AN: Hello, world! Sorry for the wait! Welcome to chapter two.
AN: By the way, I love the song mentioned in this chapter. If you haven't heard it, go for it, I recommend it. I know for a fact a Wesker tribute on Youtube has that song, and it totally applies to him and Chris, I think. (shrugs) But that's just me:)
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, and I do not own any of its characters.
There's Nothing Like a Trail of Blood
Chapter Two:
New Enemies
"Chris?" Jean's questioning voice could be heard from the other side of the van, and it was her voice that snapped Chris into action.
"Stay back!" he shouted, praying she would listen to him. "Get-get back to the hospital!"
"But-"
"Now, Jean!" Chris barked, and saw a real flash of fear cross over her face. See what happens? His inner voice quietly mocked, coiling in his mind like a snake about to strike, revelingin the distraction it was in the situation. See what happens to anyone you get close to?
"Shut up!" Chris snapped at himself. He saw that the mercenaries were cradling Uzi sub machine guns and swore under his breath. Not good, Chris the only thing Chris could think about doing that would allow for a slim chance of survival was to run like hell.
So he did.
"Stop or we'll shoot!" one of the mercs shouted, but Chris was already weaving in between cars in the parking lot to place obstacles between him and any bullets that would be shot after him. Seconds later he heard the squeal of the van as it started in pursuit, having to drive the long way around in hopes of cutting Chris off from escape, towards the street to the far right of the parking lot since the left side led to a dead end.
No one's noticed them yet, Chris thought as his feet pounded on the concrete, his breathing heavy, lungs unused to the stress after five months of only walking and driving. He hoped Jean was safe and was calling the police at the moment, because if he didn't have a distraction soon, he'd be screwed.
Chris chose that moment to check where the van was, and it was right at the exit, blocking it to prevent anyone from entering or leaving. Soon the police would be alerted, but Chris knew that the mercs would just as soon mow the cops down as they would anyone stupid enough to confront them, which meant it was up to him to lead them away from innocent people.
Besides…I don't think they really want me dead, if they warned me not to run. Chris dismissed the dastardly plots forming in his mind and concentrated on the mess he had been thrown into without so much as a warning.
It was then that the van doors slid open and the mercs filed out, Chris ducked down quickly to avoid being detected, all the while thinking crapcrapcrap.He glanced up at the sky for some form of guidance, letting his breathing slow down and his mind clear.
Right.This was a combat situation, one that he'd been in countless times before. The mercs weren't the only ones who had combat knowledge, and they didn't have Chris's experience with things that were much faster, more brutal and a bitch to kill.
There wasn't enough time to double back to his car, and Chris wouldn't be able to outrun them on foot. Frustration decorated his features as he stared down at his working boots, and without thinking, began tapping his fingers on the door of the car he was crouched down next to.
A car. Any idiot would see that he would want to get a car, preferably his own…
A rare grin flashed across Chris Redfield's face as he put his newly hatched plan into action.
"What the hell?" one of the mercs muttered, seeing no sign of the target. "Where is he?"
"He's around here," another one drawled confidently. "Probably trying to call the police, the wuss."
"I heard he hasn't been the same since coming into contact with one of the experiments back at the base." The first merc said, scanning the seemingly deserted parking lot for any signs of movement. "He was supposed to be really depressed and easy to pick up."
"Don't tell me you think this is hard, Ted." His companion said with a smirk. "We'll flush him out in a few."
Ted glared at his partner and then dropped the expression when he heard a car alarm blare into the silence…close to where the target had parked his vehicle.
"He's going for his car!" Ted told his companion, and both men started to sprint towards where they believed was the target, Ted calling on his radio for the other men on the opposite side of the parking lot to follow the noise.
It was a big mistake, of course.
Chris kept his head behind a Mustang as the mercs ran past, chuckling to himself as he heard one of them shouting on his radio to head towards the source of the noise. He stuffed his car clicker back into his jacket's pocket, then patted his company issued gun in its holster. The firearm offered some comfort should the worst come to happen, but for now Chris would rather walk out of the ambush in one piece.
To be honest though, the brunette wasn't sure if he would. While the majority of the mercs were off on a wild goose chase, there was still the matter of the van blocking the only exit.
"What should I do?" Chris muttered to himself, knowing time was in short supply.
Wesker would have disposed of the driver merc and taken the van himself. His mental voice offered. Just one quick bullet to the head and-
I'm not Wesker! Chris snapped in his mind. Why are you even thinking about him?
