AN - There was so much to cram into this chapter that I'm amazed it didn't turn out longer. Here is where the direction changes, where everything starts to spiral. As far as rating is concerned, I honestly don't know where the upcoming chapters will register so I may need help on that one. I'm straying into unknown territory, and as such apologise if the quality is a little lacking; writing action/horror and all that comes with it is new ground for me. Hopefully you all enjoy what is coming :). Chapter title is from 'Cry Little Sister' by Gerard McMann.
Thank you again to everyone who reviewed last chapter: .-SnipingWolf, Ninja-Gnome, Kenshin13, tek, Ivilith and xSummonerYunax. Though I can't help but notice that review numbers are falling while hits are rising (and quite dramatically). If you think that I am going wrong somewhere, please, please let me know, don't refrain from reviewing. I like to know where I am going wrong as well as where I am doing well, and at the moment I feel that the former is tending to be the case with this story. Just no pointless flames ;). If I ever needed to hear your opinions, it is doubly true in the case of the upcoming chapters.
I hope you enjoy chapter six.
Blindside
Chapter Six - Black House Will Rock
"Thou shall not fear."
August 22, 2003. 6:19pm. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas.
She had sworn that nerves would not get the better of her. She had sworn that she would not be afraid.
In all honesty, it was not her fault. She would have been able to remain perfectly composed had it not been for the well-meaning but overbearing thoughts of her friends. It was a mistake to have allowed the name of her date to slip. Jill Valentine, playing the field; that was all it had been. Then she had answered honestly to Claire's probing questions, had admitted that the date was in fact with Chris, that she had not been single for several days now.
She should have known that their secret would not keep long.
Before she was aware of the consequences of such a slip, she found herself at the mercy of her friends' questions and made the unfortunate mistake of revealing that she intended to wear slacks and whatever top suited her fancy that night. Several lectures on the importance of a first date later and she was thrown into a state of panic. Less than half an hour later, she was back in her apartment, taking her friends - including the ever-voracious Patricia, who had unfortunately chosen that particular weekend to visit - through every item of clothing in her wardrobe. One by one they were deemed too conservative, too dressy, too revealing, not revealing enough...
The item they had settled on was a dress she had never intended to wear, one she had simply liked the appearance of as she flicked through a catalogue one day. It was a tight, ruched cobalt number, off the shoulder on one side and barely skimming her knees. It clung to her curves in a way that was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable and a little self-conscious. She felt overdressed. Then there was the hours of preening she had been subjected to; hair trimmed and tousled at a salon, fingernails and toenails tended to and a variety of spa treatments, including a rather thorough wax that was still perceptible on the edge of her pain threshold.
She was not trying to impress, but every inch of her screamed effort. Would he believe that she expected something?
She sighed as she brushed down her dress, preparing to turn the corner and walk the final distance. It was then that she caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window. Small, white flowers glistened in the artificial light of the street lamps, petals poised perfectly against the backdrop of dark brunette hair. He had sent flowers earlier that day, much to her surprise. Pink roses; her favourite. Surrounding the much bigger flowers in the centre of the bouquet had been small, delicate flowers she recognised as Lily of the Valley. She had snipped part of the plant away and entwined it in her hair at one side, wondering if he understood the meaning of those tiny yet beautiful blooms. Part of her liked to think that he had.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the final corner, balancing on heeled shoes as she shuddered against the breeze.
He was waiting for her, dressed in perhaps the only pair of jeans he owned that were not scuffed or otherwise damaged, a white T-shirt beneath a black sports jacket; casual yet dressy.
'I am way overdressed,' she gulped, dreading the moment his eyes would fall on her.
And then they did, and everything slowed to a halt. At first she thought that he had not recognised her, but then an undeniable smile found its way to his lips and he closed the distance she dared not walk.
"You…" he gasped, reaching out for her hand. Words, it seemed, eluded him.
His eyes travelled the length of her body, the smile not once faltering.
"You look…breathtaking," he settled on when his eyes returned to hers, glazed and filled to the brim with emotion.
"You don't think it's too much?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip as she waited for an honest answer.
"No, no!" he insisted. "Not at all. It's just…wow."
She could not help but smile, having thought it impossible to elicit such a reaction clothed from a man who had seen her naked. Indeed, she could feel him undressing her with his eyes; exactly the reaction that dress had intended to provoke, according to her friends. Where she had previously felt uncomfortable in these situations, she found that she quite liked it when the guilty party was Chris. There was just something about him that made her feel so comfortable, like she did not need to fear anything when she was with him.
"Thank you," she smiled. "You clean up good yourself."
And she pressed a kiss to his lips, feeling a hand move automatically to her waist.
"I am not this lucky," he sighed when they parted, sharing with her a gentle laugh.
As though his words had physically affected her, she found that she no longer hunched and held herself with much more confidence than before.
"So," she purred. Now that she knew the effect she had on him, she could not help but exploit it a little. "Where are you taking me?"
"Looking like that?" he grinned deviously. "Home. Damn, you smell good."
She laughed nervously.
"Obviously you're not up to date with social etiquette," she teased. "You have to court a girl before you take her to your bed."
"Damn," he sighed. "In that case, I suppose there's this little Blues place I have reservations at. Good thing, really, otherwise what would we have done?"
"Blues?" the mere mention of the word caused flutters of excitement to erupt within her chest. She had always had a soft spot for the blues.
