Disclaimer: See the prologue for all disclaimers thus far.
Resident Evil 6: Rampage
CHAPTER 1: NEW FRIENDS, NEW MISSIONS
"I'm gonna scrub this virus from the face of the earth." - Leon S. Kennedy, "Resident Evil: Degeneration"
"The greatest good you can do for another is not to share your own riches, but to reveal to him his own." Benjamin Disraeli
In the battle to get stronger, the boy - Carter Myers - didn't become a man on his own. He had help, from Helena and Deborah Harper, Jennifer Jareau, the BAU, the FBI, the Department of Security Operations (DSO for short), the US Marine Corps... and most importantly, his father. In his father's case, that help was to the grave - and even beyond.
(June 27th, 2013, Tall Oaks)
"Are you sure about this, Carter?" Franklin "Frank" Myers, Carter's father, asked his son over the Bluetooth connection installed in Carter's Ford Escape through its custom deck, "I mean, yes, we're both survivalists of some renown, in good physical shape for our ages thanks to our training, but what can mere survivalists actually do in this case, even if one is a Marine and the other has the training to be one? We're not tied to any newspapers, we haven't consulted in much of anything for months, the USMC hasn't called me into battle... as much as I hate to rain on your parade, son, why would the President contact two people he doesn't even know beyond reputation to serve as a balance to the result of whatever he has to say?"
"I don't know the answer to that last one, pop," Carter mused as he entered a parking lot to a hotel just outside Tall Oaks, "I just know that Adam Benford doesn't do things with no reason. He was a government official when Raccoon City was destroyed and a soldier long before that; all the files I could find on the man describe him as a calm, logical person whose every action has a purpose - even if he's the only one who understands that purpose sometimes," the 24-year-old survivalist added wryly, shutting down the SUV and running a hand through his close-cropped hair as he looked to the passenger seat, where his everyday survival pack resided.
"Alright, point taken; the President's got a reason for this and we should trust him," Frank conceded, "I just don't have a good feeling about this. Granted, the FBI and the USMC let us both provide backup in a lot of ways, but..."
"I know, dad," Carter sighed, "I've been having the willies too, ever since we got the call. But we became survivalists, trained as outdoorsmen and soldiers - and I even joined the FBI, dammit! - all to make a difference. Maybe we're not reporters; maybe the newshounds will butcher everything we say, but if even one regular person reads between the lines, past the sensationalist B.S., listens to the truth and can survive bioterrorism attacks on their own as a result, it's worth it. You taught me that, dad, and with a President at the helm who actually believes the same, who are we to say no when he asks for our aid? We've got to do this, pop; besides, there'll be a couple full-fledged Secret Service agents watching our backs, a few friends of mine in the Bureau have their eyes on the situation, and the presidential entourage is no bunch of slouches either. At least, I hope they're not."
A low chuckle rumbled over the phone line.
"You're preaching to the converted, son; I just wanted to make sure you're still up for this. Be careful, pray our instincts are wrong - and I'll see you at Ivy University tomorrow."
"Will do. See you tomorrow, dad." Carter smiled, ending the call. No declarations of familial love were exchanged; in 'normal times' like those (though normal always was relative with their family), they were hardly necessary.
(June 28th, 2013, Ivy University, Tall Oaks)
Sprinting through the halls, diving over obstacles in his path, sliding over tables even with steel-toed/steel-plated firemen's boots on his feet and a large, full multi-compartment MOLLE Tactical Backpack covering his back and shoulders, Carter suddenly, inexplicably wished he had told his father he loved him one last time before that day. For a combination of events had kept Carter and his father from meeting up; Carter was late, having overslept at the hotel by two hours, and Frank himself had vanished upon arrival.
Knowing that his father's first stop had been an office near the reception hall to speak with the President, Carter traced the quickest path he could to that same office - and slowed upon nearing the area, not wanting to scare anyone into doing anything hasty. Suddenly, he heard a voice.
"Stay right where you are - both of you!"
Freezing, Carter looked around - and saw no one. Proceeding forward at the stealthiest, quickest possible pace with his backpack on his shoulders, the survivalist heard the voice speak again from inside the room ahead.
"Mr. President! Frank! Don't make me do this..."
