Author's Note: To celebrate the upcoming launch of MWIII's early access campaign, here's the next chapter! I'll be uploading another chapter later this month, so you'll have two chapters instead of one to enjoy this month! Y'all deserve a bonus upload, nonetheless. Happy reading! :3
Recommended BGM:
1. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) - Never Give Up the Escape
2. Resident Evil Outbreak: File #2: - Desperate Times (Police Station Theme)
3. Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War - Searching
Bonus Track: Resident Evil: Revelations 2 - Sewers 1
Chapter 5
Oh, merciful Lord… deliver us from the evil of our sins; God help us all.
They lied to us. All of them, including Dr. Bard and the rest of the Umbrella representatives at the hospital's press conference just this morning, quite frankly insisted that there's no need to panic. They kept with the same story that these cases were just isolated incidents, that the victims were merely suffering from the flu, not, according to them, the so-called cannibal disease that the S.T.A.R.S. were going on about in July, despite what a few "paranoid" citizens are now saying. Chief Irons was no exception. He'd even backed them up and reiterated his views on the S.T.A.R.S.'s incompetence, blaming them for having tried to burn a large chunk of the Arklay Forest to the ground rather than care for the casualties they'd caused to the wildlife, other surviving victims, and their own team; case closed, right? Justice finally served.
No. Something much more sinister happened, and this is precisely the type of damage control and cover-up garbage almost everyone in the world is most familiar with, the most prominent example being those widespread rumors about the long-forgotten infamous Rebirth Island in Russia known to have had many biological experiments performed on animals, and even humans alike.
We were returning to the office from the press conference, a couple blocks south of the St. Michael Clock Tower, when a sudden commotion caused the traffic to stop flowing altogether. No cops were on the scene. I thought it might've been some minor accident ahead of a couple of stopped cars blocking the way with a gathering crowd, so by the time I started to back up, Dave insisted he wanted to get a few shots; apparently, having two rolls of film left after the conference from the hospital. So I said, "Ah, what the hell…"
Once we got out, people began running so suddenly, screaming their lungs out for help, and we saw a few pedestrians left in the middle of the street, all of them bathed in so much blood…
The attacker was a relatively young white male, barely in their twenties. He was still straddling an older man and…
My hands are still shaking from that experience. I don't know if I am still capable of writing a report on this, but I have to. It's my job to expose even the worst, painful truth of humanity, no matter how horrible the consequences may be. I have to let the people know. I cannot let it consume my remaining sanity.
He was eating one of the older man's eyes like a hungry, savage mutt. The other two victims were already dead, slaughtered, an elderly woman and a younger middle-aged one, both with their faces partially eaten, their bloody throats exposed, the flesh hanging off their glistening bones…
The younger woman's abdomen was ripped open as if someone had performed the worst C-section in recorded history, using their nails and teeth as their only available surgical tools…
It was chaos, hysteria on a complete rampage - crying, screaming, even crazy laughter. Dave threw up on himself after he'd seen it all. I wanted to do something to help. I tried, but those people suffered too many fatal injuries; it was impossible for them to survive any of it, and all I could feel was immense fear and sorrow, sending me chills down to the bone. The young man, oblivious to his loud surroundings, continued digging deeper into the older man's other eye, almost as though he couldn't get enough of it, as he moaned in what appeared to be insatiable hunger.
Sirens were heard not long after, and we backed off, along with most of the crowd, save for a few who decided to stay behind at a viewing angle, all looking afraid, pale, sickened, and panicked. As for the rest of the story, I managed to snatch it up from a local shopkeeper, who decided to have his name remain anonymous.
There really wasn't much else to tell other than that the kid had apparently wandered elsewhere onto the street, grabbing a thin woman before biting into her shoulder. According to the shopkeeper, the woman's name was Jolene, and she'd been walking with her mother, Mrs. Murray (the shopkeeper didn't know her first name) when it all happened.
Mrs. Murray tried to stop the attack, but the kid turned on her, and… well, the rest had been the same as with all other victims.
A couple of middle-aged men tried to help, jumping on the kid, but unfortunately, one of them had also fallen victim to him moments later. As soon as that happened, nobody dared to get close to the kid anymore.
The cops finally showed up. Before any of them could even look at the gory mess the kid had left behind in the street, still lunching on the poor Samaritan, they cleared and secured the scene. Squad cars blocked the street, surrounding the attacker, and told everyone, including the shopkeeper, to go home and not return until further notice. Dave and I were still nearby, and when we told one of the officers that we were with the press, he confiscated Dave's camera; said it was evidence, which was a piss poor excuse to cover up their asses for their lack of care that's been happening since May…
"Freedom of the press" - doesn't apply in Raccoon City anymore, but it should be the least of our worries right now.
After what happened at Cole Street and later at the football stadium just hours ago, Mayor Warren declared martial law, fully knowing they could no longer cover up these "isolated" cases to the local population. Blockades had been set up all over the place, and we've all been cut off from the outside, including mail and communication services. Even with everything finally coming to light, Warren still insists that the nature of this crisis is due to the "unfortunate illness" that is plaguing some of the citizens. He wouldn't dare to call it the "cannibal disease" as the S.T.A.R.S. had once done, but anyone with a working brain cell would understand it's the exact same thing that's caused all those murders back then. According to our police scanner, the attacks have multiplied exponentially since then, and they still are.
I believe it may already be too late for all of us in Raccoon. There's this common saying that it is better late than never, but in this case, it would've been better early than late as the former would no longer make a difference whether or not we all become aware of the truth if we are to die in the process either way. Tired sayings like that don't provide much comfort in reality. If the S.T.A.R.S. had been right all along, we were all too blind by Umbrella's claims and reassurances, like mindless sheep living inside the bliss of ignorance.
One of the last surviving S.T.A.R.S. members, Alex Mason, who actually used to be my stepfather's neighbor a few houses away, had secretly given me a few exclusive details to keep in mind in case things around here headed for the worst. Umbrella and the police aren't the only ones trying to cover all this up. According to Mr. Mason, an outside third party is involved in all this, an organization thought to have been involved in obscure activities on Russia's Rebirth Island. He never gave me any specifics - just vague information and same-old conspiracies I had already heard many times before from my stepfather and even from other S.T.A.R.S. members alike, such as Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield, which is why I tossed it all aside at the time, but now, it all seems to have some profound underlying connection. Is Raccoon City becoming its own Rebirth Island? Is Umbrella up to no good, or are they simply being misguided? I still wonder whatever happened to Mr. Mason and the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. unit after their suspension…
The good thing about all this is that the cannibal disease isn't airborne, or we'd all be already dead. When I was a boy, I used to watch a lot of George Romero movies, enough to know that once you get bitten by an infected, the infection starts to take over. There have also been talks about the water supply becoming too contaminated due to the growing number of bodies at the hospital. It has yet to be confirmed, but I wouldn't put it past them to carelessly dump infected bodies down into the sewer system. The growth rate of these attacks will only continue to rise if no one decides to step up and do something about it.
