AN - This chapter is primarily a filler chapter, but hopefully the next chapter will be up quite soon. The story is steadily drawing to a close, and I have started official plans for a concluding part of the trilogy. I'll admit that this story didn't quite turn out the way I had hoped and I have struggled with it, so I'm trying my best to learn from my mistakes and I'm pretty much returning to my roots with the final installment. It will follow the themes of Strength Through Wounding and Only Through The Pain, and I've taken into account all comments and I'm aiming to build on what was liked and improve on what was not so hopefully it will be a more worthy sequel to STW. I can't help but wonder what I'm getting myself into lol. I'm hoping to actually add something to my profile page and when I do there will likely be more information on there so check back around the time of the next update. Chapter title is from a song by Disturbed.
Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: Chaed, Kenshin13, xSummonerYunax, Black Metalmark, Landquake, Ninja-Gnome, tek, Razial and Ivilith. I don't know what I can say that has not already been said, so I'll just say a huge thank you! A shamefully belated thank you also to .-SnipingWolf, who helped me immensely when I became stumped while writing last chapter. Thank you!
Blindside
Chapter Nine - The Game
'Do you think that we could play another game?
Maybe I can win this time?'
August 22, 2003. 11:50pm. Verisanda Technologies. Control Room.
"This is...impossible," Jill breathed. She could not decipher the message attached to the emotional brick that dropped in her stomach, but knew that whatever this strange feeling was, it was not good.
"And yet it is so," he laughed. Glee filled every word; he spoke as a child unwrapping a shiny new bicycle. "Trust me, I was equally surprised to find that you survived Caucasus. First the Nemesis, then T.A.L.O.S.; I admit that I underestimated you the first time we met."
"The only time we met, you back-stabbing son of a bitch," she politely reminded him.
But Nicholai simply smiled, too pleased with the turn of events to sway from blissful happiness.
"You forgot murderous," he pointed out. "So I'd watch your tongue if you don't want it removed."
There was a cold edge to his voice that had not been present before; an edge as sharp as a razor, whittled to perfection by years of experience. Just what exactly had he been involved in over the years since Raccoon's destruction? He had no qualms killing an innocent back then; had he been honing his skills over the years? Just how many of Umbrella's enemies had fallen at his hands? How many of their allies?
"Hold up," Tessa interrupted, having been momentarily forgotten in the sudden rush of reunion. "I want my money, or all you'll be doing is scraping her brains off your collar."
"Of course," he realised, and reached for a set of steel handcuffs that rested by the security monitors. There were, she noticed, no signs of Bravo within the walls of the facility; had they escaped? She felt a sudden surge of hope. Chris was alright, had made it to safety. Somehow, nothing else mattered.
"I want double," Tessa demanded, their conversation playing as background noise to her thoughts. When Tessa inevitably left, she would be able to handle Nicholai easily. She had outsmarted him before, had escaped with her life when a considerable bounty rested upon her head; when his incentive would have been far greater than the current.
"I never signed up to be mutilated. Hell, I could be infected!"
"Then what use is money to you?"
Would Chris welcome her with open arms? Or would he turn from her as she had from him? She would not blame him if he did.
"Twenty mil. and she's all yours."
"Very well. Place these on her and the transaction is complete."
Something whizzed through the air and suddenly, the cold sting of metal touched her wrists. She considered fighting but knew that it would be useless. Besides, the lock would be simple; she could quite literally pick it with her hands tied behind her back.
No sooner had the final cuff clicked into place, a loud crack erupted through the silence, and the weapon that pressed into the base of her skull vanished. She turned, but evidently not quick enough. Tessa was dead before she hit the floor, the smoking barrel of Nicholai's gun seemingly trained on Jill's right ear.
She saw an opportunity, and she seized it. Ducking low, moving fast, she aimed a shoulder into his ribcage. He wore no armoured vest, simply a white T-shirt; the blow would wind him and give her just the opportunity she needed. His muscle mass had increased since their previous encounter, and his height had never been more strikingly evident, but where he was strong she knew that he was also slow, and therein lay her advantage.
