Wildfire:

Chapter Two:

Wuss, Bastard, and Bitch

October 2nd - 1998

The long curl of smoke flickered in the moist air.

The bus was broken down on the side of the red dirt road. The grass around them was burnt, brown, and struggling to survive the drought. For Indian summer, the heat was surprisingly tolerable. You still felt like a wet buffalo was sitting on your chest, but at least you weren't vomiting up your damp lungs when you breathed. The humidity was cloying, but it wasn't killing.

Sitting on the side of the road, the two men shared a bottle of water between them.

They watched the angry little man with the pot belly work under the hood of the smoking bus. It was an open-air model with missing sides and exposed, like a San Francisco trolley. But the engine had shit the bed shortly after they reached civilization's end.

There were a handful of them there waiting. No one seemed inclined to make friends. Leon Kennedy found himself getting the proverbial stink eye from other people on the bus.

He studied them with a cop's eye. A couple of girls in tank tops and shorts. A couple of guys in jeans and tees. Everyone looked…what? Scared? Not exactly. But not exactly thrilled to be there either. Maybe they were all like him, blackmailed into being there in the first place.

The only person who'd spoken to him was on the ground next to him, Jack Krauser. Krauser was enormous. He was Bane in Batman big. He was all muscle and had good patrician features, handsome with a shock of blonde hair. He wore a red tank top on his massive chest and camouflage fatigues on his muscled legs. Leon felt scrawny and small in his green Oscar the Grouch t-shirt and jeans.

Krauser was friendly enough. He talked about being in USSOCOM. He spoke of coming here for the versatility of the training. His chain of command was grooming him to lead a spearhead of special operations. To do that, he needed to be able to withstand torture, excel in various styles of combat, and be able to prove himself.

He offered the bottle, and Leon took it, sipping, "Honestly, they're talking about sending me up against B.O.W.S. when this is over. But I'm not sure I believe they exist."

Leon shifted in the red dirt. "They exist. I promise you that."

Curious, Krauser studied his face. "You see 'em?"

"Oh, yeah. Plenty of them. I survived Raccoon City."

Surprised, impressed, and smiling, Krauser mused, "Must be a helluva story."

"Yeah." Leon studied the driver's angry, waving hands, "A long one."

Krauser kicked his legs out, sighing, "We might be here awhile. You wanna talk about it?"

Leon hadn't had a friend in so long, he thought, why not? They were in the same fight now, after all. And he started talking to the soldier on the side of the road.

Across the road, the handful of girls kept looking at them. When Leon finished his story, Krauser whistled, "If any of that shit is true, you're lucky to be alive."

Leon snorted. "It's all true. Stuff of nightmares? You betcha. But true."

"Jesus. So, much for the monster under the bed not being real."

"No, kidding."

Krauser studied the women watching them and remarked, "Christ look at that one."

Leon narrowed his eyes in the sunlight. "Which one? They all kinda look the same to me."

"Forget the blondes; look at that one sitting on the rock there."

Pretty, sure, with short dark hair scooped off her face in a sloppy ponytail and pieces flying everywhere. She wore a blue tank top, khaki shorts, heavy boots, and white socks. She looked pissed and put out. But Leon figured they all did at being trapped in the heat.

Krauser muttered, "The rack on this woman. I could bury my face in those things and die a happy man."

Leon snorted again, studying her. She stopped tapping her boot to meet his eyes and hold them. Leon lifted the water bottle in his hand in an offering. Krauser murmured, "That's right, sweetcheeks. Come get it." He clucked his tongue quietly, like calling a timid kitten.

The woman glanced from Leon to Krauser. Krauser patted the ground beside him. He bobbled his brows expectantly. The woman rolled her eyes and looked away.

Krauser sighed, "Figures. She likes your pretty face but shoots me down."

Leon joked, "Crash and burn, Major."

Krauser chuckled good-naturedly. "Win some, lose some. She don't know what she's missing."

"She'd have to find it first, Jack." And Krauser slapped the back of his head like a friend would.

Across the road, Jill watched them. The younger one was all smiles and seemed to be trying to make the best of things. Maybe he'd elected to come on this shit show, but she sure as hell hadn't. She didn't want anything to do with this ragtag group of assholes. Most were morons, not knowing the first thing about fixing engines, changing tires, or even staying out of direct sunlight to avoid burning.

Who was Simmons recruiting? Average American teens fresh out of high school? She'd ask next time they were face to face and she was feeding him his teeth.