At the sound of his father's name, Carter poked his head around the doorframe, looked in the room and saw a sight that made his blood freeze: President Adam Benford shambling towards two government agents, one male, one female, ('Secret Service, from the looks of them,' a part of Carter's mind noted, 'Those must be Leon Kennedy and Helena Harper.'), both agents aiming their guns at the President, who was himself badly wounded... and Frank Myers shambling alongside him, in equally bad shape. As Helena let loose a quiet whimper behind the gun she held up, Carter's jaw clenched - memories flashing through his mind of another female named Helena, who he'd known in the past, being in another struggle.
At his core, Carter was a gentleman and a warrior, habits and lifestyles picked up from his father and grandfather - and as he saw his father's bloodied corpse stumble towards Helena, clearly looking like it was about to grab her, with the President's corpse heading towards Leon, Carter took the only action he could, pulling a handgun from a holster on his right hip... with that action, the young survivalist made the single hardest choice of his life, as his father's undead corpse nearly took a bite out of a live human.
"ADAM!"
"DAD, NO!"
...And with a shot each from two different guns, the bodies of two men were laid to rest.
Carter lowered his gun, disgusted at the fact he'd had to make that choice at all - a woman's life, or his father's. It was a choice he had hoped never to make at all... and yet, as the survivalist looked closer at his father's mangled corpse - far more mangled than a mere headshot or the resulting fall could account for; only recognizable by the ever-present maroon polo shirt and pair of dog tags - he realized... that hadn't been his father. That had been a zombie, created by his father's infection with a virus... a virus whose symptoms Carter recognized, and had clearly only avoided himself because of an extremely rare lack of punctuality.
'Zombies... damn. I thought the T-Virus was just a memory by now...'
And then he heard Helena's whimpers increase in volume, and he automatically shelved those thoughts for later, lowering his weapon.
"Leon Kennedy? Sir, are you alright?" Carter looked towards Leon, who was clearly tense as well yet still managed to nod towards the survivalist, "Helena Harper?" Carter turned towards Helena who, for all her apparent skill, appeared on the edge of hyperventilating, "Helena, I'm Carter Myers - one of the guys Benford invited here. Are you ok?"
"It's all my fault..." she gasped, barely holding herself together, "I... I did this."
"What are you talking about?" Leon growled at her.
"That's a good question." Carter raised an eyebrow, throwing a skeptical look at Helena as she wiped a tear away. How could one woman, Secret Service or not, possibly be responsible for the death of two men - one of who could push a stalled quarter-ton truck alone on a bad day (never mind a good one), and the other having protection unmeasured from (supposedly) all threats - to say nothing of the others who may have fallen to the infection?
'And why does she look familiar?' Carter pondered, 'Her eyes, they look like... no, she couldn't be that Helena... could she?'
"Tall Oaks Cathedral," the female agent replied softly, slowly regaining her self-control, "Agent Kennedy, Carter, I'll explain everything to you there."
As Leon asked how Helena knew his name, Carter was barely able to hold back a reaction of shock; while the FBI Special Agent had already known about a potential meeting with government agent Leon S. Kennedy - who had been one of his inspirations for becoming a survivalist (and to a lesser extent, a government agent) in the first place - the Secret Service apparently had a file on Carter (and presumably his father), which surprised him to no end.
Which was nothing compared to the Secret Service agent in front of Carter; a woman who looked hauntingly familiar in her own right. But before he could ponder the matter further, both senior agents' belts rang as a device of some sort went off. Helena got to hers first.
"Yes?"
"Hunnigan!" Leon blinked, seeing his friend's face on the screen of the other agent's radio, "How do you two know each other?"
As Ingrid Hunnigan explained the situation to the two agents and introduced them to one another, Carter semi-ignored the conversation, kneeling next to the fallen corpses.
"I'm sorry, pops, Mr. President..." the young survivalist murmured, "I don't know who did this, to either of you or anyone else, but I'm going to find out. I'll avenge your deaths - all these deaths - and keep surviving, keep making a difference... just like I'm sure you both would have wanted. We'll make your death have meaning, Mr. President... and thank you for everything, dad. I love you... goodbye."
It wasn't much of a eulogy, but it was enough. And as he picked up his father's dog tags and was handed Helena's device, a smart-phone/radio hybrid much like Carter's own phone, part of Carter's soul took solace in the fact he'd given his father all he could over the years.
"You're Carter Myers?" asked the woman on the screen as the man in question finished clipping the tags around his neck, "I recognize you; you're with the FBI, aren't you?"