Not that his mental voice was wrong. It would be the easiest way to escape. But it would mean killing and he was so sick and tired of his nightmares keeping him awake. Adding another body wouldn't help at all.
Knowing you, idiot, you'll try to knock out the driver and carjack him. The mental voice continued. Less blood spilled that way.
How does that make me an idiot? Chris demanded. That's not a bad plan at all-You leave the door open for things to go wrong. You're weak, Wesker would never have left things to chance, but you, Murphy's Law mocks you at every turn…
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Chris growled, annoyed at himself, because it was his hardened, bitter self that was yelling this crap at him. He was the one that had screwed up and now fighting the urge to do things in a more violent manner, justifying it by saying it was logical. Killing wasn't logical and Chris would never resort to it ever again.
So now what?
"Fucking morons." The merc driver grumbled, scanning the newspaper in his hands. The boss had only given the team one target. One. Twenty minutes had passed and they still hadn't captured…what's-his-name?
"Christopher Redfield." The driver read from his cell phone screen. Black eyes narrowed at the name in concentration. Why did it sound so damn familiar?
His hand came up to scratch his five o' clock shadow, the black bristles and their itchiness paling in comparison to the sudden feeling of cool metal pressing right against his neck.
Christopher Redfield. Rumour in the merc circles had it that the man was responsible for the death of one high paying and highly dangerous man…someone by the name of Wesker. The rumours weren't true of course. Albert Wesker was not dead…but he was probably wishing he was by now.
The point was…this made Christopher Redfield a very dangerous man, for he was the one who had ensured the easy capture of the new experiment back at the facility. So the driver felt no shame in the rapid pulse brought on by the gun pressing against him.
"Out of the car." a cold voice ordered. "Or your brains are gonna be decorating the dashboard."
Ah yes, the driver thought. Rumor also had it that Chris was a very violent person.
He stepped wordlessly out of the car and saw a pair of hard blue eyes glare at him.
"On your knees." Was the next order and the driver readily complied by crouching down, and then lowered his hand close to the ground, appearing to support himself.
Within seconds the driver had a pocketknife drawn. Within two, he was ready to throw it when the heavy body of the firearm connected with his temple, sending the black waters of unconsciousness running to greet the driver.
Well, at least one of the rumours was true. Was the driver's last thought.
"I didn't kill him." Chris repeated to himself, which made him feel slightly better. And he had made sure to drag the driver's body to the bushes where his merc buddies could easily find him. Still, he felt guilty for the concussion he surely gave the driver, and the headache he'd have upon regaining consciousness. Chris had had his share of concussions before, and knew it sucked worse than a hangover.
"But I didn't kill him." Chris repeated and ran his hand through his brown hair, while the other kept the steering wheel steady.
After taking care of the driver (who wasn't dead), Chris had simply turned the keys in the ignition and had driven away, making sure not to make unnecessary noise as he did so. But by now, the mercs would have noticed what had occurred and right now, Chris wanted to work out a plan…and a list of questions.
Like, who were they, besides mercs? Who did they work for? And more importantly, what the hell did they want with him?
Back in the good old days (not), Chris's mind would have pointed mental fingers at—him. But he was dead now, so Chris needed to expand his list of enemies.
At the next red light, Chris pulled out his cell phone and pressed number one for Claire on speed dial. Maybe he should have called Jill first, but right now, Chris wanted to check if his sis was okay.
"Damn. Machine." Chris bit his lip and waited for the machine to beep.
"Hey Claire, it's me." Here he hesitated. How was he supposed to tell his sister that he had a confrontation with mercenaries without freaking her out? "I…uh…know it's been a while, but I just wanted to see if you were okay."
Damn…why can't I tell her? He thought desperately.
Because you've already done enough. The mental voice murmured. To her and Jill.
And for once, Chris agreed.
"Yeah, um…that's it. I'll call you later, alright? And if you see Jill around, tell her I said hi." Chris cleared his throat. "Love you, Claire." He hung up.
He tossed the cell phone on the passenger seat and sighed heavily. He was alone in this, like he should be. That way, if there was a chance anyone would get hurt, Chris knew it would be him and not someone he cared about.
So why did he feel so depressed?
Maybe the radio would help.