After another twenty minutes of tinkering around with the engine, the angry little man finally ushered them back on the bus. They gathered, sharing seats with those who got along and sitting alone for those who didn't. Jill sank into her seat near the back and stared out the window, glaring at the horizon as they pushed on.

The seat depressed beside her, and a voice suggested, "If you stare harder, maybe you can burn a hole in those mountains over there like Cyclops."

She ignored him. After a moment, he tried again, "Thirsty?"

Jill finally glanced over. The young one offered her the water bottle. She glanced at it and back at his face, "You kidding? You probably spiked it, and I'll wake up on your dorm room floor with my panties gone and your friends videotaping the gangbang."

Leon blinked. She watched the flush spread over his cheeks in embarrassment. He lifted the bottle to his lips and sipped, lowering it again and declaring, "There. Maybe we'll both wake up defiled now."

Her mouth twitched.

He held out the water bottle until she took it and drained the rest in one gulp.

Begrudgingly, she offered, "...thanks."

He shrugged. "We're all in this shit show together, right?"

Jill tilted her head, "Are we?"

Leon gave her a wan smile. "Maybe. Can't speak for anybody else, of course, but I sure as well didn't want to be here."

Curious now, Jill studied him. "You get forced into this?"

He gave a sad look. "Mostly. You?"

"Mostly."

Sighing, he decided, "I lost control of my life somewhere. I'm still trying to get it back."

"...me too," Jill murmured and accepted the role of reluctant companionship, "I keep getting fucked for trying to do the right thing."

Leon met her eyes and demurred, "Story of my life."

Jill huffed out a small laugh. "I hate everything right now."

He licked his lips and returned, "Me, too. Maybe we can hate it all together."

She said nothing but didn't ask him to leave her alone. So, maybe that was as good as it would get for them both.

Somewhere off the coast of nowhere...

October 24th, 1998

They put them through training like they would become Navy Seals or something. It was rigorous. It was endless. It was clear on day one that Leon had been wrong about Krauser. He wasn't there to be alongside them but to help train. Apparently, he was high enough up the ladder that being the guy kicking the asses of the newbies was about to become his specialty.

The pit was a massive circle. It was all burning coals. Krauser stepped on it without a care. His calloused feet liked it, like a warm massage. He kicked coals playfully.

And his opponent stepped out.

Thin but built. She wore a tight little white tank and tiny shorts. Her dark hair was bound up in a high ponytail again. The girl on the bus. She didn't look anything but short of determined.

Leon got it. He did. After the wet weather training, the tactical submission, and the combat simulations. Between the hand-to-hand, the weapons detail, and the starvation that kicked in from being out in the woods for days on end attempting to survive, you started to take that chip on your shoulder and turn it into nachos of hate.

She was facing off against Krauser like she wanted to kill him for the misery of it. Leon and the rest of the recruits felt her rage and shared it.

Krauser laughed, watching her.

"Hi there, sweetheart. Why don't you drop that stick, and I'll give you a bigger one to play with?"

She twirled her bo staff. He twirled his. He called toward the stands, "Remember this, rookies, everyone you meet on a mission is, first and foremost, your enemy. You are never safe, never without the threat of immediate danger, and never, never exempt from your gender. This girl here? She's pretty. She might be deadly as hell, but the right bad guy will see a female, fruitful and soft. He will fuck her up, possibly dick her down, and discard her like garbage. Or worse? He'll fuck her up to get you, her partner, to submit to protect her. We ain't here for gender equality, folks. We're here because you need to know how to go out there, fight like hell to win, and come back home alive."

Krauser gestured to her, "Come at me, honey. Show me what you got."

She swung at him. He ducked back and kicked her in the stomach. She staggered but didn't go down.

Amused, they paced each other in the burning coals.

The heat sent swirling, shimmering plumes of humidity into the sky. It was like looking through a wavering filter. The world actually roasted as they fought.

She was quick. She was good. She was a second faster, a second smoother, a second sharper. She hit him twice in both arms, ducked and swept his feet, and jabbed him in the belly. He caught her staff, jerked her forward, and elbowed her in the face.

She spit blood, spun a reverse roundhouse kick, and kicked him away.

He laughed, dropping his staff.

She tilted her head like a dog, laughed, and stuck her staff in the coals. She used it like a pole vaulter, went up, and double-kicked him in the chest. Krauser caught her ankle as he went down, jerked, and spilled her atop him.