"Seems I've got you all figured out, Miss Valentine," he teased, catching on to the meaning of her smile. "If you wouldn't mind…"
He then held out his arm, inviting her to link it with hers. How could she refuse? He had called her 'breathtaking', and was taking her to the restaurant she had been dying to visit since she heard of its opening; she would have done anything he asked in that moment.
The restaurant, it transpired, was in fact the one she had heard about. The Crossroad Palace was still in the early days of business, and it had been booming; reservations were not easy to come by. While the effort she had put into the date had been physical, she felt that which Chris had expended was less tangible; his effort was focused on pleasing her, on making her feel good in the moments they shared. Suddenly, the pedicure seemed like a ridiculous waste of money.
"You're quiet tonight," he commented once they were seated. The booth they would call home was well-situated; a good view of the stage, well away from wandering eyes.
She contemplated her reasoning; did she admit to nerves, or to the regret of spending so much time on herself and not enough thinking about him?
For all his macho overtones, she could see clearly now that he was a truly sweet and caring man. And she had thought a particularly invasive wax he could not even see would please him?
"I am so stupid," she groaned, not even caring that she had spoken the words aloud. She allowed her head to fall into her hands, carefully-tousled hair falling against her skin.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"Look at me!" she laughed, though the humour she saw in her thoughts was very dark indeed. "I am wearing a Victoria's Secret dress, I spent three hundred dollars on skin treatments that you can't even see, I can barely walk in these shoes and don't even get me started on the fact that save for this ridiculously expensive haircut and eyebrows that have been plucked half to death, there is not a single hair on my body!"
Chris blinked, unsure if he should be laughing or contradicting everything she was saying.
"I wanted tonight to be about us and about how much I love you, but I…well, I look like this! It's not me!" All the while, he remained silent, listening with worry etched into his expression. "And you sent me pink roses, and though you probably didn't think of the meaning, you sent me lilies of the valley! You brought me to a Blues restaurant despite the fact you never knew who Robert Johnson was until you met me. What did I do? I…I dressed like this."
She silenced herself before her rant pushed on, and refused to look his way. It was quite possible that he thought she was insane and deeply regretting ever asking her out.
"You look beautiful, Jill," he assured her, reaching for a hand. She could not help but notice that hers were so small in his, so soft in comparison to his rough skin. "But you look beautiful no matter what you wear. I did not fall in love with you because of your face or your body…I fell in love with you because of your passion and your heart, because you are the one person in this world I could not live without."
She exhaled slowly, allowing his words to sink in.
"But if you are worried about how truly breathtaking you look tonight, let me tell you this," he continued. "That you would spend so much time and effort to try to impress me flatters me deeply. But you don't have to go to such lengths to impress me…you just have to love me."
She laughed this time, and allowed him to pull her into the warmth of his body, smelling cologne that assured her that she was not the only one to put in physical effort that night.
"And for the record…I did think of the meaning."
This caught her attention and suddenly, all the doubt she had felt faded away. If he had known the meaning of the flowers, everything else he did that night would be rendered superfluous, and there was nothing she could do to match the sentiment.
"Happiness will come back to us," he assured her as she settled into him in a more comfortable position, allowing the music and the atmosphere to sweep over her. "Even if I have to drag it back kicking and screaming."
And then she met his lips again, the nerves of a first date evaporating completely. For the first time in more years than she cared to consider, she felt completely at ease. If she had ever thought to find this feeling again, she had never expected to find it in the arms of a man, let alone her partner. It was not a place she wanted to leave, and though dependency was not something she was used to, she was willing to submit in this case.
The hand that had fallen to her waist the moment their lips had touched held her tightly yet gently, but moved suddenly to be placed against her cheek, his left arm around her shoulders, holding her to him. The warmth of his skin acted as a sedative, sending her into a state of near catatonia, until she felt utterly useless in his arms. His tongue teased hers, deeper kisses interrupted by sporadic, tender pecks. She found herself gripping the front of his T-shirt, gathering the fabric in a closed fist, eyes tightly closed to him. She felt that she should pull away, but could not bring herself to disconnect. Truly, she had never before been kissed so thoroughly and her brain was unsure what to make of the sudden influx of sensations.
And then they parted, his forehead touching to hers as they both paused to catch their breath. She rarely kissed at all on the first date, let alone indulge in a locking of lips the calibre of which would often lead to something much more serious. Though she was aware that she had done so much more with Chris, it continued to astound her just how comfortable she felt with him. She had never completely trusted a man and the mere thought of it frightened her to the core. She did not want to let her guard down, but his presence rendered it superfluous. The thought of relying on a man for protection was absurd to her, but she felt no fear when she was in his arms, save for that which her love provoked.
"But since you spent so much money on that incredible body of yours, I think I should take a look at the goods," he claimed cheekily when they finally pulled back and her thoughts drifted into nothing. "I mean, for inspection purposes."
She thwacked him gently on the chest, barely able to suppress a smile.
"You had to spoil the moment, didn't you?" she laughed. "Pervert."
"Oh, but would you have me any other way?" he asked, lips pressing to her forehead.
She pondered this for a moment, but could barely hear her thoughts through the veil of bliss that had dulled most of her senses, but heightened the ones that mattered.
"No," she realised with a smile. "No, I wouldn't."
"Are you with us?" spoke a voice, breaking through her delirium. Jill jumped a little and looked up into the smiling face of Hillary Jones.
"Sorry," she apologised as she released the petal that she tugged on.
"Oh, they're beautiful," Hillary hummed as she inspected the flowers upon the desk. "Who are they from?"