The cops have put a halt to the press, and just about every one of my colleagues has decided to bail out and return to their families, but I cannot do that. I will let the word out, even if I have to go door-to-door. It's all I have left. I don't want to, but it's a choice that —
Someone's here. Heard glass breaking somewhere in the building…
There was nothing more.
Carlos lowered the crumpled sheets he'd found inside the bin, placing them on top of the large counter in the information section; his mouth turned into a grim line. There were two bodies he and Cryan had found inside the newspaper office's main entrance near the stairs. The bodies looked as though they'd been shot without having turned into the cannibal monsters prior to their deaths, which made Carlos wonder if one of them had been the writer, a distressing thought made worse by its mere application - have they been murdered by those people out there?
And if they have, how long have they been murdering those who knew anything about what's been going on in the city since?
Carlos quickly started to remember the eyewitness interviewed on ABC World News, now wondering to himself if she had a target put on her back as well, making his hands shake at the mere thought of a group of hitmen going after individuals who'd escaped the city before the whole situation got out of control.
He shook his head, trying to keep his mind entirely focused on Murphy, who seemed to be getting worse as they journeyed through the abandoned streets of Raccoon, getting paler and sicker. Cryan had told him to stay behind with Murphy as he began to check the upstairs to see if his team had made it inside and not be greeted by the hostile soldiers they'd encountered for the past couple of hours.
Almost surprisingly, no one seemed to be on the streets they'd traveled through previously, save for a few zombies here and there. Cryan was the one who dispatched them all with a knife, trying his best not to catch any unnecessary attention from anyone who wasn't friendly. This made Carlos wish he hadn't forgotten his knife back in his place, but at least he had someone to help them out, which was a miracle all on its own after everything that's happened.
Carlos finally turned his head around to glance at a seemingly sleeping Murphy before looking blankly at the doors they had come through before. Murphy's been managing pretty well for someone who had a gunshot injury to the leg, somehow being able to crawl through two barricades with little help, but once they'd reached the Raccoon Press building, he'd hardly been able to stand on his own.
Caramba! Why hadn't they warned us about the shit we were getting into in the first place?
Carlos almost retched over the question raised. It was definitely something they'd need to take up with the proper authorities once they escaped the city. The worst thing that could happen to him is getting deported since he was only in the country through Umbrella. Another thing that could also happen is this "third party" tracking him down to try and kill him for knowing too much, but so what? He'd dealt with cartel leaders and gang violence before, putting his life at risk for so long he almost didn't seem fazed by the idea of this strange group going after him if it meant doing the right thing.
He walked past the counter, saw a piece of radio equipment, and grabbed it without much thought, staring at it for almost a brief minute. It looked like a walkie-talkie, much like the ones he used to play around with as a kid. He began to read the label on the side.
AM/SSB
TRANSCEIVER
He began to wonder if there were channels or some kind of memory control button, hoping he could get some sort of communication directly to the police station itself. It was possible that there could still be cops residing there as a safe haven, most likely defending the whole area as the last remaining place to be standing in the midst of a zombie-infested wartorn city. He looked back at the sheets he had been reading earlier, and almost immediately, he saw a few specified channels labeled for police communication purposes, much to his relief.
BAM!
A distant but muffled gunshot was heard coming from upstairs.
Carlos dropped the radio on the counter in response, his immediate thought process being about Cryan. He might've encountered one of the malicious troopers or zombies that may still be inhabiting the building somewhere upstairs. With his heart hammering against his chest, he decided to rush upstairs to help what could possibly be their only other last UBCS team member left alive…
Auunrrghh…
A haunting moan pierced the air behind him, and he stopped abruptly midway through the stairs littered with small fires smoldering around the corners of the landing, immediately recognizing the familiar shuffling steps of a zombie.
Crap! Must be one we may not have seen or somehow being able to open the doors downstairs.
His blood ran cold as he turned around as quickly as he could, dread gripping his heart at the mere thought of a zombie coming to feast on Murphy, who may not even have a clue about his surroundings as he took a quick nap.
As soon as he reached closer to the first floor again, someone lurched into view. Murphy Seeker was walking again, shambling with a blank expression, free of pain, but his eyes were empty and soulless.
"Murphy? Stop there, carnal, okay?" Carlos heard his voice break and tremble with sullen apprehension, feeling heavy sweat slide down the back of his neck. "C'mon, say something, will you? …Murph?"
It was impossible. He was never bitten or scratched by the creatures outside. The only thing he was suffering from was his leg injury and the concussion he received after the fall from before. One possibility was that the infection may have gotten through his wound or…
Oh shit... why hadn't I thought of it before?
Goddamn it!
The drinking fountain from the convenience store; Murphy had drank from it as though he'd walked miles into a rocky, hot desert.
According to what the newspaper guy wrote, there were unconfirmed reports of Racoon's water supply being contaminated by whatever disease that caused the outbreak. If it were the case, it frightened him at the thought that the disease seemed to turn people into zombies for a very short amount of time.
And I almost drank it myself if I hadn't felt too exhausted to do so either…
A kind of dreadful acceptance filled Carlos as Murphy tilted his head toward him and continued to step forward, his arms raised aimlessly at him. A gurgling moan erupted from his throat, suddenly feeling it was the loneliest voice he'd ever heard in his life, even after having encountered a myriad of zombies before. Murphy no longer saw him as a friend; didn't even understand what he was saying anymore. To him, Carlos was a standing food source, nothing more.
"Perdoname, carnal…" Carlos uttered faintly, and again in English, in case there was anything left of Murphy to understand him somehow. "Forgive me, brother…"
Carlos aimed his sidearm reluctantly, shaking his head as he backed away a few steps before hitting the first tread of stairs with his heels behind him. Once Murphy was a few feet away from him, he pulled the trigger, forcing himself to look away as soon as he saw the gory impact against Murphy's skull just underneath the base of his green beanie, hearing but not seeing his friend's body hit the floor.
For a long time, he stood still, wondering how it all happened so fast, suddenly feeling very tired before telling himself there was nothing he could've done to save him.
He'd forgotten all about the previous commotion upstairs before finally hearing a door to the third floor crash open, and two sets of footsteps were now tapping wildly against the stairs. Carlos didn't have the energy to turn around and see whether or not it was Cryan with someone else he'd found or a couple more of those soldiers that were in the city to kill them all. For a moment, he found himself not caring for anything much at all.
"Carlos!" Cryan's voice echoed from above the landing, still hearing him tread down the stairs while someone else did the same behind him.
"Yo, what happened?!" Another voice rang inside, though not at all familiar to him.
Carlos' gaze was fixed on his own boots; his shoulders slumped, and his throat found itself incapable of answering anything back to them.
Cryan and what appeared to be another fellow UBCS member through the side of his vision, possibly from Cryan's own squad, stood right next to him, apparently now knowing the immensity of the situation that Carlos had to deal with earlier.
"Damn…" Cryan stated in shock. "How did he…?"
"Drank water from a drinking fountain back at the convenience store," said Carlos quickly, trying to find the strength to inform them about what led to Murphy's zombification. "Water's contaminated with the disease. He just… we didn't know."