"I am, ma'am; Special Agent Carter Myers of the BAU - the President invited dad and I to this, and Section Chief Gideon and Director Fickler gave approval for me to come... not that it's gonna look good to them, the higher-ups or my buddies in the Bureau once they all know what went down," Carter grimaced; while his bouts of lateness were extremely rare, there was usually hell to pay when they did occur, "If I may ask who you are, ma'am? You clearly have me at a disadvantage."
"I'm Ingrid Hunnigan, Mr. Myers; Operations Coordinator with Field Operations Support. You already know Leon and Helena, I'm sure."
"I do. But listen carefully, Miss Hunnigan; 'Mister' Myers is- was my father, heaven rest his soul - and even then only at formal events," Carter replied, amending his usual retort to such formalities as he noticed his father's zombified corpse out of the corner of his eye, "Please, and this goes for Leon and Helena as well - call me Carter. Or Agent Myers if you absolutely have to be formal."
"Of course, Carter; feel free to call me Hunnigan as well." Hunnigan replied smoothly, "Listen: you're not blood-related to the president, but he trusted your father and you implicitly, likely because of your father's military history and your stellar performance as a survivalist and an Agent - both of those caught his eye when he was looking for support for today's event. So we have to get you out of there safely-"
"Quick question," Carter interrupted, "If not for dad's military history, my training or my family's... reputation, would you be extending this kind of help? Or would you just leave me to rot, like the rest of this city?"
A sharp "No!" came from both agents' mouths at the latter question even as Hunnigan froze, visibly thrown by both questions, causing Carter to raise an eyebrow in the agents' direction.
"Even if you were a regular civilian, Carter, we would do everything possible to get you out of here safely." Helena elaborated.
"She's right," Leon added, "In Raccoon City it was everyone for themselves, and no one but those who survived the nightmare knew anything about survivalism; even then, it was after the fact, and hundreds of thousands of people died as a result who didn't have to. But this isn't Raccoon City, none of us are alone, and we are - all of us - survival experts, so we're getting out of here by working together. Understood?"
Carter nodded sharply, filing those facts away for later perusal even as an ever-observant part of his mind nagged at him. There was a familiarity about Helena...
"Anyway," Ingrid interjected, composure once again smooth as ice, "Agent Myers, go with Agent Kennedy and Agent Harper; they'll get you to safety eventually, and I'm sure you'll make good backup for them as well with your training and field resources. Since they have a lead, please make sure to keep me up to date. Good luck, all of you - and keep your radios on."
Handing the device back to Helena, Carter felt something... indescribable, yet familiar as their fingers brushed. The brief glimmer in Helena's own eyes as they locked with Carter's was the only sign that she'd felt the same sensation.
"So, we've got a lead?" Carter asked the Secret Service agent gruffly, recalling the half-heard phone conversation between the government personnel, "A way to find out who's responsible for this devastation?"
"You will," Helena answered, "if you come with me."
"Then I'm with you, Agent Helena Harper. To the end."
As Leon kneeled next to the fallen President to give his own eulogy, Carter kneeled beside Helena, removing the backpack that had until that point been secured tightly to his back, revealing his own form-fitting maroon work shirt underneath the support straps.
"What are you doing?" Helena raised an eyebrow as Carter smirked before answering her question.
"Since we're going to be sticking together, you and Agent Kennedy should remember, Agent Harper; I might be an FBI Agent, but above all I'm a survivalist. If we're going into battle - and I'd bet two bucks of mine to fifty cents of yours that we are - then I need my gear ready before we get there."
As he spoke, the last son of the Myers family removed black Kevlar military gloves, a folded black vest and battle belt from the backpack, and proceeded to empty the pack of what looked like nearly half its remaining load besides as Helena watched in curiosity - small, well-stocked, waterproof/watertight compartments, all set to be attached to the vest and belt, came from inside one of the larger compartments; packed belt sheaths and compartments for a multi-tool, a small flashlight/emergency radio with wireless earpiece (which he immediately set to the DSO's frequency with guidance from Helena), a smart-phone/backup radio and two more holstered handguns (one of them a Baby Glock) came from another slightly smaller compartment; four survival knives in hard plastic sheaths followed from the larger compartment, as did leg drop compartments and knee and elbow pads.