Jill sighed. The flowers were waiting on her desk when she had entered that afternoon, and the generous benefactor had not left a note. But she knew who had sent them. The flowers were lily of the valley.
"Oh," Hillary spoke nervously, biting her lip as she realised that there was a painful story behind the beauty.
"It's okay," Jill assured her, sensing a forthcoming apology. "It's…my fault."
Though she had not yet admitted this aloud, she knew that it was the truth. All that she had felt the previous night was not there when she had woken in Claire's bed, a hangover of regret painfully plaguing her. She knew that he loved her, knew that it ran deep enough to avoid the pitfalls her predicament would have caused any other relationship. But the pain was still too real, as was the fear, and she was not yet ready to share this with another, especially not the man she knew deserved so much more.
It was the same as that fateful day; her effort was not enough, no matter how hard she tried she continued to come up short.
'You're afraid of opening up,' a voice told her quietly. And she believed it. There was so much that she wanted to tell him, but every admission led to acceptance of what she felt, and the depths of those feelings terrified her. She did not want to end up hurting over this. The more she fought this, the better. Although she desperately wanted a future with him she thought it best to deal with each day as it came. They were in no hurry, had nothing to rush for. Maybe by the time the day came when she could avoid it no more, she would have come to terms with these emotions, and accepted the fact that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this man, whatever the conditions may be.
"Someone once told me a story about these flowers," Hillary spoke, hoping to offer a little comfort. "Said the flower fell in love with a nightingale, enamoured by its song. But it was shy, so it hid amongst the reeds, safe from view but able to hear the song of its beloved. But the nightingale became lonely and vowed never to sing again unless the flower bloomed every May. I always thought it was romantic."
As did Jill. They promised the return of happiness, but that was something she just could not see those days. Was Hillary attempting to place her and Chris into the story? If so, she knew that the attempt to help was pointless; he could withhold his song all he wanted, but how could she bloom when she did not feel whole?
"We're moving out soon," she continued. "We need to go."
Jill nodded vaguely.
"Are you sure you're okay, honey?" Hillary asked. The concern in her voice was so deep, Jill considered for a moment leaning on her and divulging what it was that worried her.
'You've already brought two soldiers down, and who knows what Leon is feeling right now?' she reminded herself. 'Leave her alone.'
"No, but I can pretend that I am," she assured her, brushing aside her worry. She was a good girl; she did not need to carry the weight.
"Alright," she reluctantly accepted. "Come on, don't want to be late, do we?"
"So have the teams been finalised?" Jill enquired.
"Yes," Hillary answered, with a little more of the usual bounce to her words. "Alpha consists of yourself, Kennedy, Miller, Newburn, and Abramowitz. I'm with Bravo, that's Redfield, DeChant, Cavanaugh and Connolly. To be honest, I'm glad I'm not on your team. I really can't stand Tessa."
Jill chuckled at her frank honesty.
"I think she's alright," she revealed. "Tough and sometimes cold, but aren't we all?"
"I suppose," Hillary sighed, pushing open the door ahead of them. "To be honest, I never got on all that well with other women. Too bitchy; at least guys give it to you straight."
As always, her words were appropriate to Jill's thoughts. Neither girl had time for mind games; it was little surprise that they had come to be good friends in the last few days.
They were both already dressed for combat, nothing left to do in preparation except progress to the boardroom for one final briefing before being transported to the facility.
As it transpired, they were the last recruits to arrive to the briefing, and all eyes were on them as they entered the boardroom. It was Chris's gaze that she feared the most, and so strove to avoid it as they took to their seats.
Truth be told, she did not know how she would make it through this mission.
August 22, 2003. 9:00pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Texas.
The hours had flown past, leaving Leon with a sense of rushed urgency to add to the trepidation that already lingered on the edges of his mind.
"Who the hell are Verisanda Technologies anyway?" asked Kirk Abramowitz, the one recruit Leon had not found the opportunity to meet prior to the mission. He was one of the older members of the team, having celebrated his thirtieth birthday many years ago, though he was young at heart, with a kindly face and healthy sense of humour.
"Apparently they are a small-time supplier for larger pharmaceutical companies," Leon explained, though the extent of his knowledge did not stretch far. "Base chemicals, medical supplies; everything from silicone to syringes. It makes sense that they would be involved in illegal research; they are below the radar, and hardly anyone outside of the medical business has heard of them. It was by pure chance that we found our lead."
Abramowitz grunted, not in the least bit impressed by the lack of communication.
He moved away slowly as Jill took to Leon's side, nodding encouragingly for lack of anything else to communicate. He had not yet confronted her about her reaction to Chris's understanding, and if he was to be honest with himself, he was not sure that he wanted to. He could see that she was punishing herself enough with the pain she allowed to run its course. After all, the wound that ailed them both had been carved into her being, not Chris's.
"Three minutes," she commented, with a quick glance to her wristwatch. "Are we ready for this?"
"Will we ever be?" Tessa chuckled, overhearing her words.
Leon smiled weakly. Not a single agent looked to the forthcoming events with an eager mind, let alone a beating heart. It was best that this was done quickly.
"Alright team," Jill called, raising her voice above the buzz of conversation at the temporary command centre. "Initial negotiation attempts have failed. Prepare to move out. Keep your wits about you and expect the worst."
Chancing a wary glance to Bravo team, Leon watched them jump into the van that would take them to the rear side of the facility. He could not shake off the dreadful feeling that it was a missed farewell. All alarm bells screamed in his mind, but there was nothing he could do.
"Kennedy," Jill called, voice set in a harsh tone he was not entirely used to. "You daydream on your own time, now move!"