"Did you…?"
"No," Carlos interjected sharply before finally raising his head to face his friend's dead body, feeling his stomach turning into the most painful knots he'd ever felt. "Almost did. Could've been me with him on the floor right now - dead…" Carlos looked back up at the other soldier next to them before connecting his gaze to Cryan. "What happened upstairs?"
"Shot a zombie that almost got Cryan by surprise," the other soldier said, his eyes shining beneath his green hat that covered half of his eyes, still somehow able to see through his surroundings regardless. "Lavernius Malone, by the way. From Charlie. I assume you must be Carlos Oliveira, Alpha Squad, correct?"
Carlos nodded silently before switching his attention back to his comrade's dead body, feeling the tendrils of guilt grasping at his mind like a vine tightening itself around him. If only Carlos could've used his common sense that in any place like this, the water supply would be filled with various contaminants of all sorts, potentially saving Murphy from his fate.
I'm… sorry, Murph.
Carlos felt a soft pat on his back from one of the Charlie soldiers before Cryan proceeded to tell him something as he walked past him and Murphy's zombified corpse.
"Malone here told me he saw some survivors inside the shopping district across the street. Why don't you take some time to deal with your emotions while you wait for anyone from the UBCS to arrive? We should be back by the hour, assuming the survivors aren't part of those shitheads from before."
"Sure…" he muttered subtly, nodding again as he looked back at both soldiers again. "Thanks for the uh…"
"Hey, man. I know how it feels to lose a friend," said Malone before he stared back at the corpse between them, suddenly twitching slightly with the sudden realization that none of them had to do what Carlos was forced to do to his friend previously. "It's a rough world we live in, and even I've seen shit here that could make a grown man cry for their ma - worse shit than even back in 'Nam. Considering the circumstances, I… I admire the courage you had to make the tough choice to put him to rest. I dunno if I…"
"Leave him be!" said Cryan sharply, calling for Malone's attention from the building's main entrance. "We've got a job to do."
"Yes, sir," Malone complied. He turned his head around before leaving with Cryan, looking back at Carlos in the eyes as he raised his head to look at him more clearly through the lowered tip of his hat. "Take care of yourself, Oliveira."
"Thanks," said Carlos again, with slightly more confidence this time. "Good luck, you two."
Both soldiers nodded at him reassuringly before finally taking off to the street out front, closing the doors behind them.
As Carlos watched them go, a feeling of determination grew within. He couldn't let his emotions paralyze him, especially now of all times. He had to keep going somehow, to keep himself busy, all while waiting for any more of their UBCS fellow soldiers to arrive in case they weren't the only ones left alive.
There's gotta be someone from the RPD still alive, right? Assuming the zombies and those bad guys hadn't killed them all first…
At last, he walked over to the counter and picked up the radio, hitting the switch as he switched over to the first channel that connected directly to the RPD and thumbed the send control, hoping a fellow officer of the law would pick up his call somehow.
"This is Carlos Oliveira from the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service, Squad Alpha, Platoon Delta. I'm at — we were cut off from the rest of the platoon. Some unknown forces have attempted to kill us all, shot at us, and sent a whole undead army in the process, and now we… I need help. Requesting immediate assistance! I repeat, requesting immediate assistance! If you can hear this, please respond!"
Nothing but static.
He attempted to do the same with other specified police channels, repeating his message, and still, nothing.
He turned the radio over, looking at all of the buttons, and saw something that caught his attention stamped into the backing.
RANGE: FIVE MILES
So it should've reached the station if the listed channels were anything to go by - except everybody must be dead if those guys wanted to sweep the city clean of any survivors knowing the truth behind everything going on.
He'd made sure not to immediately reveal his location in case any of those hostile forces were listening in or had tapped into any communication links within the city itself. Of course, that also meant he most likely had contacted someone directly from the unknown third party, but even if they had picked up his call, none of them would know exactly where he was in the city anyway.
That also can apply to any friendly out there who might've picked up on my call but could not respond…
Carlos closed his eyes, trying to think, trying to feel anything remotely related to hope. The name "Trent" came to his mind again. He checked his watch, realizing how insane it was to think that a random old man he came across on the streets near the field office was his only saving grace. He thought to himself that he really was coming out as crazy, everything making no sense anymore, but Trent had known something; something that was actually happening in Raccoon, and he'd told Carlos exactly where to go once everything went sideways.
Sorry guys, but this may be our only hope if we want to survive the hell out of this shithole.
Without anything else to think about and with Cryan and Malone possibly stepping into some sort of death trap against the evil forces of this nightmarish town, he stepped toward the main doors of the newspaper building, almost without hesitating.
Burger Town. Shopping District. Next to the theater.
Carlos didn't know how huge the shopping district was, but regardless, he had under two hours at most to find it.
It'd taken them a relatively long detour, but they'd finally reached the STARS office when suddenly, the communication console at the back of the room crackled to life.
Woods was the first to rush toward the large device, feeling his heart race as the distorted words from the console spit out through a haze of static.
"... is Carlos … were cut off … platoon … unknown forces … shot at us … help … repeat … if you can hear … respond …"
Woods snatched up the headset, being able to hear every tiny detail with his enhanced senses, which caused him some initial discomfort, but knew he had to try at least and see if there was anyone in the city that could help them out, in exchange for the help that they'd be needing themselves.
"This is Frank Woods, Special Tactics and Rescue Service. You're not coming in clear. Please repeat - what are your coordinates? Over!"
He'd almost forgotten the fact that he is supposed to be dead to almost everyone in the world. However, he didn't care in the slightest as he strained to hear something in the background, anything that may resemble a human voice behind the large static that kept tingling his eardrums down to the most minor sound. Jill tapped him on his shoulder and pointed at a light over the transmit relay switch, which wasn't on.
Woods desperately tried several buttons, tapping them all hurriedly, jiggling the switch if it made any difference, all to no avail. The light simply refused to turn itself on.
"Fuck!" he cursed out loud, dropping the headset in the process as he shook his head in defeat. He knew shit about communications, too, and Mason was the one who knew more about radio diagnostics than he did. Vickers was also their comms expert for Alpha, but the guy was already dead, and both Gwen and Valentine probably knew just as much as he did about their current radio problem. Whatever was broken, they weren't going to be the ones to fix it.
"I'm guessing the phone line isn't the only thing that's cut out from us," stated Gwen as she walked behind him.
"Look on the bright side," Jill began to reassure them. "At least we're not the only ones up at Shit Creek without a paddle. He did say something about 'unknown forces' shooting at them, so he must not be one of them."
Woods stood up, now looking back at Valentine with a confused look. "One of them?"
Jill sighed, breaking her gaze from him as she turned to look at the huge empty locker next to them.
"That thing out there isn't the only one hunting us down," she said nervously, biting her lower lip momentarily. "Perseus is here. I bumped into Kravchenko earlier, and let's just say I barely managed to make it out alive before…"
"What?" Woods growled, his voice filled with growing rage, his fists clenched, his jaw stiffening at the mere name of the bastard responsible for so much shit that he'd gone through all those years ago, leading to the destruction of an entire American city. "That sonuvabitch is here? Where?!"