Strapping the knives to his web belt, left leg (beneath his dark cargo pants) and right forearm, and the Baby Glock holster to his right leg under those same pants, re-strapping his own belt through the web belt, threading and clipping the entire combination into place on his hips, snapping all compartments, sheaths and holsters into place as well as the knee and elbow pads, and closing the vest into place above that, Carter Myers looked every inch the survivalist he had spent over ten years training to be (instead of the FBI Agent he was) as he snapped every clip into place, tightening every strap and string into taut, comfortable positions.
Two days' change of clothes remained in the backpack's largest section, next to various food items like sealed energy bars, MREs and zip-locked bags of beef jerky. The secondary section was half-empty, only containing various tools and trinkets. Several other compartments including a butt pack remained sealed, for the time being; given what had been in the backpack so far, neither of the agents could begin to guess what was in those compartments, though a canteen on each side of the pack made it clear fresh water was among the backpack's remaining contents.
"Impressive," Leon noted wryly as he stood up, his own murmured eulogy to the President complete, "Worthy of the BSAA and the government, easily. You think it'll hold up through a viral outbreak?"
"Don't know," Carter grunted as he sealed and hefted the survival pack back onto his shoulders, clipped the support straps into place, tightened the straps and gripped one Sig Sauer in hand, "This is the first one I've been involved in this deeply. So cross your fingers and let's get moving; we have a cathedral to get to." Leon nodded, then looked to Helena as the group exited the room. As the agents talked, neither of them noticed Carter briefly make a sidelong glance in the direction of the fallen, sorrow marring his otherwise handsome features.
'Whoever caused this will pay, gentlemen... that's a promise.'
Harper's Log; July 15th, 2013.
He'd changed from the kid he was when we first met twelve years ago. Carter, that is.
Besides the obvious physical developments - which even with my shock at the time, I appreciated as only a woman could - and his improved knack for survival, the best friend my sister and I ever had looked emotionally and physically healthy (which I know now was a great change from when he and I first met as kids; for a lot of reasons, he was a messed-up rail with a short fuse then!)... but even with all his skills and FBI training, while he looked disciplined and controlled he also looked lonely; as though a piece of his heart had been ripped away repeatedly. I knew that pain was caused in part by Deborah and I leaving him twelve years ago - and as much as Carter tried to hide it, I also knew the ache in his heart had been renewed by the Tall Oaks outbreak... the outbreak I helped cause.
Those facts saddened me every bit as much as the realization of the consequences of my actions that day. However, knowing that the father I never had in Franklin Myers; a man who - by example, no less! - inspired me to channel my focus and drive where I did in the first place, was a casualty of the actions I took to try and keep my sister safe...
As later entries in this diary will prove, we were both in rough shape when the truth came out - even before then, and even now, Simmons' actions and my own actions have changed us both. We'll see if that affects our teamwork... or anything else.
"You two were okay, though?" JJ asked Helena, whose eyes grew misty at the memories.
"We were better than okay at the time I wrote that," Helena mused, "We were back to where we were as kids - we were..."
"What?"
"We were family, JJ. I was in love with him even when we were kids - not that I ever told him that; he and Deborah were attached at the heart even then - and though he and I never said the words as kids, I know he loved me back then as if I were his sister. Even when I told him of my part in the Tall Oaks disaster, that never changed... only the type of love did."
"What do you mean?" JJ asked.
"Carter... he carried a torch for Deborah all those years. He was in love with her - and even at her age, when we left him she was in love with him, I'm certain of it. That's the only reason she's never had another close friend like him; the only reason she could never let him go... the only reason she remembered him at all even after twelve years of no contact, and especially after Simmons' goons and the C-Virus were through with her when we found her."
"But afterwards?"
"When all was said and done," Deborah interjected softly from a nearby loveseat, "Let's just say my advice to those two... it's being followed a little too well. I told them both to find someone to love - someone special - and they did. They found each other. I'm not upset at all."
"Sounds just like advice a guardian angel gave me years ago," JJ replied wryly as her younger friend smiled softly, "Reid, the team and I... we wouldn't be here as we are without it."
The three women grinned, eyes shining with mirth and contentment even as JJ recalled similar advice given to her, mostly nonverbal and in another lifetime - by a son she never had, her teammates, and (after Strauss' reassignment) even JJ's own Section Chief, regarding a certain brown-haired genius they all knew and loved.
A/N: Whatif-ifonly, that last paragraph's for you. Hope ya like it.