But her shoulder never connected. In one swift move, his elbow collided painfully with the side of her head, his leg catching hers to send her crashing to the ground. She felt the impact in every bone, crying out as her hip jarred painfully against the tile.
"Rule number one," Nicholai spoke calmly. "Don't do that."
And then his boot collided with her ribcage. From the force of the blow, she was amazed that her ribs did not crack. Three more were enough to wind her completely; standing would be too painful now, fighting even less of an option.
"Now...we have a lot of catching up to do."
August 22, 2003. 11:57pm. Verisanda Technologies, Exterior. Temporary BSAA Base.
The details had been finalised as best as was possible, and a plan with a slightly higher than average chance of succeeded had been formulated. They were moving out.
Chris could barely contain himself, willing the cataclysmic build-up of hope within his heart to lay low lest the search and rescue operation turn up nothing. All that kept him going was the knowledge that she would be back in his arms soon, whether she liked it or not.
"We're ready when you are, sir," DeChant nodded, a picture of exhaustion. Chris had contemplated ordering him and an equally tired Connolly to rest, but he recognised the expression of determination within their eyes; they were loyal to him and to the team, but their offer was born of a genuine desire to help, not an obligation.
A ruckus seemed to descend towards their group, Parker's voice audible above a flurry of unfriendly words. He sensed the two men draw closer before they reached the unsteady gazebo, several armed soldiers jogging quickly behind them.
"Get off my back, you irritating man!" cried a voice he recognised as that of Carlos. Parker threw his hands up in defeat and turned to Chris, who was slowly beginning to believe that no situation within the BSAA's control could be managed. There was a lot of work to be done if the unit was to become fully operational; they sure had their work cut out for them.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Carlos, narrowing his eyes at him. Their relationship had never been a good one; truth be told, he barely knew the man. It was his choice and he stood by it to that day. He did not care if Jill trusted him and despite being thankful that he had saved her life, he wished that his plans for an indefinite vacation following the demise of Umbrella had been a little more permanent.
He knew that many men found Jill attractive; she was beautiful, how could they not? His old Air Force buddies had joked about it but had never expressed a genuine interest in her. They were his friends and they respected that she was his girlfriend - and also knew that they would be in for a long stay in the ICU if they so much as leered at her. But Carlos never hid his attraction towards her, never disguised the fact that, given the chance, he would have happily stepped into the role of boyfriend. Carlos Oliveira was the only man to have ever made him genuinely possessive and territorial. Jill was loyal, he knew that, but the casual flirtatious nature of her friend riled him into dangerous jealousy.
"He stowed away on one of the transports," Parker spat. "He shouldn't be-"
"That's enough, Parker," he warned. "Go-"
But another voice cut him off, forcing an involuntary roll of the eyes; was there no peace?
"Sir, we found Kennedy," the red-faced man panted, barely skidding to a stop in time to prevent a collision. He was a young recruit, and a member of the scout team he had sent ahead of their squad. "A-Abramowitz, too."
Chris wasted no time, and followed his lead to the medical bay, watching as a stretcher rolled across the uneven ground. Upon it lay a black bag, the contents evidently human. The knot within his stomach tightened, colour draining from his face.
"Abramowitz," the young recruit explained. "There was Bandersnatch carcass nearby. We, uh...we had to ID the remains via his tags, sir."
"Where were they?" he asked, spotting a second stretcher a little way in the distance.
"Close to the administrative offices," the recruit answered. "We think they were heading to the control room. It seems they were ambushed, but they took down everything in their path. No sign of the others yet; we're doing a quick sweep of the foremost offices, but it's too dangerous to proceed any further."
If they had made it to the control room, surely they would have received word by now? The technicians had assured him that something was jamming all signals in and out of the base, save for the main frequency. It was obvious that it was intentional, which could only mean that at least one of the enemy remained alive within the walls.
"How is he?" he asked as Leon's stretcher approached them. His body lay between blankets, no black bag in sight, though his eyes remained closed, form limp and lifeless.