Gwen slowly stepped away, sensing his resentment toward Perseus before uttering, "I'm uh… I'm gonna go check for anything useful inside the small office for a minute."
Both cops barely paid any attention to what the teenager said, and Jill softened up her expression as she met with Woods' gaze again, who was glaring at her for answers he wanted to know.
"Last I saw him was at Black Jack's, attacked by some kind of weird, skinless monster, but he's most likely on the move by now. Look, I know you two have bad history together, but that tyrant STARS killer is still out there somewhere. We go back unprepared, and then what? You get hospitalized again? Get killed for the second or third time? I thought you would at least know better after the first time it's happened."
No. She wouldn't understand. None of them would. Kravchenko was the main reason why he'd spent the last twelve years of his life investigating the Angolan crap hidden away from both the CIA and Umbrella itself. After finally figuring everything out, half of STARS gets wiped out, his best friend goes missing, he gets experimented on by Umbrella, courtesy of the old fuck, and now they're inside a city infested with zombies, most likely perpetrated by the Perseus leader himself with the help of Umbrella.
Finally, his overwhelming thirst for revenge made him feel numb, unable to see past any logical reasoning, and he kicked the chair next to him, causing it to fly and slam against the wall hard enough to become noticeably dented, his frustration fully evident as Jill looked at him in shock, seeing some of the unnatural strength he possessed compared to before.
"You don't understand, Valentine!" he uttered angrily, his voice smoldered with fury and disdain. "That fucker not only is responsible for so much death, but after what he did to Mason, to my team in Angola, to this city, to us — you think I'm just gonna let that slide and not do shit about it?! With or without your help, you bet your ass I'm gonna make damn sure to make him fucking pay!"
"And we will!" Jill reiterated, her look of concern growing with each passing moment, not exactly looking to elaborate on his apparent augmented strength. "But there won't be a point in doing so if all we're gonna do is get ourselves killed before we get the chance to make things right. Don't expect to simply walk through a burning building and not get burned in the process, Frank."
Woods shook his head slowly, his mind still fully set on returning to the streets and looking for Kravchenko. Nothing, not even that Nemesis Tyrant, would stop him from doing what he'd been wanting to do for the past twelve years.
"I've been doing this kind of work longer than you have," he expressed lowly. "I may be old, but I still know what the fuck I'm doing, alright? So don't tell me —!"
"I've been surviving in this nightmare long enough to know that I am not willing to see someone else die - not again!" Jill interjected sharply, her voice slightly breaking apart as though she was trying her best not to lose herself in her emotions. "I get it, Frank. I really do, but think about what Wesker did to Barry and Alex. He played them directly into his trap. What makes you think Kravchenko won't do the same to us, especially now that he seems to know you're still alive after all this time? His agents have been keeping me under surveillance for weeks, and they are probably roaming around the RPD as we speak. If you're still willing to go all out on him without a proper plan, go right on ahead," - Jill turned her back on him defiantly, walking toward her desk as she proceeded to look for something on the top drawer, fumbling over a set of tools inside - "but you may as well shoot yourself in the foot right now while you're at it."
Woods said nothing, looking away from her as though she were something undesirable to look at, but he could not continue to pretend that she was mistaken about some of the things she'd told him.
It crushed him to remind himself of how Wesker used Mason and Burton to do his bidding, even without having to mess around with Mason's internal psyche for a time, merely using their families under the hidden pretense that they were all in danger, with Umbrella supposedly having hitmen ready to kill them at any moment, wherever they were.
As they ventured through the police station on the way to the STARS office, virtually every cop they encountered was either dead or undead, most of which had already been shot after evidently having turned. After heading past the West Office, which had been previously decorated for a welcoming party to someone named Leon, both women began helping him catch up on things that had been happening in Raccoon for the past two months. It had been things from the public believing in Umbrella and Irons' lies to each of the remaining STARS members going their separate ways to do what needed to be done in order to bring Umbrella and Perseus to justice.
However, when he finally asked for more information about Mason, Valentine merely kept the details to a minimum, almost like she didn't want him to know how much he had been truly suffering, not only from what Wesker had done to his mental state but from how he'd been trying to cope with his "death" ever since.
Even more of a fucking reason to go after Kravchenko, that bastard.
He still had yet to tell Gwen and Valentine that he was infected with the t-Virus, most likely a different type of strain that allowed him to possess several superhuman abilities. He's been starting to feel certain enough that it's only a matter of time before he finally hits the ground again. Just about any kind of biological experiment he's ever seen or heard of before in his life has never met a pleasant outcome at the end of the day.
Woods sighed inwardly, finally looking back at the rest of the STARS office for the first time since he'd last been here in what felt like it had just been a lifetime ago, but at the same time, as though it were just yesterday. The passage of time itself had been nerve-wracking to him on multiple occasions in his life, but this has been one of the worst experiences he's ever gotten to go through. One moment, he'd be seeing himself on any boring day at the office, and the next, inside an abandoned building filled with zombified people in the middle of a warzone where twisted, nightmarish delusions come to life…
He started to shiver slightly, feeling the growing knot of fear in his gut of losing Jill and Gwen after failing to save Brad when he could've easily jumped the monster and forced it to engage with him head-on instead. Why it hadn't broken down the doors and killed them all, he didn't know. It was evident that it had been strong enough to break through almost anything, including thick walls and iron doors. Just thinking about it made his mind clear from the red fog of revenge that kept blinding him from trying to think more logically about the situation they were all in. Nemesis made almost anything else he's dealt with in the past look and feel as dangerous as infants. Not literally true, of course, but seeing how fast it can cover vast distances and the fact that they barely managed to arrive at the station just in time before…
…before it caught up with us and killed Vickers, before it was close enough to kill Valentine, before close enough to…
He swallowed suddenly, trying to push the revolting thought out of his mind, trying his best not to remotely think about what if David was also here, trapped and scared, just like Gwen was.
He turned his head toward his and Mason's desk, walking towards it before grabbing the photograph Mason had left behind. The two of them had a seven-year-old David in front of them, all smiling at the camera without any worry of the world. He waved his fingers absently over the framed black-and-white picture, reminiscing the good times they had together, the last time they were together as a family before…
Frank stopped himself from dwelling too much on the past. There was nothing he was going to gain by drowning himself in tears he could not afford to waste time for, especially when there were people that needed protecting with the limited time he had left until…
"Hey, Frank?" Gwen called out to him.
Woods blinked rapidly, putting down the photograph hurriedly before looking in her direction, hiding his emotions behind the best blank expression he could come up with. For a moment, he half-expected Wesker to be the one walking out through the door of his office, suddenly feeling disgusted at the memories brought back from Wesker's sociopathic behavior throughout the whole time he and Mason have operated in the STARS unit.
"Mm?" he answered in a muted voice, and Gwen held up a folded piece of paper, moving closer to hand it over to him.