She heard his back sizzle from the heat.

But he got two handfuls of her ass anyway and forced her down into his body to grapple like a wrestler. The woman bit his nose as he tugged her down. Krauser howled like a wounded animal and kneed her right in the crotch.

It hurt, she rolled away and leaped to her feet, and he punched her as she spun back toward him. A hook. A hard one. It hit her in the face and sent her reeling.

She went down to her hands and knees, throwing blood from her mouth.

"She is smaller, weaker, lighter, and faster. But fast don't mean dick against power. The only advantage she has is that speed and the element of surprise. She had that; she's lost it. And now that hubris she just used to bite my face comes back to haunt her."

Krauser kicked her in the belly to her back, and she threw her leg out as she went. It was a brutal, impressive hit to the groin. He grunted and grabbed her throat, lifting her to dangle. He grabbed a handful of her hair, and she slung her body like a serpent.

She kicked her legs up, looped them around his face and rolled, and whipped him away to throw him out like he wasn't two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle.

Krauser landed on his back on the coals, and she was above him, the bo staff at his right eye.

Krauser conceded, "Enough!"

And the battle was awarded to the girl he'd just tried to shame.

The other's watched from the top of the rise, as they always did during the battle. Leon swirled the matchstick in his mouth, curious about the girl. She paused as she left the arena. She glanced up.

He smiled and bowed his head in a salute to her victory. She smiled, laughed lightly, and left the ring.

When Leon joined Krauser in the ring, it was the ass-kicking of a lifetime. He ended up tossed into the wall, thrown out like garbage, kicked, and flipped over onto his face. Krauser pummeled him, belittled him, bested him, and didn't even try to make it seem like he cared when Leon went down.

Lying on his face in the grass this time, tasting the blood from his busted nose, Jack leaned over him and declared, "Only thing that separates from the animals, Kennedy, is our goddamn determination. So, get up or stay down. But down gets you dead. So, how bad do you want to live?"

So, Leon kept getting up. As far as he could tell, down might have saved his body the beating of a lifetime, but it wouldn't spare his ego. He got up, kept on getting up, and Krauser kicked his ass like he was battling a toddler.

When he limped from the ring, spitting blood on the ground with a curse of pain, the girl from the bus stood ten feet away. She tilted her head at him. He shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin around bloody teeth. She queried, "Having fun yet?"

And Leon returned, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm just getting started."

She flicked her gaze up and down his dirty, sweaty, bruised torso and face. "Yeah, you are," she agreed with pride, "you got balls of steel, rookie." She paused as she passed him and added, "...good for you."

He watched her go. His lips twitched.

Maybe going down would grant him peace, but getting up just might get him the girl.

Jefferson Drew was an accomplished acrobat. He was tall, thin, the color of coffee fresh from the pot, and had cornrows that swirled as he moved. His cobblestone abs looked like they came from a magazine above the white pants he wore. He was so fast. He was like a mosquito. He taught Leon all about flip kicks and spin kicks, and hurricanes. They practiced back flips and back handsprings and tucks.

He said, "You're like me. You can't be huge. You have to be fast."

He gestured to Jack, training recruits in the field beyond them. "That? He's big. He'll use big like a weapon his whole life. He'll punch everything that gets in his way. Life, enemies, boulders. If he can fight it, he'll do it. You?"

Jefferson Drew shifted, scooping back his braided hair into a ponytail. "You need to move like a survivor. Float like a butterfly…."

Leon considered him as they circled each other, "…sting like a bee."

"Exactly."

They worked on boxing. They worked on tumbling. Leon flipped so many times and fell so many times his knees were all torn up. The burns all over his back were legion from falling in that goddamn pit.

Drew watched him, curious, "You lose in the pit a lot?"

"…yeah. Yeah, I do."

Drew sighed softly, "You need to get faster than those bitches. They're not strong, Kennedy. They're fast. Watch."

He flurried. He came at Leon in a steady stream of shifting movement and speed. Leon swung- typical boy fighting- and hit nothing. While he recovered, Drew pummeled him twice in the side, swung low and foot swept him, and elbowed him in the solar plexus.

Leon stumbled, and Drew dropped and threw a high kick into his face. It sent Leon onto his back, gasping.

Drew put his hand down, smiling. "How about we make that our goal?"

"What?"

"Staying on your goddamn feet, no matter what."