"Unconscious. A dislocation in his shoulder was set, so at least one of the others survived. The area was secure; it's possible they left him and made for the control room to radio for help."
Chris ruminated over this for a short while; Jill would never have left an injured soldier behind unless other lives weighed into the equation. At the very least, Donny and Tessa survived.
"Sir, we have another!" cried a voice in the distance, a second stretcher rolling from a gap in the broken fence. Upon the sheets, Chris vaguely recognised a small, blood-soaked form, head moving gently from one side to another as Donny attempted to take in his surroundings.
The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he jogged closer to the wounded soldier, choosing to ignore the protests of medical staff.
"Are there any other survivors?" he asked. Donny blinked, eyelids barely remaining open long enough to register the face of his superior.
"I...maybe," he gasped. "Tessa, she- she-"
His head lolled to the side, eyes closing softly.
"He needs medical attention, sir," a blonde-haired medic urged. "He has lost a lot of blood."
"We couldn't proceed any further, sir," added a member of the scout party, frustration building steadily within Chris's skull. "Security systems have been activated in the main atrium; we can't get to the control room this way."
There was a trail of bodies leading to this locked door; whatever was behind it, Jill was trapped with. The irony that she was perhaps the only agent in their employ who could quickly break through the lock did not go amiss. He truly wished that he had paid more attention when she attempted to teach him her 'tricks'.
"Any sign of Valentine or Newburn?" he asked.
"No, sir, but-"
"Sir!" An unsteady hand moved to his sweat-coated forehead at the addition of yet another voice to the din. He felt that his mind simply did not work at an adequate capacity to keep up with all that was being offered to him. Was he the only officer in charge?
"Chris," Carlos breathed. "I need-"
"Not now, Carlos," Chris snapped before turning to the more inexperienced agent. "What is it?"
"We have received a radio transmission from within the facility, sir," the agent explained. "They claim to be the leader."
Even Carlos remained silent at this revelation, and followed Chris closely as he returned to the communications tent. Truly, he did not know what to expect but a transmission offered answers and that was all he sought.
Parker handed the mouthpiece over instantly before moving back a few respectful steps. All eyes were on him now, every ear pricked. It was all on him now.
"This is Agent Chris Redfield of the BSAA," he spoke into the mouthpiece. "To whom am I speaking?"
There was a brief pause before a quiet chuckle echoed through the speakers. It was the laugh of a man who had found a joke in innocent words.
"Mr. Redfield," the voice spoke after a few short moments. "What a pleasant surprise."
The voice was not familiar to him, but though he did not have an ear for accents, he assumed it to be Russian, though evidently its bearer had spoken English for quite some time.
"Oh God..." Carlos's voice came as a raspy breath, tanned hand covering his mouth a moment later. Worry was evident in his eyes but Chris had more pressing matters to address.
"Ah, and I believe that is Mr. Oliveira?" The voice laughed again. "It has been a long time Carlos, I hope you are well?"
Every eye was placed on the pacing man, who shrunk away, flopping into a nearby chair in what could only be described as hopeless defeat.
"I had hoped he was dead..." he whispered.
"This will make things much easier," spoke the leader.
"Surrender," Chris ordered, his blood boiling at the mere sound of his voice. This man was responsible for the deaths of good men, and for the suffering of many more. Hillary, Kirk, Gregory...the sound of each of their names snipped a heartstring with every mention. "We have the base surrounded, there is nowhere for you to run."
Again, gentle laughter. Just what did this man find so damn hilarious?
"Oh, that's not going to happen," he told him. His voice carried the word as a statement of fact, as true as though it were carved into stone. It was not that he hoped that it would not happen; it simply would not, and he held this truth alongside such statements as 'grass is green' and 'sleeping on train tracks will get you killed'.
"And why not?" Chris asked, trying to maintain a level head and a voice that reflected this. There was something about the way this leader spoke his words that elicited nervousness; a feeling he was not quite accustomed to under these circumstances.
"He asked why not," the leader laughed, speaking to an unheard individual at his end. "Tell him why not."