I can't escape myself
(I can't escape myself)
So many times I've lied
(So many times I've lied)
But there's still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself
A wry smile crossed Chris's face at the lyrics. Even though it was the middle of the song, Chris could recognize 'Animal I have Become' by Three Days Grace. And strangely enough, he found himself in those lyrics, could see the very worst parts of himself being sung through the radio and into the van.
Before, when he used to listen to this song, he was always reminded of somebody else, but instead of making him flinch at the disturbing connection to the song, from the past and the present, Chris allowed himself to indulge in the memories, the good ones.
Which couldn't exactly be explained through the lyrics but…Chris could still feel and see them.
So what if you can see the darkest side of me?
No one would ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal
(This animal, this animal)
I could never forget…even if I wanted to… There was a sad smile on Chris's face, as flashes of memory followed the lyrics:
S.T.A.R.S.
Black sunglasses.
A smirk. A raised eyebrow.
White blonde hair.
Red eyes…
A vibrating sound on the passenger seat pulled Chris out of memory lane. Probably Jean, he thought and moved his hand absently to take his phone. He should have texted her sooner to tell her he was okay, but…blame Three Days Grace.
And then he read the text message.
We have your friend. Stop your car in the next parking lot or she dies.
"Fuck." All the color drained from Chris's face and he almost crashed into another car.
This couldn't be happening.
The almost dreamlike state he was in before evaporated, and soon Chris was close to hyperventilating.
"Fuck." He whispered, his vision almost double as he looked at the road in front of him. The cars seemed to blend together, the road dancing in front of him. Without another word, Chris drove into the parking lot of a recently closed down supermarket and parked in the empty space right in front of the closed doors. Then Chris turned the car off, and the silence fell, suffocating him with the news that yes, yes he did screw up again. And no, there was nothing he could do.
Still, Chris drew up his shoulders and patted his holster for the company issued gun. Once he was assured it was there, he decided to take it out of the holster and transferred it to a jacket pocket. The moment the firearm was gone from view, a gun tapped the metal frame above the driver's window.
Swallowing a little, Chris unlocked the door and climbed out, coming face to face with the team of seven mercs, two of them holding a battered and gagged Jean between them. The vivid fear in his friend's caramel colored eyes was a rusty dagger to Chris's conscience.
It was his fault. Because of her association with him, Jean was now a hostage, a dead one if he didn't think up a plan soon.
"You've got me." Chris finally said, holding up his hands in surrender. He nodded towards Jean and her eyes widened. "Now let her go."
There was no movement to indicate what their response would be, and Chris felt cold as a breeze ripped through his uniform.
Finally the merc that had knocked nodded once at the other men. They ungagged her before throwing her at Chris, who stumbled when he caught her.
"You see, Christopher?" The merc said, and Chris saw that the black haired man with bright green eyes and a small scar running just beneath his left eye was actually the leader. He appeared young, in his early twenties. Too young to be deep inside this line of work, but Chris knew it was all a load of bull. The world didn't give a damn how old you were when it decided to fuck you over. It was like the virus in that way, not sparing anyone or judging, just barreling along, knocking down anyone unlucky enough to be in its direct path.
And Chris was the unluckiest person he knew at this point, except for Jean because she had no idea what she was involved in. He could feel her right now, pressed against his side, trembling as she struggled to maintain her composure. Chris wanted to put an arm around her but didn't dare, in case he needed to move fast.
He didn't want his friend to die, hell he didn't want to die, and that was damn surprising for him. His past behavior over the past five months hadn't exactly been full of living lately.
"I am honorable enough to have fulfilled my side of the deal." The merc leader continued, and Christopher blinked, realizing that they knew his name. And the asshole had called him Christopher, which only a few people got away with, and only because he couldn't kill them…other than-
"I suggest you complete your side of the arrangement and turn yourself in." Chris couldn't place where exactly, but there was definitely something off about how the merc said his words, as if he was a foreigner. Russian, maybe?
"Who are you?" Chris blurted out, unnerved by the relaxed, yet well-mannered merc. He was used to dealing with Umbrella, with zombies and anything mutated. But this was different…and somehow he had a feeling this was the beginning of something.
Something very big and very bad.
"That is not necessary information at the moment." The merc replied calmly. "Will you go willingly with us?"
"Yeah." Chris answered. "Hold on." He turned to Jean's tear streaked face and felt another pang of guilt.
"You'll be okay, Jean." Chris said quietly. "I'm sorry for getting you into this, but you'll be okay, alright? Just drive the car back to the hospital and pretend you never saw them, and me."