Wasting no more time, he jogged to her side, weapon in hand and apology on the tip of his tongue. He then took it upon himself to keep an eye on the other team members; the competent Tessa, light hearted Abramowitz and clearly nervous Donny. He lightly shook his head, wondering why on Earth the guy had been cleared for operations in the first place. He did not blame him for his uneasy way of approaching life, not after all he had seen, but he could not help but curse the incompetence of the psychiatrists involved in the evaluation process; he obviously dealt with post-traumatic difficulties of some kind and was receiving no such help for them.
The first lock proved no problem for the team leader, and they all slipped silently across the threshold, weapons trained on the corridor before them. With an uncertain whizz, the doors closed behind Leon, sealing them all within the sterile white walls of the laboratory.
It was just as any medical centre should have been; a blood bank, perhaps. A solitary reception desk stretched against the far wall, a potted palm flourishing at one end. The security display set on a bracket high above the desk displayed typical noise, black and white pixels dancing soundlessly as their shadow jumped erratically on the smooth surrounding walls.
"It's quiet," Tessa noted, her steps cautious and well-trained. "You think they knew we were coming?"
It was not impossible. He could vaguely recall Claire confiding in him the information Terra Save's contact had sent them. Not that it would be of much use now. As far as he knew, the contact would be off-base by now, safe from what he knew was to occur. Perhaps the contact was the leak? Maybe they got to him, threatened him a little and tortured the information from him?
"Light steps," Jill commanded, voice now hushed. "Follow my lead. Kennedy, up front."
Though he had worked alongside her on occasion during the Umbrella years, he had not yet witnessed Jill's authoritative side. She had a certain way of commanding her voice, to use it to bring a grown man to his knees. He could feel the effect it had on him, the desire it instilled deep within his soul to remain close to her and hope that she would not use that tone on him again. He certainly did not envy her boyfriend…if that was what Chris was at that moment.
August 22, 2003. 9:15pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Warehouse.
Keeping his head in the game proved more and more difficult with every step that he took. Chris would not admit when his mind began to wander but he had begun to fear that it was becoming obvious to the other recruits.
He could not seem to reconcile Jill's actions in his mind. Was it something he had done wrong that caused her to doubt their relationship? He had tried his best to be loving and to give her all he felt she deserved; was he coming up short? Because he could not accept that she would walk away because of her inability to have children. If she felt the way he assumed she did, she would want comfort and would be selfish in this need. So why did she push? Had she wanted to leave him all along but had been afraid of his reaction? Did this offer her a way out?
He would have much rather preferred she be honest with him. The truth would hurt but he could respect the fact that she was honest with him, that she cared that much. But now, he was left to wonder if she cared at all.
'No…she's not that good a liar,' he told himself.
He did not know how long he lay awake, watching her in peaceful slumber. It felt strange to wake with her in his arms, but it was not a feeling he would trade for anything. If he could wake every morning to feel her breath on his skin, he would relinquish every worldly possession, and spend each and every waking moment simply drowning in her presence.
'Get a hold of yourself, Redfield,' a deep, disgusted voice urged him. 'She's just a girl.'
But he knew deep down that she was so much more than that. As her friend, he believed that he had found his soul mate, never expecting that he would find love with her.
She stirred quietly, lips parting for breath as her eyes fluttered open. They blinked several times, meeting his in a moment so surreal.
"Morning," he whispered.
A smile answered his greeting; a smile so natural that she attempted to hide it by burying her face into the pillow.
"Oh no," she laughed. "I'm not ready for this!"
"It's a little too late for that, don't you think?" he laughed quietly, brushing hair from what was visible of her face. And then she turned back, expression now composed.
"This is a dream, right?" she asked in a hushed voice, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.
Finding no words to offer her, Chris leaned close and captured her lips, warmth surrounding him, beckoning his arms to her slender yet muscular body. Beneath the sheets, she was as naked as he and so he fought to keep distance between them, when all he wished to do was to hold her close.
"Morning breath," she reminded him, laughing into his mouth.
"No tongue," he pointed out. "Now come here."
She put up superficial resistance; an effort on her part to make it look like she was reluctant when he knew that she was perhaps more eager than him in that moment. She closed the distance between them easily, the thin sheet between them providing a respectable barrier. Even so, her breasts pressed to his chest, escaping the confines of the folded sheet, and suddenly he could feel control slipping. She knew damn well what she was doing, fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. It seemed that each waited for the other to deepen the kiss, both too scared to make the first move.
It was she who pulled back first, glazed eyes locked with his as she lowered her head back to the pillow, fingertips trailing from the back of his neck, round to his chest and down before her hand slipped back, allowing her arm to wind around his waist beneath the sheets.
"Do you want some breakfast?" he asked, unsure if the current time made breakfast the appropriate word. He did not care for the time; it was irrelevant.
"Can't we just stay here?" she asked softly. "Do we have to move?"
"No," he answered honestly, the truth hitting him as he admitted it. "It's the weekend; we have nowhere to be. We can stay…like this…"
Between his final words, he pressed kisses to her nose and cheekbone, emphasising the fact that this moment was theirs and they had all the time in the world to enjoy it. After all, three weeks of dating and skirting around the subject of sex had culminated in a night neither was willing to forget so soon. As long as they lay there, the moment lingered and they could pretend that they had not a care in the world.
She smiled again. Genuine, pure… The simple sight of her expressing happiness warmed parts of him he never knew existed.
"Oh baby, say it again," she sighed.