Chris was not sure what to expect, did not adequately brace himself for what was to come.
"Chris?"
It was Jill. Her voice was weary and dazed, but she was alive. She was alive!
"Jill!" he gasped, stomach unravelling and heart suddenly thawing. But the penny soon dropped, and he realised just what her survival meant. She was a hostage, captive; for how long would she remain alive?
"Don't believe a word he says," she urged. "Don't-"
"And I think that is enough, thank you, Miss Valentine," chuckled the leader.
"Dammit, what-" Chris began, but was not afforded a further word to speak.
"I think that is enough for now," the leader spoke. Chris could hear a smile on his voice. "Allow the gravity of this situation to sink in. I'll be in touch soon."
And then he was gone.
The weight of what lay before him was enough to drag him to the ground. Jill, captive. And this man...
"Who is he?" he asked simply, jaw set. Every member of the gathering knew who he addressed. "He recognised your voice; who is he?"
Carlos swallowed, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Had Chris been in a position to witness his expression, his heart surely would have plummeted to oblivion.
"Nicholai Ginovaef," Carlos answered. "He was...a sergeant within the UBCS. He was one of the leaders who double-crossed us. He was part of 'Operation Watchdog', whose purpose was to gather Umbrella's data during the downfall of the Raccoon. But he had a megalomaniacal mind and killed the other operatives, stealing their data so he could reap the rewards for himself."
Chris listened intently. He had heard of Nicholai Ginovaef, but only in passing. Was he the man who had almost stranded Carlos and Jill in Raccoon?
"When I met Jill I was working with Nicholai and another operative named Mikhail Victor," Carlos continued. "We were the sole survivors of our team; Mikhail was injured, which I later discovered was Nicholai's doing. We appeared to lose Nicholai, but it transpired that he faked his own death. He attempted to kill me whilst I was searching for an antidote for the T-virus and it was he who destroyed Raccoon General Hospital. After Jill left the chapel we holed up in, he went after her. Apparently there was a bounty on her head that he wanted to collect. He escaped from Raccoon shortly before we did. I...kind of hoped he had perished in the downfall. Obviously not."
It was information Chris had more or less come to know along the years; nothing that could help their situation. Who was Nicholai? What kind of man was he? How should they approach him?
"Okay," he spoke softly; a moment of weakness before his game face slipped back into place. "I want every scrap of information you can find on this guy. Velasquez, I want you on hand to trace the communication next time it comes through. Parker, I want blueprints. Carlos, I want you to tell Granger everything you know about this Nicholai guy. Everyone else, make yourselves useful."
Busy was the best way to keep his mind, he realised. The thought of her alone with this traitorous bastard was enough to make the blood freeze in his veins. But that would not do. If she were to make it through this alive, he needed all his wits about him and he knew that the only way that this was possible was to remain detached from the situation.
But this was Jill; the love of his life. It was a matter that could not help being personal.
August 23, 2003. 12:05am. Verisanda Technologies. Control Room.
"Well, that was an interesting conversation," Nicholai chuckled. "Don't you think so?"
"Drop dead," Jill suggested. The room continued to spin, and the waves of nausea that passed through her were becoming increasingly difficult to subdue. He was a lot stronger than she remembered; every bone in her body felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.
She straightened her posture, slumped against the wall next to the open doorway. Tessa's crumpled body lay barely a few feet away. His coldness in her execution had shocked her; he had changed, had hardened into something she knew she should be very afraid of. But memories lingered and all she could see was a misguided megalomaniacal fool with ideas bigger than his abilities.
Though she recognised that he could quite easily kill her, she knew that he would not afford her a death as quick and painless as the medic's had been. Somehow, death seemed inevitable.
She had witnessed so much death and destruction in her life, so much suffering that it made sense that it would one day find its way to her. She did not fear the prospect of death, had in fact prepared herself for it long ago. But did she truly want to die? No, no she did not. For once in her life, she had something pretty damn special to lose.
'And fate wouldn't be fate if it didn't take it away,' she sighed pessimistically.