"I er… think you should read this," she faltered, giving the sheet of paper to him in his hand.
"What's this about?" Frank asked, looking puzzled.
"It mentions some stuff about you and your friend, Alex," she said simply, her brows knitted in concern before turning her head towards Jill for a quick moment, who was scanning a set of picks and torsion bars inside an unrolled cloth bundle with practiced eyes. "I knew Dad was wrong about the STARS, even before all this began."
As she walked away to continue looking for anything eye-catching, Frank unfolded the paper and began reading it, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to read the small printed words much faster and more clearly than before.
To: Albert Wesker
From: Brian Irons, Chief of Raccoon Police Department
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL
Date: July 2nd, 1998
Wesker,
I trust this message remains fully confidential in your hands. I must insist that you treat the following information with the utmost discretion regarding recent developments within the Raccoon Police Department and its Special Tactics and Rescue Service unit. We both know that Umbrella isn't the forgiving type, and with Perseus breathing down my neck, I cannot discount any growing concerns over the secrecy of our mutual cooperation with the company.
As you are well aware, the S.T.A.R.S. unit is a mere facade over our most significant operations within the Raccoon Police Department. The recent recruitment of two individuals into S.T.A.R.S. following the youngest recruit poses a potential security risk. You may be familiar with them from your own sources, as they have quite a reputation in their respective circles. However, I feel it is still imperative that I provide you with additional information I have collected after a more thorough investigation into the backgrounds of both individuals.
Frank Woods:
Woods is a seasoned combat veteran with an extensive military record, primarily serving in covert operations, most notably during the Vietnam War as a MACV-SOG agent. He possesses a remarkable level of physical fitness and combat proficiency. My concerns arise from his potential to dig deeper into matters that should remain concealed. His inquisitive nature and determination could lead him to uncover specific aspects of our operations, which could prove detrimental to our connections with individuals like Birkin and Kravchenko. I recommend keeping a close eye on Woods and, if necessary, deploying appropriate countermeasures to ensure he remains on a tight leash.
Alex Mason:
Mason, much like Woods, is a highly skilled operative, possessing a strong sense of duty and commitment to completing sensitive missions successfully. His mental resilience and ability to adapt to volatile situations are notable assets, but it also poses a risk. Should he become suspicious of our activities, it remains unclear how will this affect the dynamics within our inner circles, considering his unpredictable nature after unaccounted reports of his past experience in Vorkuta. To mitigate this threat, I suggest we employ subtle psychological manipulation techniques to ensure our secrecy remains out of his reach.
It is crucial that we maintain control over Woods and Mason within the S.T.A.R.S. unit and that they do not stray from the path we have set for them. Of all profiled individuals within the S.T.A.R.S. unit, both have the highest potential to disrupt our carefully orchestrated plans and connections if left unchecked. Furthermore, I must remind you of the need for regular communication and updates on this issue. The higher-ups from Umbrella demand nothing less, and I couldn't care any less about the Perseus mutt as long as he stays in line during our monthly meetings.
I expect to hear from you soon, Wesker, with your assessment and a plan of action. I do not take these security risks lightly, and may I remind you that if anything comes crumbling down out of your own neglect, the consequences will be severe.
Sincerely,
Chief Brian Irons
Raccoon Police Department
Woods had just finished reading the last few words of the letter when he found himself blankly staring at it, feeling a cold shiver crawl down his spine while his veins kept boiling up in fury as he sunk in the information he had read. He knew both Irons and Wesker were a bunch of brain-dead idiots from the start, but at the time, he never considered them to be part of a bigger scheme that involved Perseus, let alone Umbrella, who was mainly responsible for biological experiments around the world, particularly in places like Angola and Brazil.
He'd seen and heard enough that he felt more determined to see this whole thing through until the end. If there was one thing left unfinished, it was the fact that Kravchenko was still alive. As long as Lev Kravchenko lives and breathes, Woods would not rest until that man is done for, especially after what he'd done to his team all those years ago.
Damn you to hell, Kravchenko…
"Bless you, Barry Burton!"
Woods' stirring thoughts finally cleared up when he heard Jill breathe out in great relief, standing up behind Burton's desk as she lifted a large revolver in her hand, its finished details looking finer than he could ever see from a distance. A six-inch barreled Colt Python .357 Magnum, nickel-plated with a six-shot swing-out cylinder. He knew Burton wouldn't have left such a precious thing behind on purpose as he was a gun nut himself, but whatever the reason was, he might have just saved their lives with something that could throw a punch much heavier than anything they currently carried.
"Woah," said Woods in awe as he crumpled the letter into a ball and shoved it in one of his pockets, stepping closer to Barry's desk. "Looks like Burton knew his shit when it came to the classics, huh?"
Valentine had crouched down to pick up what seemed to be a box full of .357 ammunition before saying anything back to him, nodding in the process.
"Armory might be emptied, but at least the trip was worthwhile," she said as she smiled graciously while tucking away her Samurai Edge into its holster and the ammo box inside her fanny pack. "And with my picks, we can go check for any confiscated materials at the evidence room - see if there's anything useful we could use before we go — and what was that paper about anyway?"
Woods shook his head silently, unwilling to talk about anything that had to do with Umbrella or Perseus for the time being. All that was important right now was to look for Gwen's father and try to get the fuck out of the city before planning their next move against both organizations going against them. Sure, his mind was still focused on killing Kravchenko and getting rid of his force once and for all, but with Gwen by their side, that was going to be put on pause for now. He had a promise to keep first, and he was not about to commit the same mistake he and Mason had once made to David before, either.
"We've wasted enough time here," he sighed as he stepped closer to the only door out of there. "Let's move out."
Valentine nodded back at him, and when he was about to call out to Gwen, she came rushing back from the armory, managing to find two different-sized magazines.
"You missed these," she said gleefully as she handed them to Valentine. "I'm not sure if it'll fit your gun, but I figured they could still be of some use - or something."
"Thanks, Gwen," said Valentine with a soft smile. "This one's for your weapon, by the way."
"Oh," she responded, putting it away inside one of her back pockets, only being able to fit halfway inside. She jerked her head around toward Woods, nodding at him as an indication that she was ready to leave, despite her eyes and even her heart rate telling him otherwise.
Too bad there weren't any spare utility belts or fanny packs inside the station for her to use, other than possibly scavenging the dead bodies around, which Woods knew Gwen wouldn't be enticed to do anyway. Not even a couple of hours ago was Gwen ever this happy to be handling anything related to firearms, but it has shown just how much she's been adapting to survive the shit they've been going through together ever since, making Frank somewhat smile ever so slightly for how much she had begun to grow on him.
Tough kid is what she is.
Things were looking up so far. With a bit of luck, they could find Gwen's father a lot quicker than he'd initially thought if what Valentine said earlier was true. After that, if they could somehow evade the Nemesis Tyrant along the way, they should be able to escape the city with little difficulty.
Add some thunder and explosions - and we'll have the best shitshow the world's ever seen.