"You should smile more often," he commented. "If you don't…I'll make you."
"What an appealing threat," she laughed. "Maybe I will; I have reason to now."
And then, he knew all that he needed to know.
"You make me happy, Chris," she told him. "If I ever tell you otherwise, know that I'm lying."
Chris shook the memory from his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce. He needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand, and they would deal with their issues when the mission was over.
'But she loves you…she is happy with you.'
"Redfield," DeChant called. "Over here."
And the dark, rustic walls of the warehouse settled back around him. It struck him as odd that the warehouse of a medical facility should be so run down, unclean and dingy. The smell of unwashed animals hung thickly in the air, choking him with its potency.
As he jogged towards DeChant's voice, the pervasive smell became more intense, until the team were forced to place hands against their noses to better breathe through the pungent stench.
"What the hell is that?" asked Jones. Her eyes were narrowed at a cage but a few feet from their position. There were dozens of containment devices, piled two-high along one wall.
Chris knew what awaited them before he could inspect the contents; he knew that smell, had suffered through it on more occasions than he would like to admit.
The dogs growled at the intruders, baring sharp, black teeth. Eyes were white, fur matted with mangled muscle visible beneath torn skin.
"This is the T-virus?" Jones asked, her tone one of horror and disgust. Many of the recruits had not witnessed the effects of the virus up close…but Chris had.
"Dobermans," he acknowledged. "The team at the Arklay Mansion named them Cerberus."
"Hellhounds," Connolly chuckled. "Seems appropriate. But what are they doing here?"
Chris shrugged, eyes surveying the remaining cages. The majority were Doberman crosses, cruelly mutilated for the sake of aggression. All infected, of course. The stench of rotting flesh was undeniable. There were several Rottweiler adults, bearing similar wounds and every sign of infection he knew to look for.
But it was the cages at the end of the row that sent fear into his heart. Scaled, clawed, flat bony heads following the newcomers quietly, as though gauging their movements. Unlike the dogs, they did not rattle their cages, simply watched, waited…observed.
"Hunters," Chris breathed. "Shit…these aren't Umbrella's work."
He stepped as close to a cage as his defences would allow, inspecting the creature as it stared him down. Sure enough, a crate to the left of the cage that lay half-open revealed several remote devices that he recognised without needing to inspect them more closely.
"Sir?" asked DeChant, confused.
"The MA-121 were developed in Raccoon City, but this…this model was manufactured from the data Albert Wesker stole when he defected," he explained, a chill settling into his bones. "The HCF utilised them during the attack on Rockfort Island and Umbrella's Antarctic base."
"Does that mean…" Jones began.
Chris swallowed. The facility remained too intact to have fallen victim to Wesker. At the very least, the presence of these models suggested that it was the organisation he claimed to work for that was responsible for the research that had become a cause for concern.
'That would bring us one step closer to Wesker,' he acknowledged.
"Blueprints for these monsters have been on the black market for months," explained Cavanaugh. "It's possible they bought the recipe and cooked these beasts up themselves."
"Cages are electronically locked," noted DeChant. "I suggest we take photographs and radio back our find."
"I agree," Chris concurred. "Cavanaugh, you have the camera. DeChant, you know what to do. Jones, follow me, there could be more."
Hillary stepped in place behind him, in the perfect position to cover his back. He did not have the heart to tell her that she need not have worried and that he did not wish to relegate her to such a position. She was eager and dedicated; exactly the type of agent the BSAA needed. He could not help but to admire her; in a way, she reminded him of how Jill used to be, before Umbrella had warped them all.
"Something doesn't feel right…" she muttered. "Do you think Claire had any basis? Do you really think there's a traitor?"
Chris balked, but maintained his composure. It made sense that DeChant would have spoken to the other members of the team also.
"I don't know," he admitted. "That's the trouble…we don't know each other well enough."
"Well…I think you and Agent Valentine are clear," she chuckled. "If not, that's one hell of a ruse."
He could not help but to laugh at this.
August 22, 2003. 9:30pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Main entrance throughway.
Jill followed Tessa's directions word for word, the terrible tremors of unease increasing with every turn that was taken into yet another empty corridor. She had seen nothing like this before; there was something here, she could feel it in the air, she simply could not see it.
'They knew,' she told herself. 'They knew we were coming and they evacuated in advance…that's all it is.'
Despite the logic of this thought, her gut instinct told her that something was not right. And her gut had rarely failed her before.
"And east," Tessa instructed, bringing them before a large set of thick steel doors. They were prominent against the sterile décor of the surrounding area, yet clinical in the same sense.
"And they said this wouldn't be easy," Donny chuckled.
Jill thought of reminding him to not act so cocky, but found that she smirked inwardly as she pulled her lock picking tools from her utility belt. It was with the suppression of a professional swagger that she stepped up to the reader to the left of the doorway, stepping into the small alcove formed by the looming doors. It was obvious that something of importance lurked behind this barrier; doors so large and sturdy were more often than not built with the purpose of either keeping something out or keeping something in.
'Chris would be laughing at you right now.'
The thought crept stealthily upon her, erasing the self-assured smile she had adopted quite comfortably.
She dreaded the moment they would rendezvous and feared that the awkwardness of the way she had left things between them would harm their performance.
'You are both professionals,' she assured herself. But how professional could she remain when, with each moment that passed, she felt the armour of selflessness slipping and became more and more desperate to apologise? And it was a hell of an apology that she owed.
Chris did not know that she was sorry, that she too was willing to do whatever it took to make their relationship work. If he was willing to allow her to be selfish, then she would. A life without him was too dull to imagine.