"So, how about we start with what I can expect from this unit of yours?" he asked calmly. Nothing about the situation seemed to shake him.
"Do you actually expect me to tell you?" she laughed. He was foolish if he thought that she would.
"No," he admitted. "It is of no real concern to me. However, if I were in your shoes I would keep up the conversation as long as possible. It's something to distract me, you see. I'm already growing bored, who knows what I could do?"
She felt no true intention behind his words, but it was the words alone that brought chills to her aching bones. She was given a sense of the meaning 'I could...but will I?'.
"Tell me about Chris," he asked, a more friendly tone to his voice now. She knew better than to believe it. "Don't look so surprised; it's obvious you two are involved. I remember snippets of conversation from Raccoon...so many years, you finally-"
"Shut up!" she snapped. He had no right to talk about Chris. His voice defiled his name.
"Oh, a reaction!" he exclaimed. "Don't worry; I have no intention of hurting him. Well...insofar as hurting you will go, because I have every intention in that respect."
The cuffs at her wrists jingled as she twisted, pain flaring through tired limbs.
"I wonder just how much he will let you suffer for the sake of protocol," he mused.
Of course, protocol. Things were so much easier when they called the shots and made the rules. But now there were regulations to follow and steps to take before action was cleared. Had their positions been reversed, she would have done anything and everything to rescue Chris, but knew that the restraints of God damn protocol would hold her back.
She could be dead before the idea of a rescue mission was considered.
But why was she still alive? Surely he wanted something from her, or at least to use her for some end. As long as his goals remained unmet, she was safe. Well, in a manner that was purely relative.
"You are a thorn in many an ass," he smiled. "Chris, too. The bounty may no longer be on your heads, but the price of your demise is a less tangible one these days. If it were not for the efforts of you and your teammates, our work would be less of a hassle."
"So you're going to kill me because I'm a nuisance?" she laughed.
"No," he disagreed. "I'm going to make you beg for death because I don't like you. It's as simple as that."
And suddenly she could not fake a smile. He had not yet laid a finger on her, but she knew the moment he would was inevitable. She could deal with pain, had developed quite a tolerance over the years of their struggle. He skin was no longer smooth and blemish-free, and her bones had broken many times. But pain had always come unexpectedly; a protruding spike of broken metal cleaving the flesh of her thigh as she fell, the sudden impact of a forceful collision with a wall breaking bone instantly. She had never lingered in the anticipation of pain, had never felt so helpless to avoid it.
"Wesker would surely be pleased to hear of your demise."
With the mention of that one name, hope broke through the annoyance of fear.
"Wesker?" she breathed. "You...you know him? Then...you know where he is?"
Perhaps her predicament was not so useless after all. She would gladly suffer a world of pain to determine his whereabouts, to finally avenge the deaths of her friends...to finally release the grudge that had consumed both herself and Chris since that awful night back in 1998.
"No," he laughed. "He works for himself these days, keeps pretty quiet. Albert Wesker is one trophy I would love to mount on my wall."
The hope sank. Rather than be one step closer to ending her own personal vendetta, she was on the verge of granting closure to one that ended only with her violent end.
There was little hope on the horizon, but she clung to the last of her waning strength. Because you never knew when a little perseverance may be useful.
August 23, 2003. 12:27am. St. Bernadette Hospital, Dallas, Texas.
Claire was surprised to find that sleep was not even a whispered suggestion to her mind. Word on the mission was still very hushed, but she soon picked up on the transfer of several agents to a nearby hospital. It was perhaps morbid of her to hope that her brother's name was amongst the admitted, but she knew that he would be safer on a hospital ward than he would have been out on the field. Alas, there was no Christopher Redfield on the roster, only Leon Kennedy, Michael Norton and Donald Miller Jr.
There was an agent waiting by Kennedy's room, and she could see that the man in question remained obliviously unconscious against hospital sheets. She could not make out enough of his features to determine just how seriously injured he was, but she was filled with the urge to dash into the room and run her fingers through the hair she had pleaded with him to cut on many occasions.
