean, you've been through a lot, and what with Wesker—"

"I'm all right, I swear," he said, before going to change the subject. "But how are you? I mean, last time I saw you there was some heavy stuff happening with you and Irons, and now you've been transferred to a new department and an old Umbrella employee is working for him."

Sighing, Mindy shrugged. "I guess he didn't like me knowing about his affair so he moved me. It's good, though. I prefer it where I am."

"Mindy… it wasn't an affair you knew about," Chris said, it being his turn to frown as she lied to him. He knew that she knew all about Umbrella and his lecherous behaviour, and he needed to get her to admit it. Maybe she could help him with his case.

"Chris, don't push it," she said, her gaze leaving his to look around the hallway.

"But Mindy, I need to—" he began before her voice cut him off, tone sharp and quick.

"Chris, just stop it! Don't push it, don't inquire about it—just forget it! It's too dangerous, what you're doing. You need to back off or you'll get hurt."

He hadn't expected her to snap just like that, even though their topic of conversation was a tense one. She had always been gentle with him, even when he was pushing her too far. Something was going on and it wasn't fixed by a simple transfer.

"Mindy, I need you to tell me what's going on with you and Irons. Has he been hurting you? I know he's a horny asshat and there is no telling what he'll try and do—"

"Chris, stop it!" She was practically yelling now, and there was obvious fear in her eyes as she clutched her purse close to her chest. "Don't ask any questions about Irons or Umbrella—if you keep doing this it will get you killed, and I will not see that happen. So stop asking around, stop pestering people, and stop talking to me!" Pushing past him, Mindy made move to leave, her hands shaking and her eyes wide as she tried to get away from him. Reaching out, he tried to grasp her arm and pull her back—keeping her there so he could calm her down and eventually find out what was going on, but she had other ideas. Wrenching her arm out of his grasp, she turned around and smacked him hard on the cheek.

Feeling the pain immediately, Chris' first reaction was to reach up and cup his cheek, the skin stinging out in pain as he touched it. But he did not dwell on the pain and instead looked at Mindy, eyes wide. Had she really just slapped him like that? "Mindy?" he whispered, confused, startled, and slightly… sad.

"I-I'm sorry, Chris, but you need to stay away from me and everything else. Go away a-and just… just stop worrying about this," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to keep her emotions in check. He could see the tears in her eyes and the flushing of her cheeks, but did nothing to stop her as she turned around again and left him in the hallway, her heels clicking loudly on the wooden floor.

Watching her leave, Chris rubbed his cheek roughly as the stinging subsided and all that was left was an angry red mark. Not moving for some time, he just stared at the door Mindy had left through as other employees of the RPD walked by, no one saying anything as they gazed upon his startled expression.

Mindy had physically forced him away this time—showing him that something was incredibly wrong, and yet he wasn't supposed to do anything about it. Irons was dangerous, he knew that much. But the fear he struck in Mindy was enough to make Chris pause for a moment and really contemplate what he was doing. There was something going on; something more than being paid off by Umbrella and hitting on his employees… there was something wrong with him.

Shaking his head to try and clear away the confusion and pain he felt thinking about what Mindy had just done, Chris wandered to the locker rooms in the basement. He wouldn't bother Mindy—at least, not right now. He would respect her wishes, no matter how upset it made him, and he would back off from prying her for information.

But prying other people for information, especially on Irons, was not off limits, and Chris was going to take full advantage of that. Mindy had warned him to step away from the case, but he was never one for following orders.

**XX**

"You're what?"

Sighing, Chris rested his elbows on his knees and leant forward in his chair, eyes downcast as Jill's voice barrelled over his own. Waiting until she had quieted down, Chris took a steady breath before reiterating what he had said. "I'm quitting STARS."

"You can't do that!" Rebecca chirped in, and Chris looked up to see her staring at him, eyes large and worried. She reminded him of a guppy fish—cute, but a little too cute.

"I have to," he said, sitting back in his chair, trying to avoid looking at Jill's accusing stare. "I need to gather information and bring Umbrella down. I can't do it while I'm working for a place that is run by the cooperation I'm trying to destroy."

"But we need you with us! We need to stay united," Jill countered, anger and desperation in her voice. "Whatever happened to defending the citizens of Raccoon until the very end?"