The pins clicked beneath her picks and the team waited patiently as she worked.
There was so little in her life that was good, even less that was certain. How could she walk away from the best thing that had happened to her, and possibly the best thing that would ever happen to her? She could spend the rest of her life searching for a man who did not want children, but her heart would always be with Chris. She would always love him, plain and simple.
Three clicks. This was proving more difficult than anticipated.
'He doesn't deserve what you dealt,' she scolded herself. And she agreed. He was only ever kind to her, and though they clashed on occasion he never maliciously attempted to hurt her.
'I will apologise,' she resolved. 'I will apologise and set things straight. I don't want to lose him.'
Five, six.
Clunk.
Clunk? She was not expecting a clunk.
Above their heads, a red light shone, a silent alarm tripped.
"What happened?" Leon demanded, weapon at the ready.
"I…I don't know," Jill admitted. She had followed routine; this was how electronic locks were opened!
'You were distracted,' a voice spoke in the midst of the confusion.
'Only for a split-second!'
'You know that is all it takes.'
"Alpha, do you copy?" Chris's voice echoed through her earpiece.
"Bravo, this is Alpha," Leon responded. "We read you loud and clear, over."
"We appear to have found-" Suddenly, he cut himself short. "What? That's- Holy shit!"
"A fault has been detected in system 4X," recited a mechanical voice over the loudspeaker. "Entry point Bravo Delta Nine. System disrupt."
"Holy fuck, get back!" This time, it was the voice of Dan DeChant that screamed through the line, frantic and afraid.
"Bravo, report," Leon commanded.
"Deactivating warehouse security systems," continued the announcement. "Re-routing power. Please stand by."
"Hold fast!" cried Cavanaugh.
Ravenous barks echoed through the static, short bursts of controlled gunfire following.
"There's too many of them!"
Cries reached the ears of each Alpha member, expressions turning sour.
"Shit," Chris growled. "Something tripped, we're under attack. Re-"
His voice distorted, static overpowering the distant crackle of the familiar voice. A sharp whine permeated the closed line until eventually there was nothing.
"Bravo?" Leon called, finger pressed deep into his ear. "Bravo, respond. Redfield? DeChant? Respond, now."
Jill could barely hear his frantic requests for response over the deafening pounding of her heart. Blood flow to major organs appeared to have slowed, and the measly lunch she had choked down earlier that day threatened to reappear.
"Something tripped, we're under attack."
If something had tripped, there was only one possible way…
"Backup procedure complete," announced the emotionless voice. "All systems normal."
"What just happened?" Donny's voice broke through the silence, every teammate lingering in morbid silence.
"I-I…" Jill stuttered, unable to choke out the words. As the haze descended from her mind, the truth was revealed.
It was all her fault.
"I barely…I…" she gasped. They were dead, all of them…they had to be. And it was all her fault.
"Jill, this wasn't your doing," Leon assured her, recognising her expression as one of self-blame. "You couldn't have-"
"But I should have!" she argued. "One second…that's all it was."
Her hands were trembling, the picks falling from her fingers. Her vision dulled; the lights may have been fading, she was not so sure. All she knew was that something had given and the door was still firmly locked. Something had tripped.
"Jill, calm down," Leon instructed. "What are your orders?"
Orders? She could not think of orders, not right now. She could barely remember her own name.
Memories flashed through her mind, of an instance back in Raccoon where the same mistake had almost cost her partner his life.
'You did it again,' she told herself. 'Stupid…'
"Jill, orders?"
She could not find her voice, let alone a single coherent thought in her mind. The screams of Bravo echoed off the sides of her skull, drowning her in regret.
"Alright people, let's move to plan B," Leon called out, the authoritative tone to his voice snapping her from her reverie.
"I give the orders here!" she interrupted, though her voice quaked with uncertainty that robbed her of the ability to think straight.
"Not anymore," Leon informed her. "I'm relieving you of duty. Move out!"
Incredulous, she stepped up to him, clinging to the one scrap of strength left within her for dear life. If she was not in charge, there was no way she could right this wrong. Bravo were in trouble, and the priority of Leon's employers was to obtain whatever data may be floating around the facility and to apprehend a man who may or may not be within the walls of the compound.
"You can't do that!" she seethed. "I give the orders, I-"
"You are emotionally compromised, Jill," he reminded her in a low voice. "The stakes have just been raised and I can't leave the lives of these people in the hands of an uncertain mind. Now move out."
She was rendered speechless, heart pounding furiously in her throat. Plan B simply did not work for her; plan B involved taking a long, uncertain route down the winding west-side hallway, a route that may not lead where they needed to be. It could add hours to the mission, and by that time…
"What happened to 'leave no man behind'?" she asked. "What happened to trust, Leon?"
"I could ask you the same question," he answered, staring her down. She knew now that his reasoning stemmed far deeper than her sudden dubious behaviour. "You were right, Jill, you should never have come on this mission. When you sort your head out, I'll hand you back the reins."
Again, she could think of no words to speak. Part of her wished to slap him, to insist that her personal feelings had no bearing on her work ethic. But was that not how they came to be in this position in the first place? She had thought her emotions to be under control, but perhaps she was not as strong as she had led herself to believe?
"Base, this is Alpha. C5 was a bust; we are moving to section W4, over."
But where did that leave her? She could not leave Chris, but her job was her life. Choosing between the two was painfully impossible.
'You can't afford to keep making these mistakes,' she warned herself. 'Your head just isn't where it should be anymore. You could have killed them…'
And perhaps she had.