But an arm shot out to impede her progress, and the watchful agent smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, Miss Redfield," he sighed. "The doctor said he was to have no visitors until he wakes."
"How is he?" she asked, never one to obey doctors' orders.
The agent shrugged.
"Concussion," he assumed. "He'll be fine, he just needs some rest."
Claire frowned, gazing into the room, hoping for movement of some kind.
"Take me to my brother then," she requested. "I want to see him."
"No can do, miss," he denied. "Orders from the boss himself...he was quite specific."
Claire froze.
"Wait...Chris told you to-?" she began to ask, groaning in frustration as the truth sank in. He had requested that she be kept far away from danger, as usual. But danger was all relative, and he knew that she could handle herself.
"Why?" she asked, being sure to bat her eyelids in an attempt to seem forlorn. Her trick appeared to work as the agent sighed and exhaled slowly.
"There has been a situation," he explained. "Agent Valentine is being held hostage by the leader of the organisation. No demands have been issued yet, but...look, I think he's worried something will happen to you too. If I were in his position I would have done exactly the same."
She had no time to consider his assumption, fixated only on the knowledge that Jill was in danger. It truly was no surprise that Chris wanted her nowhere near the base, but she knew that he needed her. There was little doubt that he would be a mess right now, and in need of emotional support that the others could not offer him. He was not amongst friends, which she knew he would need.
She wandered slowly and aimlessly away from Leon's room. Jill was her friend too, though she had developed the habit of thinking of her initially as her brother's girlfriend. She was a strong woman, but captivity was a situation that was terrifying for whoever experienced it - she would know.
Room 309, she knew, was the temporary home of Mike Norton; an old friend she had not spoken to in quite some time. Unlike Leon, Mike was fully conscious when she approached, enquiring about his health before a greeting could be uttered.
"I'll live," he chuckled weakly. "Never taking a damn assignment from you again, though."
Claire smiled softly, settling into the chair by his bed.
"Lisa is on her way," she notified him. I called her as soon as I heard you were admitted. She's worried."
Mike groaned, but an unmistakeable smile spread across his lips.
"She worries too much," he sighed. "She should be resting."
"She cares about her husband," Claire laughed. "It's kind of her job."
"And worrying about you is your brother's..."
His name would always come up in these conversations. It had always been his job to worry about her, ever since the deaths of their parents. In many ways he had become a surrogate father to her, more involved in her protection and upbringing than a brother was expected to be. Perhaps this was the reason for their closeness. She had met others who barely spoke to their siblings, but she could not imagine life without Chris. She loved him deeply and unconditionally, and could never seem to show him that she was equally as concerned about his actions as he was about hers. He was more than her brother; he was her best friend.
"He's okay," Mike assured her, reaching for a trembling hand and squeezing it gently. "A little bruised, but he's in much better shape than I am."
"Physically, perhaps," she sighed. "He doesn't fall in love easily, but when he does, he falls hard. Jill is his whole world; he can't be taking this easily."
"Oh," was all Mike had to say on the matter. "Yes...I heard about that. I'm sorry."
'Yeah, me too,' she thought to herself. But she held hope that all would be well. Jill was a strong, capable woman and had gotten herself out of tighter spots than these. With Chris likely in charge of the search and rescue squad, she would be in safe hands very soon.
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Mike wheezed. "But she'll be dead before they send in the rescue team."
His words jarred on her consciousness, and she refused to accept them. Jill would survive, she would be alright. It was Jill, for God's sake!
"She'll be fine," she insisted a little angrily.
"Claire, I'm not trying to upset you," he explained. "But the Major has killed his own allies, he's a vicious maniac. Jill is an enemy; she doesn't stand a chance."
Claire frowned, stubbornly rejecting his comments. She had to believe that everything would work out; things got bad for them, but never tragic. In all the years of fighting, through all the broken bones and hospitalisations, they had not suffered a single casualty. Why would they lose a friend and ally now?
'Why not?'
She wished that Chris were not so stubborn. Somehow, she felt that she needed him in that moment just as much as he needed her.
AN - Please review :)