Shaking his head as he scoffed softly at the ridiculous thought that had crossed his mind, he finally opened the door slowly, looking sideways for any potential threat before heading to the right, signaling the women to follow him through the dark hallway as quietly as possible. As far as he could tell from his heightened senses, nothing seemed amiss, and there was no funny feeling of the Tyrant being anywhere close to their vicinity, but chose not to let his guard down regardless.
Black Jack's Bar was filled with a heavy smell of rot and death, the stagnant smell of alcohol almost completely gone, and the cold smile grew within Kravchenko's endless craving for the fall of the West. After having sent Gray and Obolensky to deal with Miss Valentine and any survivors she would most likely bump into, he sat on the closest stool he could find, his mind wandering back to the series of events that had ultimately led him to the position of power he currently held as the leader of Perseus.
During the tumultuous days of the Cold War, long before he had ever known anything about Umbrella and their bioweapons research, Kravchenko had been a high-ranking officer in the Soviet military, being heavily involved with the KGB, remaining fiercely loyal to his homeland and its ideals. Even during his prime days as a Spetsnaz soldier, he'd also been a pragmatist, always willing to adapt to changing circumstances. When he had first encountered Perseus, an organization with its own vision of global dominance, he saw an opportunity to further his own ambitions, a chance to get his revenge against individuals like Alex Mason and Frank Woods, both of whom have been quite lucky to escape with their lives while each had been under his grasp beforehand.
As a result, he had turned to work in the shadows, aligning himself closer to Perseus as he provided them with valuable intelligence and resources. Initially, he'd refused to give them any information regarding Dragovitch's research on the brainwashing program. Not that it mattered, as Stitch had sent his agents to the abandoned base at Mount Yamantau to recover some of its lost assets, which did little to help keep several subjects under their control, much to Kravchenko's amusement. All of the preceding events led to the fall of Verdansk, a necessary outcome that Kravchenko used to his advantage to rise through the ranks, staging a series of operations that furthered Perseus' goals while bolstering his own reputation.
Kravchenko had intently set the CIA on a path that led straight to Stitch's location without giving up his own position, using Adler's overwhelming need for revenge to get rid of Kuzmin, who had almost been successful at trailing him for attempting to overthrow his position as leader. He'd seized this opportunity, stepping into the power vacuum and finally assuming leadership of Perseus, killing anyone who opposed him. It had been quite a ruthless move, but one that he believed was necessary to have control over the weak, forming a personal army of his own to annihilate the West, ripping them from the inside out through America's growing and most trusted pharmaceutical giant, Umbrella Inc. He had always been a realist, with Perseus being a means to an end, a way to further his own power and influence in a world teetering on the brink of destruction and chaos.
As he continued to reflect on his past actions, he proceeded to help himself with a half-empty bottle of whiskey, staring at his destroyed surroundings with a mixture of contempt and satisfaction.
Not bad, I must say, but not nearly good enough.
The cops inside the city played a vital role in his plans. All of them had taken a last stand against the growing horde of the t-Virus victims, none of which had ever survived in the end, save for a few whom he had personally dealt with to keep any evidence of their involvement a secret. Even he had his own men disguise themselves as cops and the such, but those only proved to be expendable in the end, with most of them dying by some of the other mutants and the so-called Lickers as the cops kept calling them.
As his thoughts circled back to that encounter with the licker, he recalled just how much more powerful the t-Virus was compared to Nova-Six, a nerve gas that could either instantly or slowly kill its victims, depending on the amount being exposed to the subjects.
The licker had been a grotesque monstrosity, its slick, elongated tongue dripping with blood and saliva, and its movements were agile and as predatory as he was himself. Unfortunately for him, it had interrupted his next move against the pompous bitch, allowing her to escape before he could've had the chance to show her some of his most prideful torture methods he used against Woods all those years ago. Kravchenko had faced many challenges in the past as a seasoned soldier, but the damn licker had proven to be a pretty formidable adversary unlike anything he had encountered before.
In that first tense moment, his survival instinct had kicked in. Kravchenko had swiftly drawn his sidearm, but not before he could even pull the trigger against it as it had the drop on him in a tight grip, its chemical smell overpowering and nauseous. However, he had been successful at taking a grip on a broken bottle, stabbing its brain as hard as he could, with hot blood spraying out over his chest and face before kicking it away from him. The creature had hissed and cried out in a screeching scream, slamming its tongue violently in a blind rage. He used this as an opportunity to grab his firearm and fire several rounds at the abomination's punctured brain, marching closer to it with each shot being fired as his veins burned with a vengeful fury against the creature that had interrupted him in a crucial moment. After the last remaining bullet was shot, he began to watch with a mixture of dread and satisfaction as the licker writhed in agony, its grotesque form collapsing to the floor in a pool of its own blood.
Kravchenko had stood still for a long moment, unable to deny the fear that had coursed through him in the heat of the encounter. It had been a close call, a reminder that even a man of his stature was vulnerable in the face of the repulsiveness spawned by the t-Virus. However, Kravchenko was not one to dwell on fear or regret. Instead, he had turned the experience into a lesson, a reminder of the ruthlessness required to survive in a city that housed many things no ordinary man could ever live to tell about it.
Doubtful that even she has the pair to deal with the worst of the t-Virus, especially the special T-103 sent to kill her and the others.
The ongoing thought of the Nemesis T-Type being used to hunt down any STARS members within the city drowned him with immense pride and euphoria, feeding his ego even further. One of his many proud contributions to Umbrella's experiments was the Tyrant's ability to follow commands without the need to question anything or risk it going rogue. Dragovich's research has gone a long way since then, and he could only wish he was here to see his legacy live on.
After having sold his research to Umbrella to uphold some level of trust from them following his failed mission back in Angola, they'd improved the brainwashing power of the program in ways that even Dagovich, Steiner, and Kuzmin couldn't have ever dreamed of. Of course, this meant they were in dire need of test subjects, most of whom came from Sheena Island and Sonido de Tortuga Island. He hadn't garnered much of the details, but according to his sources, the Tyrant project improved once they were able to keep the program under some level of control within the degrading minds of the subjects, a common complication seen under the inherent chaos that the t-Virus brought to the human body. The T-002 was soon made a possibility, being able to turn one of Woods' G.I.'s into a Tyrant, a marvelous achievement he was proud to have taken some contribution behind its creation, which, in turn, helped put forward into the mass-production of the T-103 series, thanks to Sergei Vladimir's donated genes.
And with the Nemesis Alpha parasite, it's the most obedient supersoldier at its finest.
Despite these significant advancements and contributions, he had no love for Umbrella; in fact, he merely viewed them as rivals, their own quest for control and dominance clashing against his own agenda. The only reason why he held up a straight face to many of Umbrella's top researchers, including Albert Wesker and William Birkin, was simply to use them as a means to use their own bioweapons against the incompetent nature of the West itself.