"Move out!"
August 22, 2003. 9:32pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, Control Room.
"Security systems are still not online," he snarled, staring down the technician. "Why am I still waiting?"
Failure was not a word that he tolerated, but each blip in his pln brought him closer and closer to uttering its profanity.
"S-sir," the technician stuttered. "Containment protocol is complex and…this was expected. We should be online very soon."
A frown was sent his way, and suddenly he knew that his attempts were not good enough.
"Leave me," he growled. "Send in the scientist."
He did not concern himself with names. Names were trivial; the only purpose they served was to mark the stones above the heads of the useless bodies once they had ran their course. He did not bother with stones, was not sentimental in this way. They meant little to him when alive, why should he mourn them when they died? Chances were good that it was he that instigated this most final transition.
The technician scuttled away, the lab coat entering a moment later. He shuffled slowly, seemingly afraid to raise his head. It was almost as though he bowed in reverence. This, at least, cheered up the seething man at the controls.
"What is the progress?" he asked.
"Life signs have terminated for the most part," the lab coat reported. "Saturation is complete."
"Fantastic!" he exclaimed, startling the poor man with his sudden positive attitude. "That, my friend, is the best piece of news I have heard all day."
The lab coat smiled, shoulders dropping in relief. He simply did not know what was coming; he severely overestimated his worth.
"Your services are no longer required," he smiled, sickening himself by how cheerful he felt.
"Thank you, sir," the lab coat enthused. "Thank you and good luck!"
"Oh, I don't need luck."
A single gunshot rang out, and the smile slowly faded from the face of the subordinate. He tried to breathe, but could not quite manage an act which he had previously taken for granted. Blood seeped between his lips, falling thickly to the floor.
The throat was always the most pleasing weakness; enough flesh to prevent a bullet from a gun such as his from severing the spinal cord, but the trachea did not stand a chance. It was not the wound that would kill him. No…he would choke to death on his own blood, perhaps even swallow his tongue. Death could be simple, but where was the fun in that? He had killed so many, it only made sense to shake things up a little and devise more inventive ways.
He watched with mild interest as the white coat developed streaks of crimson, the body finally falling to the floor in a crumpled heap.
As he had said, his services were no longer required. Did he honestly think that he would have been allowed to walk away? Why did they hold hope in their hearts? He did not offer mercy, and quashed hope at the first dull flicker. Perhaps he would have allowed the man to walk away had he not shown such relief; he was not sure. But none of that mattered now. The man was dead, and he was making one hell of a mess.
The monitors behind him flickered to life, and the smile he wore only grew larger. Today truly was his day.
He turned, observing the scenes that slowly appeared on each screen. Again, the smile grew as he observed a small gathering at the large steel doors just past the entrance hall. They appeared scattered, unsure. And then he saw her; her pale blue eyes simply fraught with worry. She chewed on a full, pink lip, not quite sure where she was or what to make of this situation. Her confusion appeased him, elated him even. She appeared so lost, so frightened...
"And you, pretty girl," he breathed, suppressing laughter. "You're next."
August 22, 2003. 9:45pm. Verisanda Technologies Laboratory Facility, East Wing.
The door locked behind them, sealing even sound on the other side. Airtight, evidently; designed to stop any possibly pathogens from escaping. It was morbidly ironic that what they feared lay on the other side of that door, and was no doubt attempting to claw its way through at that very moment.
"Fuck…" Hillary's voice was strangled, tears lacing her speech as syllables fractured on the edge of her tongue.
"How is she?" Chris asked, crouching beside Connolly. The medic flashed him a grave expression, one that told him the answer was in the evidence.
Her skin had fallen a deathly shade of pale, spatterings of crimson colouring her white complexion. Her shirt was mangled, the flesh beyond faring a lot worse. Deep welts spewed rivers of blood, glistening in the artificial light. The left leg of her fatigues had been reduced to rags, imprints of canine teeth scattered across the exposed skin.
"Lie still," Connolly urged. It was evident that she could barely hear his words. "I can clean the wounds and sew her up, but there's not much else I can do out here. She's lost a lot of blood; she needs medical attention."
"Aren't we in a medical facility?" Chris asked, an idea dawning on him. "Hell, we're in a storage room right now. Maybe there's something that could help?"
Connolly shook his head gravely.
"Basic medical supplies," he explained. "Nothing I don't already have with me. This is a research facility, not a hospital. We need to abort the mission and get her to safety, otherwise she's not going to make it."
Abort such an important mission for one individual? Chris knew what the orders of his superiors would have been. But they had hired him knowing of his values; he could not leave a teammate, a friend, to die, not when there was still a chance to save them.
His expression turned grim. The mission was doomed from the start, and it was evident that something had gone hideously wrong.
"Retreat!" Chris shouted, as loud as his voice would carry. The locks sprung one by one, unleashing their contents on the unsuspecting group. With every click that resounded through the large warehouse, the cages ticked down, drawing ever closer to the patiently waiting MA specimens.
DeChant fired upon the approaching canines, several falling spectacularly against a hail of bullets. Claws skittered across the concrete floor, altered musculature of skinny legs proving hampering to their attempts to charge.
Cavanaugh kept close to his side, covering his back as he returned the favour.
"Over there!" they heard Hillary scream. His attention was draw to her position, and to the arm that pointed at a secure door on the stoned wall at the back of the containment area. "The light is green; it's open!"