Leon eyed him. The determination flickered like a candle flame, trying to burst to life and blaze. It hit the pride in his chest and sparked, creating a wildfire of iron will.

Leon slapped palms with him and avowed, "Deal."

October 31st, 1998

Weeks of getting his ass kicked finally paid off. Because he was faster, stronger, and filled with the fire of righteous need to prove himself. Leon watched from the top of the galley, his eyes riveted on the battle in the pit.

Jefferson Drew wasn't alone in the pit.

He was with the girl who'd beaten Jack. She was so quick, like a lightning strike. She was swift and merciless. She drove him back on the hot coals. She was equal to him. She flipped, she rolled, she shifted, and she dodged.

She turned.

And Jack was in the pit with her.

Head tilted, she heard a voice from the speakers above them call, "When one is unparalleled. One becomes the hunted. No longer the hunter, how will you fair as the prey?"

She glanced between Drew and Krauser. She could have laid down her staff and conceded defeat. Instead? She took them both on.

Drew came at her like a flashing storm. He flipped. He rolled; he swung the staff and clipped her face. She was thrown off, and Jack grabbed her to lift and throw her like garbage. She tucked in the air and landed, rolling into a cartwheel.

Drew swung at her, and she rolled her shoulders, flipped sideways, and hooked her knee around his staff. She jerked, threw him to his face, and rolled the staff into her hands. She hit him in the back with it to knock him to his face and spun sleek and low under Krauser's heavy-handed punching.

More ninja than anything Leon had ever seen, she was brutally swift. She hit Krauser in the belly, aimed at his groin, jabbed him twice, and knocked the staff between his knees to throw him down. He hit, and she slapped him twice in the face with the end of it.

Drew triple-kicked her in the back, sending her flailing, jerked the staff from her hands, and whipped it at her face. She threw up her arms to soften the blow and heard the thwack of bamboo striking.

But not her.

She wasn't alone anymore.

And that disembodied voice spoke again, "When one rises triumphant, it encourages allies. Beware the difference between friend and foe. For one is often the same in the thick of battle."

Leon caught the staff, jerked it as he rolled toward Drew, and whipped it from the other man's hands. Drew reeled, Leon used the staff to foot sweep him, and he kicked as Drew went down, sending him skidding over the ground on his back.

The girl met Leon's eyes, smirking. "A hero, huh?"

"Nah." He rolled the staff as Jack rose, "I just love a good underdog story."

She laughed and whistled. He dropped, she leapfrogged over his back, and he swept the staff from his crouch, retaking Jack's feet as he rushed them.

The girl landed around Drew like a monkey, whipped her body like a contortionist, and went right between his legs to sit on the ground. She jerked. He went down. And she head-butted him in the groin as he did.

Leon winced. Drew shouted and curled on himself. And Jack grabbed the staff from the ground.

Leon mused, laughing, "Krauser, you sure like to put your hands on my staff, man."

Krauser snorted and jerked, "Your staff is as skinny and pathetic as you are, rookie. Let's see if I can fuck you up with it."

He kicked, and the blow hit Leon in the thigh. Leon struggled to keep the staff amid the massive strength of the other man. The impact threw him left, Krauser pummeled him in the side and the kidney like a tank, and Leon hunched around the pain.

He also lost the staff.

Krauser hit him twice in the back with it, and the girl was there.

She whistled, Krauser turned, and she kicked him square in the nuts.

He reeled, and she punched him in the face, jerked the staff from him, and whipped him in the face again. He went staggering, Leon tackled him from the hunch he was in, and he took them both to the ground. A good punch to the face, and Krauser deflected the next and lifted to head-butt him. Leon's flat hand punched him in the throat, making him gag.

The speakers demanded, "Enough!"

Just like that, they all stopped fighting.

Leon got to his feet and offered Jack a hand up.

Angry but impressed, Krauser took it.

Drew came over to slap him on the back. "Kennedy…getting better."

The girl tilted her head, "Like J.F.K?"

Leon grinned at her. A bead of sweat slid down her forehead. Her eyes were super blue in her sweaty face. "Something like that. Who are you?"

She laughed.

Krauser studied the three of them and declared, "You won't always have someone at your back like this," his gaze lingered on Leon, "but you sure as shit got that element of surprise today."

He left the pit. Drew laughed lightly. "I might be wrong, but I think brutha just complimented you."

Leon snorted, "I don't think he knows how."

The girl passed by them, and Drew called to her, "Don't be coy here, sis; what's your name?"