Kravchenko continued to stare at the flickering remnants of neon signs casting eerie shadows across the torn-up upholstery, shattered glass, and broken furniture. Everything inside was a shell of its former self, much like the rest of the town. Raccoon City had been one of the most prominent symbols of Western excess, a place where capitalism and consumerism once thrived. Yet now, it lay in ruins, gobbled by the abhorrent maw of the t-Virus outbreak. The taste of the West was slowly fading away with each sip from the whiskey bottle still in his hand, already replaced by the scent of smoke and decay. The whole outbreak had been a stark reminder of the Western world's fragility and its obsession with progress at any cost.
All this pride and influence, down to just mere rot and rubble…
Fucking Americans.
As he finished the last drop of whiskey, he tossed the empty bottle behind him, listening to the satisfying sound of shattering glass as he smiled gleefully, knowing he had played a part in bringing this once-proud city to its knees. It pleased him to see the symbols of Western decadence crumble. The chaos and despair that now reigned in its place were a true testament to the power of Perseus' greater influence and the consequences of meddling with forces beyond even Umbrella's control…
…but he couldn't remain idle for long. There was much to do, and the destruction that had befallen Raccoon City was spreading like wildfire, with the truth about their involvement being in jeopardy, especially after his people had informed him that two other STARS members were on the loose, one of which matched closer to Woods' description. If this were true, then he had to make sure he was put out of his misery first before continuing with his other plans to seal or destroy the Umbrella facility in which Dr. Bard is supposedly securing samples against even Umbrella's wishes that could potentially cure any infected carriers. If he wanted the city to die completely, there was no arguing against it, intending to ensure that such glimmer of hope to the general American population was crushed by any means necessary.
With a resolute sigh, he pushed himself up from the battered barstool and slowly got to his feet. The eerie silence inside Black Jack's Bar was broken by the creaking of the dilapidated floorboards beneath his boots as he made his way toward the main exit, knowing that the Nemesis T-Type would deal with the younger woman for him as he went his separate way.
Stepping out into the dimly lit street, the night air hit him with a powerful piercing stench of decay, something that hadn't fazed him in a long time. Kravchenko's trained eye spotted a group of zombies that neared closer to his location, their sluggish movements and vacant expressions making them a pitiful sight. With a derisive snort, he decided to make quick work of them. Drawing his sidearm, he aimed and dispatched all of them with tight precision to the heads. Each bullet pierced through their rotten skulls, the gore spraying over the asphalt and concrete nearby before crumpling to the ground, their undead lives extinguished with almost no given effort. He couldn't help but shake his head in contempt.
"Pathetic," he muttered, his Russian accent dripping with disdain.
He couldn't fathom how the Raccoon Police Department, once laughably considered a symbol of law and order, had been so thoroughly decimated by creatures that posed no real challenge. It was a recurring proof of the incompetence of the so-called protectors of this city. These were more glaring examples of the weaknesses inherent in the Western world.
Even their police chief had helped the department crumble to the ground faster than he had anticipated. Umbrella wanted to make sure no one at the department survived the ordeal for their own purposes, yet even with the most competent of officers still left within the rest of the department, none showed any form of effectiveness, a true reflection of the softness that could develop in societies sheltered by the Western world's protective embrace. In Kravchenko's eyes, or one eye in his case, they had failed to adapt to the grim realities of the new world order.
As for the STARS, they were an even more bitter disappointment to Kravchenko. He regarded their elite status as nothing more than a badge of arrogance and privilege, a product of their reliance on superior firepower and training rather than true adaptability and resourcefulness. Half of them had perished on the Spencer Mansion grounds, their hubris and overconfidence being the leading cause of their own downfall. They had been too complacent, too sheltered by the Western's illusion of safety and security within the rules of grand firepower and bravado.
And with the Nemesis on their tail, their survival is only a matter of time now.
With a cynical smile, Kravchenko couldn't resist mocking them further.
"STARS," he muttered under his breath as he skipped over the dead zombified corpses of American wretches, his Russian accent oozing heavily with sarcasm. "Special Tactics and Rescue Service. More like 'Soft Targets and Reckless Slog.'"
As he pressed deeper into the ruined streets of Raccoon City, his contempt for Umbrella, the RPD, STARS, and his archnemesis, Sergeant Woods, fueled his determination to proceed with his remaining objectives. He'll have another time to find and deal with the missing Alex Mason, the man responsible for robbing him of one eye, but for now, he'd been resolved to exploit the West's weaknesses inside Raccoon to achieve his main goals. Within the nightmarish world that the t-Virus outbreak had to offer, adaptability and ruthlessness were keys to survival, and Kravchenko had both in abundance, with not a single worry inside his mind.
As he trudged his way through the intricate passageways of the sewer system underneath the city streets, Nikolai found himself fascinated by the amazing prospect and planning that had gone into Raccoon's design. The memorized maps were one thing, but wandering through the maze itself and experiencing the arrangement firsthand was another. Umbrella had the perfect playground in their hands, but it was unfortunate that they'd managed to ruin it for themselves. Not to mention Perseus having played a role in its mass destruction as well.
According to the maps he'd studied, several underground passages connected to various Umbrella-owned facilities, the most significant one being the NEST, a multilevel underground laboratory where Umbrella had done its most serious research. This was the one path he'd been taking directly from the basement of the RPD building, which would eventually lead to an underground sky tram network connecting various warehouse test sites on the city's outskirts. If he wanted to look for any of the best scientists Umbrella has ever employed, they would be indubitably located somewhere underground, areas that would be considered less hazardous than being on the surface itself.
Unless they had already released the most dangerous of BOWs, then nowhere is safe, regardless.
Most of the bio-organic weapons that were made or shipped into Raccoon were kept sedated or sealed inside the NEST, but he could not rely on that chance, especially after the city had been transformed into an entire warzone for the past week. With Operation: NESTWRECKER turned into a complete failure on both sides of the conflict, some would have already broken out to find food; others would have escaped during the chaos, and the majority would undoubtedly make an appearance after missing out on a few carefully scheduled sedatives.
And won't that be entertaining? A little target practice would surely keep my mind busy from falling into boredom, and with the firepower to enjoy it, what is there to worry about?
He held the assault rifle more proudly in his hands, silently acknowledging the fact that he now held alternative rounds inside the mags salvaged from Wersbowski, which were hollow points designed to expand and flatten upon impact for maximum damage. He hadn't had the time to check them until he took a quick look at them before he had descended into the sewers, leaving him quite pleased with himself. UBCS soldiers were issued magazines that were filled with fully jacketed rounds designed to pierce through a target cleanly. Wersbowski had apparently switched these up in secret, which had led Nikolai further in disappointment with his death. He could've used his help for many things, but it was a shame he was merely a means to an end pretty early on for his own goals.
The cold, murky water that flowed through the poorly lit, unpleasant tunnels came almost to his knees, the combined stench of mold and urine filling up in his nostrils, though it wasn't remotely close to the worst smells he had ever experienced beforehand. He had already come across several of the undead, most of whom had been wearing Umbrella lab coats, others in uniforms that either belonged to USS or Perseus agents. Very few had been civilians, either maintenance workers or perhaps the unlucky ones who happened to think there was a safer way out of the city underneath the dead streets. He weaved his way out of all of them, not wanting to waste ammo or ring a loud beacon that could warn anyone of his whereabouts.