"I can't defend them if I'm being chained down like I am now," he explained, going to look at Jill. She simply gave him a stern look before she went to stare at the wall ahead of her, a glare in her gaze that could kill.

"Have fun trying to quit," Brad mumbled, rubbing his hands together as he, too, went to lean back in his chair.

"Why, you already tried as soon as we got back from the mansion?" Chris spat out, making Brad visibly bristle. He was about to counter with something before Rebecca interrupted, her voice soft but commanding.

"I'm staying here," she said, her hands balled together to make small fists. "I'll stick with you, Jill."

"Thanks," Jill mumbled, sending her a small, soft smile.

"Stop talking like I'm leaving you guys to the dogs! I'm still helping out; I'll just be doing it without Umbrella breathing down my neck!" Chris said, trying to defend his decision. It wasn't like he wanted to quit, but it had become his only option. He couldn't be connected to anything or anyone—he needed to be able to do what he needed to do without something holding him back, be it a job or a personal relationship.

"Yeah, but you won't be part of the team," Jill said, frowning even though he could see her begin to soften a small fraction. "I won't have you to bother when I'm bored."

"You can always call me and tell me about something stupid a fellow cop did," he said, sending her a crooked smile. It seemed to melt her further, although she was still sighing a tad dramatically.

"I guess if it's what you need to do…" she said, trailing off. That was when Chris knew she was beginning to see his points. "But you know I'm still staying. I made a promise to the people of Raccoon to protect them, and I'm going to see it through."

"As am I," Rebecca said, nodding in finality as Jill sent Chris a smug look.

"I'll be protecting them too, just not with a pay check," he said, suddenly feeling a little sick thinking about the lack of money he'd have in the future. Oh well, he had worked his finances out last night, and if he didn't spend money on unnecessary things like food then he'd be okay for quite a while.

"What do you think, Barry? You've been awfully quiet," Rebecca said as soon as Jill started to tease Chris about becoming a hobo. Turning his attention away from Jill, Chris went to look at Barry, who seemed occupied with the corner of a piece of paper.

Shrugging, Barry left the note alone and sat forward at his desk, arms resting on top. "I have no room to say anything about Chris' decision given I'm leaving as well."

"What did you say?" Jill yelled out again, and Chris had a feeling of déjà vu. But Barry's words caught him off guard too, and he found himself sitting with his mouth open and eyebrows raised. Why was Barry quitting as well?

"Don't start freaking out, Jill… I just need to think about my family in all of this. I mean, this is dangerous stuff, this Umbrella business, and I need to think about the safety of Kathy and the kids before I go off doing anything reckless. Umbrella seems like the type of company that would do anything to get to those who are against them, and for me… well, that's my family."

"So… you're just quitting?" Chris asked, feeling like Barry had pulled the rug out from under him. He needed Barry with him on this… Barry was like a brother to him and if he left at this crucial moment, then… then he'd be really fucked.

Sighing, Barry ran a hand over his face, his skin a little pale. "No… No, I'm leaving Raccoon City… I'm actually leaving the United States altogether. I mean, not forever, of course, but I'm settling everyone up north in Canada—just to make sure they're save. Umbrella doesn't have such a strong hold up there due to the health care system, so it's safer. I just need to get them up there, get them a place to stay and make sure they're okay, and then I'll be back down here to help you guys out. But for now I need to leave."

There was silence for some time, all of them not knowing what to think. Barry, the rock of the group, the oldest and wisest of them all, was leaving them. Chris felt like a kid who had his water wings removed and was expected to swim the length of the pool and back. It was daunting.

"You… You gotta do what you gotta do," he finally said, breaking the silence in the room. Chris thought of Claire when he spoke of his family, and how he'd do anything to keep her safe. She came before anything else in such situations, and for Barry it was the same way. His kids and wife were more important than bringing Umbrella down at this point in time.

"Y-yeah, you need to help your family first," Rebecca agreed as Jill and Brad simply nodded. Not knowing what else to say, all of them sat in silence in the office, their numbers once again dwindling.

Where there was twelve, now only three were left standing of the once proud Special Tactics and Rescue Service of the RPD.

And so it continues! Chris is still trying to find that redemption, Jill is the silent but bad-ass support, Rebecca knows more than is healthy, Brad is the punching bag, and Barry is now Canadian! Haha, well I hope you guys all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you very much for all of the support. You're all really, truly, amazing.