Without stopping, she called back, "Valentine."

Drew whistled, "You wanna be mine?"

She just laughed and kept walking. Drew shook his head as she went. "I'm gonna marry that girl."

Leon said nothing. He watched her pause at the exit to the pit and look back over her shoulder. She inclined her head to him in a nod, and he bowed teasingly. With a smirk, she disappeared.

Drew whistled again and remarked, "Or maybe you will."

It made Leon laugh. It turned out even in the shittiest circumstances, you could still have a good day. Today, the day he'd beaten Jack and met a Valentine, was one of those- a good day.

A just maybe, the first of many.

Eighty days in, it was hard to remember who you were before. You needed clarification, fighting, learning, everything from staffs to swords to slaughter. Fight, fight, fight - it became the mantra in your head that drowned out anything else.

Leon went into the pit.

And he was face to face with the girl with the blue eyes. Face to face with a Valentine. He was just a guy looking at a beautiful woman for a moment. He hesitated to swing his staff, and she didn't. She hit him broadside and reminded him of the mantra - fight, fight, fight.

They fought. They bled. She was merciless. But she wasn't better.

She hit him and hit him and took each one he threw at her. They locked elbows, shins, and arms. They tossed and rolled and kicked.

They stood bloody and tired in the center of the ring.

And that voice called, "Good. Sometimes, your opponent is without equal. Sometimes, your opponent is your equal in all things. Retire, repurpose, and discover your path to victory."

All the shit he'd done and survived since Raccoon City, and she was the first one that triggered a feeling in his gut. It was how he knew he was still himself under the weapon they'd created.

As she started out of the ring, Leon urged, "Stay."

His voice gave her pause as Jill went to leave. She turned back, eyeing him. He tried again, "Stay. Please?"

She glanced up at the stands. She looked over at Krauser, watching them from the sidelines. Without a word, she shook her head no. Leon watched her go, feeling the urge to chase her down.

It lingered long after the lights went out, and the darkness settled around him for the night. He lay in his cot and stared at the black ceiling. In the pitch dark, a voice whispered from the doorway, "It's Jill."

Leon shifted on his bed, trying to see her in the complete lack of light. "I can't see you."

"I know," her voice hesitated, "I can't stay. It's Jill. Jill Valentine."

He whispered back, "I'm Leon Ken-"

"I know. Kennedy, like J.F.K." Her tone was teasing, "...I ate your cake."

Leon's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Jill confessed, "I ate your cake. There was cake in the R.P.D. for your first day. I ate it."

He blinked. His mouth twitched. After a moment, he lamented, "That's sad for me, Jill. I like to have my cake and eat it, too."

Jill's breathy laugh made him grin when he tried to see her. "It would have been ruined by the time you got there."

Leon sighed a little. "I did get there a little late. I got shit-faced drunk the night before because my girlfriend dumped me."

Her lips twitched with a smile. Somehow that was charming, the sad rookie drinking away his sorrows. If only it hadn't ended with him likely ignoring a phone call that might have saved him a nightmare. "...you shouldn't have come at all," her tone was soft and sort of sad, "might have spared your life."

"I'm still alive."

And she answered, "Maybe, but what kind of life will you have now? All you had to do was stay passed out, Leon. And you wouldn't be here."

After a moment, he answered, "Right now? I'm ok with here. Come closer, and let me see if I can still taste that cake."

Jill's soft scoff made him grin. "Hold onto that humor, tough guy. I get the feeling you're gonna need it."

She was right. He heard her footsteps fade away. He took her advice. He held onto his humor.

But even that blackened by the end of their time there.

The only light they had in that dark time was each other. If there was a chance to smile at each other, they took it. If there was a chance to spend a moment standing side by side, they took that too. Jefferson Drew was the third of their triumvirate. They became the three amigos, inseparable. The other recruits jokingly called them Wuss, Bastard, and Bitch. Leon took the Wuss moniker with his typical aplomb. He mused, "At least it's not Puss, am I right?"

Leon joked and joked and joked - always a pun or a quip. He did it to make it easier on all of them. There was nothing wussy about him - he was, hands down, the most tenacious fucking guy there. He didn't understand the meaning of the word give up. He just kept pushing. The Wuss title came from being a peacemaker - because if Leon didn't have to fight you, he wouldn't. He didn't want to hurt anyone that hadn't earned it. He wasn't a wuss...he was just a good guy in his bones.