"Everyone h-"
Her piercing scream tore through his words, an agonised cry for help following. When he turned back to her, she was pinned to the floor, a solitary canine burrowing into the flesh of her stomach as a house dog would have into dirt. Images of the fallen Joseph Frost flickered into his mind, but he pushed them aside. Joseph was dead by the time he had found him…Hillary still lived. He fired several shots, his aim unnaturally unsteady, but the mutt fell and slowly, she began to pull herself towards her weapon.
"Medic!" he called, failing to register that Connolly was already on his way to her side.
Cavanaugh's weapon continued to fire behind him, rapid successions of fire ploughing into anything that dared step close enough. Perhaps this was a fight they could win?
Suddenly, there was no sound from behind him. Something warm, wet and thick hit the back of his head, dripping down his ear and onto his vest. Somehow, he knew what awaited him, too afraid to turn.
Cavanaugh's body remained upright for several seconds, his head several feet away, painting a bloody trail as it rolled across the concrete. Then, it fell, a dark pool forming around the neck. But it was what waited at the edge of this pool that drove fear into his heart. The MA locked eyes with him, blood dripping from one of its clawed hands. Chris could not think of how it had severed his comrade's head so skilfully with such primitive claws, but did not particularly want to wait around and find out.
It charged as he fired, the pitiful hail of bullets from his M-15 not nearly enough to stop its progress. It collided with him in a matter of seconds, claws ripping through his vest, a mere fraction of an inch from his skin. As his weapon clattered out of reach, he found himself daringly reaching for its skinny, scaled wrists, amazed at the strength of something so small. Teeth bore down on him, saliva dripping onto his neck.
And then, it was gone. In a sudden display of blood and ear-splitting shrieks, it collapsed into itself.
"Shotgun works," DeChant growled as he helped him to his feet. "I read your reports."
"Head for the door," he instructed, hearing a struggle nearby. "Get it open."
DeChant did not question his orders, and Chris sprinted for Connolly, firing round after round into the thick hide of another MA that pulled on the straps of his medi-kit. Hillary remained conscious, firing at a canine that pulled uselessly on her leg. But that was the least of her worries, and Chris suddenly fired at the MA that approached, watching it tear apart the preoccupied mutt before digging its own claws into the flesh it had claimed from its victim.
'They're tearing each other apart to get to us,' he realised, bile rising in his throat at the mere thought.
Connolly reclaimed Hillary, heaving her to her feet as he allowed the majority of her weight to rest on his side.
"Follow DeChant!" he ordered, the continuous click of locks sounding around them.
He still did not know how they had survived the onslaught. It was perhaps the in-fighting that distracted the beasts long enough for them to make their escape.
"Shit," DeChant growled. "I lost my radio."
Cavanaugh reached for his belt, only to find that what remained there no longer resembled a working radio. As though by instinct, Chris tapped his headset, finding that he picked up nothing but white noise; still covered in Cavanaugh's blood, it was obvious that the devices weren't waterproof.
Hillary chuckled, laughs broken by sporadic hisses.
"What did…we…expect?" she laughed. "Fuck, we're…all…dead."
But then Connolly reached for the device that remained firmly implanted in her ear. Strangely enough, it bore no signs of damage and for the most part remained perfectly dry.
Chris accepted it cautiously, pressing it into his dry ear.
"Base, this is Bravo, do you copy? Over"
Something crackled on the line, the whine of static almost deafening. And then…
"Bravo, this is base, we copy. Over."
His sudden sigh of relief was echoed by the team.
"We are a man down," he spoke into the headset. "Ambushed in the warehouse, another is injured. Requesting extraction. Over."
"Affirmative," base acquiesced. "What is your position? Over."
Chris glanced around the room. He was unsure exactly where they were, knowing only that they had somehow entered the base. Was this the path they were meant to have taken regardless?
"I-" he began, confusing almost overwhelming at this point.
Then, the base shook.
Connolly fell back onto his ass, DeChant gripping a nearby shelf for support. Chris swayed on the spot, looking frantically around as though an explanation were written on the walls. Supplies fell from the shelves, fixtures rocking on the walls.
"What just happened?" he asked, preparing himself for another quake. The ground continued to move beneath them. Or was it echoes?
"Please hold," base instructed.
And that was enough to assure him that something was not right. The only reason he would have to hold was for base to contact another party – namely, Alpha.
Syringes poured from an open box that had bee forced onto its side in the tremors, clattering against the cold floor.
"Alpha, do you copy?" he asked, praying for an answer. "Valentine, do you copy?"
What possible reason…
"Kennedy, do you copy?" he continued. "Abramowitz, Newburn…Miller?"
No answer.
"Abort the mission," base instructed, cutting through his attempts for communication. "Evacuate the base."
"What happened?" he demanded, protocol flying out of the window. The others paused, eyes latched onto his visage, waiting for a change in expression.
"We have lost sections W3 to W7," base explained. "Alpha were scheduled to be in area W4. Contact has been lost, assumed fatalities. Abort the mission. Over."
And he could think of no response. It made sense that the sudden tremors had been explosive in origin. But none of it made sense; first, subjects were unleashed on his team, now Alpha had supposedly been caught what appeared to be a booby trap.
Base knew, he surmised. Otherwise they would not have cancelled the mission. Claire was right; there had been a traitor within the BSAA. Somehow, they knew that they were coming, and they had prepared.
But that was not what worried him.
"Negative, sir," he spoke into the headset. "Our only way out is a suicidal run."
His mouth ran dry, bitter words clinging to the sides of his throat.
"We're trapped."
AN - Please review :)