"Chris, what about you?" Jean said, her voice shaking. "I can't leave you behind. What if they kill you?"
"Don't worry about me." Chris shot her a confident smile. "This isn't the first time I've run into trouble. Go on, I'll be fine."
"Yes, Jean," the merc drawled. "Pretend none of this ever happened and you will live a much longer and happier life." His pale face became stern when he saw Jean hesitate.
"I must warn you, however," the merc told her, sounding dead serious now. "Should the news or media become aware of Chris's disappearance in less than twenty four hours, as well as of our involvement, we will find you in your apartment at West 22nd street, on the third floor, number 33G and kill you. Is that understood?"
Jean was ashen at the accuracy of the information and nodded mutely. She turned to Chris, tears shining in her eyes and he gave her another smile of reassurance.
"Guess they'll have to find a substitute until I get back." He joked and Jean shook her head, smiling weakly.
"I'm so sorry, Chris." She told him and hugged him tightly until Chris gently pried her off and pushed her towards the car.
He watched as Jean drove away then, feeling the anxiety fade a little, knowing his friend was spared from the hell that was soon to be unleashed.
At least he did something right today, and Chris was immensely comforted by that, but it vanished when the merc began to speak again.
"I am glad your friend is safe, Mr. Redfield. Too many innocents die in this sort of situation."
"What do you care?" Chris growled, glaring at him. "The more people you kill, the merrier right?"
"You are mistaken." The leader said, serenely. "In my line of work, killing excessively makes it easier for you to be found, you leave a trail of blood that will be very hard to clean up." He chuckled then and Chris clenched his jaw in annoyance.
"Besides, it is extremely difficult to clean blood out of clothes, no? And I do hate having to go shopping so often." The merc said and looked curiously at Chris. "Are you all right?"
Chris stayed silent. How could he talk so casually about killing? How could he stand there and joke about blood while Chris had to face nightmares night after night? Would the merc still feel that way if he had been through what Chris had?
"In any case, Mr. Redfield," the merc said, motioning to one of the men. "I advise you not to struggle, I wish only to try this once so we can be on our way."
"What?" Chris felt a surge of fear when he saw the hypodermic syringe in the man's hand. He was suddenly surrounded by two of the mercs, one pulling back his jacket to reveal a bare arm to the freezing afternoon air.
There was no time to pull out the gun, and despite the dread, Chris refused to back out of the deal he had made.
So he remained still and didn't resist, trying not to let his imagination run wild as the needle pierced the skin and the fluid was injected into his body. The head merc was surprisingly gentle and carefully pulled the needle out and gave it to one of the men to dispose of.
Chris's vision was doubled and fading fast. He sagged under the sudden weakness that overcame him, only the two mercs' arms behind him kept him upright. Clouded blue eyes saw the white grey sea above suddenly part to let a shaft of yellow white through, and a hollow caw overhead gave the moment more of a dreamlike quality.
Chris felt extremely vulnerable, the pathetic paper-thin world he created to replace the horrible one he had exited from was quickly crumpling under the weight of an oncoming storm that, like a twisted cyclone, would blow him far, far away from Kansas.
And this time, there was no one to help him navigate through the uncharted territory of a world with new players…and a new arch villain.
Chris was quickly losing his trains of thought and barely noticed when the leader of the mercenaries leaned his head forward and close to his ear.
"I feel sorry for you, my friend." The merc murmured. "You are about to meet an old friend and a new enemy. And this enemy would very much like to see you dead."
"Who?" Chris mumbled, his voice slurring. Enemy? Friend? Anyone, it didn't matter who the merc chose to divulge info about…
"They are built upon the ashes and bones of Umbrella, and are twice as dangerous." Came the reply. "They are…"
Chris never managed to catch the last word. By then he had already faded away, and no longer cared about anything except surrendering to the nothingness of his mind.
Because it was there that he could pretend that none of this was happening.
Not again.
AN: Whew. Took some revising, but it's finally out! Poor Chris. If he thinks things are bad now, next chapter…(evil smile). Ahem, there will be insanity next chapter, folks, a chapter that shall come soon now that this month is almost OVER!
Feedback/comments are always welcome and will totally make my day.
Thanks to I Caught Myself and lizzyhoneyizzy for the great advice in writing this chapter!:)
And finally, thank you for your patience for this update. And double thank you for the reviews, story alerts and support. And for reading (waves) See you next update! And Happy Memorial Day!