Drew earned the title Bastard because he didn't give a shit if he insulted you, he straight told you to your face why you sucked. And Bitch? Well, that part was easy. Jill took shit off no one. She slung it back like a man. She was cold when she needed to be, or abrasive when cold failed her. She didn't bother to make friends...except for Leon and Drew. Somehow, they'd become her real friends.

One evening before chow, Jill and Leon were sparring. They couldn't beat each other, which wasn't unusual, but the fight got the blood flowing as it usually did. When they hit the grass and rolled, Jill ended up on top, pinning him to the dirt.

Breathing heavily, Jill announced, "I win."

Watching her from a bruised and smiling face, Leon returned, "Did I yell uncle?"

Her eyes twinkled. "I think it's auntie if it's a woman who bested you."

He grinned. Jill tossed her head, throwing sweaty hair out of her eyes. She let out a soft laugh. "My fucking heart is beating so hard."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah, feel." She slid his hand slid up her chest and pressed it between her breasts. The sharp tattoo matched his own. Proving he was a good dude, he didn't grope her. But he didn't move his hand either.

Their eyes held, and her grin slipped away. Quietly, Leon murmured, "I think mine is too."

Jill's voice was almost a whisper, "Yeah?"

"Maybe...you should check."

She leaned down, but she didn't touch him with her hand, she put her ear to his sweaty chest and closed her eyes. The rhythmic thump lulled her even while the feel of him coupled with the adrenaline to remind her she was alive. She was trapped in this hellhole, but she was alive. Having him around reinforced it. They were both reluctant to let go.

For a handful of minutes, they weren't so alone. It wasn't much, but it was something. Sometimes, something was all it took to remind you that no matter what - the dawn always comes. It cuts through the dark and spreads light over even the ugliest moments.

And there were plenty in that camp.

They went in survivors, but they came out warriors. They went in alone, but they came out together. It wasn't much, but...it was something. And it was better than the nothing they left behind.

Jefferson Drew died on a Tuesday morning. They were in the gallery watching the fight. He was up against Krauser again. He was holding his own. He was swift and skilled - a hornet battling a bear.

Krauser couldn't catch him. He couldn't stop him. Drew came in fast and brutal.

But then he got cocky.

It was knife work, so it was already dangerous. Their blades flashed and rang when they struck. They backed it up with swift footwork and punches. Drew was good...Krauser was better.

Drew got Krauser across the biceps. He got him against the side. He kicked Jack to his back and made his last mistake - because he turned to the roar of the excited crowd of recruits in gallery cheering him on and aped like a champion. He lifted his arms and pumped the in the air, victorious. He put his foot too close to the man on the ground.

They'd been taught that on day one - never, ever leave your opponent alive to seek revenge. Never, ever turn your back on the fallen unless you were goddamn sure they were dead. Never, ever assume you'd won until you were the last man standing in the blood of your enemy.

Drew forgot they weren't just fucking around. He forgot they were there to learn to survive. He forgot even games could turn deadly.

Krauser grabbed his ankle while Drew clowned for the crowd, trying to humiliate his trainer. The swift pull from victory jerked him over onto the ground on his face. Krauser rolled to his feet and kicked the other man to his back.

And Drew didn't concede.

He didn't give up.

Krauser warned him, "Don't do it." Like he could see his death on the other man's face. As if he could see the fight had finally become too much for Jefferson Drew.

Drew had had enough of the pain, the pushing, the ruthless punishment and drills, and the humiliation that Krauser heaped on them. He'd had enough. His rage overrode his training. His rage overrode his brains. And he lunged from the ground with his knife like a man meant to kill his attacker.

The knives sparked. The crowd stopped cheering like fans at a wrestling match. The silence seemed so loud.

Beside Leon, Jill whispered, "Oh, god...don't."

But it was too late - far too late.

Drew stuck his knife in Jack's shoulder, and Jack stuck his knife in his heart in answer. Over, done, and dead. Drew gurgled. He grunted. The silence was deafening in the gallery now.

It was horrible.

Jack said in a cool voice. "...fool."

The body fell back as if in slow motion. The blood gushed down Krauser's chest and neck. Drew was still alive as he hit the ground.

And he wasn't alone.

In the silence of that horrible moment, somehow Leon had moved. He wasn't beside her. He wasn't there. He was leaping over the side of the ring. He was racing across the dirt.

Jill shouted, "No!" And started running.

Krauser turned as Drew hit his side in the mud, and his mouth opened and closed like a guppy. Jill hit the ground as Leon raced at the big man. She wouldn't be fast enough. Not even close. Nobody she'd ever seen was faster than Leon Kennedy.

The crowd was deathly still now, watching.

Leon was in a fog of revenge. It bled from him like poison. Krauser warned him, "Stand down, rookie." But it didn't matter. It was too late for that. He tackled Jack, and they skidded along the dirt.

Driven by vengeance, Leon fought like a man with nothing to lose. Their blades rang and sang. Their hands punched and struck. Krauser kept throwing him up and out like it was nothing. Leon kept coming like he'd die trying.

Jill raced across the ring, and it was like running through quicksand. She never seemed to get any closer. Moments, that felt like hours.

Jack stuck his knife in Leon's side, and the blood arced in a red spray - pretty in the dying sun. He ground it in, pinning Leon's left arm against his own back as he drew the other man close and spoke face to face, spitting between his teeth. "You ain't good enough, rookie. Swallow that fucking rage and shut it down."

Leon spit in his face, teeth flashing, voice gravelly with pain. "...go fuck yourself, Major."

His right hand came up. It flashed. Jack went to deflect it and saved his life, but the knife got his face instead of his neck. It sliced from his left eye down to his chin and when he shoved Leon away with a roar of pain, it flicked across his lip to the right. A mess. A horrible blow. The blood flew in red beads like rain. As his knife ripped out of Leon's side, the rookie screamed and spun in an oddly fluid almost dance like circle before he hit his hands and knees, bleeding, and trying to get to his feet.

Krauser, blinded, trying to see through the mask of his own blood came at his back and Jill was finally there. She was finally close enough. She shouted her battle cry and leaped on his back, grabbing his wrist to stop his knife from its downward strike. He spun around, grabbing wildly over his shoulders to reach her and the voice from the speakers commanded, "ENOUGH!"

It echoed like the thunder of god around them.

Leon crawled over the ground on his hands and knees, grabbing for Drew's that seemed to reach toward him. He tried to tug the dying man into his lap to put pressure on his chest. He tried to lift him, bleeding badly himself.

Jill leaped off Krauser and backed up, covering them, Krauser's blood soaked knife in her hand and pointed at his hulking, panting form. She warned, "You take a step and I will fucking end you."

Krauser's voice was wet from the blood spilling into his mouth. "...it's over. I do what I'm fucking told."

Jill spit, "You're a coward. And cowards follow no one."

Krauser answered in that cold tone. "Cowards run, girl. I'm still here."

And Jill vowed, "Being cruel doesn't make you strong, you asshole. It just gets you dead."

Krauser spit his blood at her and declared, "So does revenge, princess. Apparently, that's one lesson you two assholes still haven't learned."

He turned from the ring. He started toward the exit. Jill stayed there with his knife aimed at his back until he was gone. The moment he was beyond the gates, she spun around and hurried toward Leon.

He clutched their dead friend in his arms. He kept one hand on his chest, the other holding Drew against him like a child clutching a doll. Jill crouched behind him, putting her hands on his wrists. "Leon..."

Leon's voice was distant, bloodloss and real loss. "He needs help. Help me, Jill. I can't..." He lost his voice and tried again, "I can't pick him up alone. I need help."

She put a hand to the side of his face, covered in his blood from Krauser's knife, "Leon...look at me."

He finally did. His eyes turned, too wide, the pupils too dilated. Shocky. She urged, "He's gone. He's gone, Leon. Let him go."

"I just need to lift him," Leon argued in a tone that scared her a little, "help me, Jill. Ok? Just help me."

Jill covered his hand on Drew's chest, she kept the other on his cheek to keep his face looking at her. "You can't feel it, right?"

Softly, Leon whispered, "...feel what?"

"His heart," Jill answered, voice thick with loss, "You can't feel it, Leon. Because he's gone. Let him go."

The medics were coming across the field toward them. They hurried, their feet making thumping sounds as they ran. Leon's hand slid away from Drew's chest. It shifted, slick with blood, and caught the back of her neck. Their foreheads pressed together as a tear squeezed down his cheek and dripped off his chin.

She held on until they pulled him away. She kept sitting there in Drew's blood when he was gone. Then she reached out that bloody hand and closed his eyes. It was all she could do for him. It was all she could do for them both.

And it wasn't nearly enough.