Just as he came to a T-junction up ahead, he hung against the wall closest to it, checking for any movement through the damp and cold environment, only being able to hear the soft lapping of polluted water against gray stones. The only thing that helped him see through the darkness was the dead, sullen yellow light above the oily surface. It had been so dank and miserable that he couldn't help but think of the prototype versions of the MA-124s. At the Watchdog briefing, they'd been listed as one of the early failed hybrids between humans and amphibians. The leading researcher had apparently gone rogue, defying his orders to exterminate the prototype batch that was under his care, leading to a few of them running rampant inside the sewer system for almost an entire month. Nikolai wasn't afraid so much as disgusted by the thought of running into them, and he hated surprises, hated at the mere thought of one of them crawling through any of the large opened sewage pipes, giant mouths with mandibles stretching wide, seeking to swallow anyone whole with one easy gulp.
When he saw the raised ledge at the end of the tunnel, he was ashamed at the relief he felt. He quickly prevented that feeling from further flourishing, immediately pressing himself to prepare to meet the next scientist on the Watchdogs list. A glance at his watch as he stepped out of the water told him he had arrived just in time. Dr. Thomlinson would be filing her next report within a matter of minutes.
Nikolai proceeded to jog down the short corridor in front of him, feeling irritated at the sounds of his wet boots squelching against the cold cement, finally reaching the door to the main control room office, a breakroom for maintenance workers, but primarily used as a place where various Umbrella personnel held meetings with their outside contacts from the city itself. He put an ear over the door, quietly listening for anything unusual.
Nothing. Good.
With a satisfied sigh, he gave the door a soft push, creaking slightly as it opened, revealing precisely what he had been expecting - a room with a large table, a few scattered chairs, lockers, and a descending ladder bolting to the far wall. He crept in, carefully closing the door behind him.
The ladder led to a small underground warehouse from which a hidden computer terminal was located behind some cleaning supplies on one of the thick shelves. Dr. Thomlinson was assigned to make her reports from there. Assuming she would be coming from the NEST, she'd enter through the small elevator platform in the corner of the room if his memory of the maps didn't fail him. Nikolai calmly sat down to wait, unhooking his shoulder bag that held the laptop and taking it out in order to pass the time in the meantime. He wanted to ensure the maps were checked correctly before moving on from his appointment with the good lady.
To his surprise, Thomlinson was actually punctual, arriving a full four minutes before her time to file. At the rattling sound of the lift motor returning to the surface, Nikolai kept the rifle aimed into the corner, his finger resting on the trigger. A tall, disheveled woman rose into view, her short, brunette hair covering half the distracted look on her smudged face. She wore a stained lab coat, carrying a handgun she kept pointed at the ground, obviously expecting her destination to be safe from any hazards.
Nikolai didn't allow her to react to his presence, his frigid voice slicing through her vague awareness of her surroundings. "Drop your weapon, Doctor, and step away from the lift — now."
There was a sense of dread flowing through the slight widening of her eyes, though no visible sign of alarm or fright seemed to cross her even features, her composed reaction betraying little emotion. He had expected more fear, more clashing feelings of desperation, which now kept him intrigued. She was apparently a cool one; he had to give her that. In the end, she did as she was asked, the metallic clatter of the semi-automatic echoing loudly as she charily moved a few paces away from the lift.
"Anything new to report, Janice?"
She gazed at him intensely for a moment, her light brown eyes observing him as much as the Hispanic had once before, almost entirely unaware of the rifle's muzzle trained directly at her. After several seconds of silence, she crossed her arms as though she had finally taken notice of who he really was.
"Watchdog," she said, and it was neither a question nor a statement of surprise. "You're also the one that Perseus sent."
Nikolai didn't know how she knew of this information, but he nodded regardless. "Then I trust there's no misunderstanding on what you need to do next," he said, motioning his rifle as a silent command.
Thomlinson slowly reached a hand inside the left pocket of her lab coat, revealing a small data disk he required from her. She carefully held it up for him to see, her alluring, throaty voice now trembling slightly.
"If I don't hand it over — Will you… take it from me? Force it out of me?"
Nikolai lost himself in thought for a few seconds about what she was suggesting before his response flourished in a swift and ruthless form, his patience stretched thin. He pulled the trigger as he saw her attractive smile obliterated in a sudden cough of blood and fire. He really didn't have time to play that particular game; in fact, he should've just shot her on sight, which could've prevented him from ever being tempted. Besides, his boots and clothing from the waist down were cold and wet from sewage water, something he detested so much that he simply couldn't afford to waste time with whatever the doctor had in mind for him. It was still quite a shame, however. She was his type, tall and slim, obviously intelligent enough to somehow realize not only he was a Watchdog himself but also had ties with Perseus, a double agent.
Quickly brushing those thoughts aside, he walked over to her slumped body, picking up the dropped disk that lay next to her without looking back at the blood and frozen state of confusion she bore in the last moments of her life, forcefully reminding himself that what he was doing was simply business and nothing personal.
Excuse my manners, Doctor.
Nikolai slipped the disk into an empty plastic pouch, sealed it, and placed it in his bag. There was more than enough time for him to pour its contents over to the laptop, but he decided it would've been best to do so once everything had been collected. After all, he refused to stay underground any further, where he had to keep himself damp and dirty from the stagnant, moldy water.
He switched on the portable device, double-checking his following route before immediately frowning. Tracing his next path told him he had to travel at least half a mile underground before he could finally reach the surface back to downtown again. He glanced back at Dr. Thomlinson's corpse again, sighing. Maybe he might've made a mistake with her. A brief scuffle would've warmed him up a bit; perhaps, at least tried to give in to her subtle advances, but he hated the thought of having to kill women after playing them on any level. The last time it'd happened, it left him experiencing feelings of true regret, and it was the last thing he needed right now.
She was dead, anyway, so it's not like it would've mattered in the slightest. He had the information, and Kravchenko cared about results as much as he did; it was time to move on. Four left, and he could live the rest of his wealthy life with whatever woman he pleased to have, forgetting about the old business life and letting Kravchenko and his men worry about their unintuitive ideals of world domination however they desired.
Author's Note: And that's it for the chapter!
Quite a few mentions of past games in this chapter alone from both CoD and RE (one of which is a manga series for the latter), so I do hope you can catch some of the references. Don't worry about not getting them all first try, as I usually cannot do that myself when reading other people's fics hahaha.
I'm also starting to really notice that with everything going on in this story, it already feels like I have completely blended both CoD and RE universes, which I can safely say I'm proud of having finally done so! The next thing I have in mind is to try and set the grounds to connect the Black Ops series to the Modern Warfare series (maybe even both original and reboot MW series in one). Might be challenging, but I will make sure that after Code Veronica, which is my last planned crossover to write for the time being, I may be adding in some side stories, such as Gun Survivor, having one of the main BO or MW protagonists replacing Ark Thompson in his place. Maybe even Caliban Cove, involving David Trapp, Rebecca Chambers, Mark McKnight, Jason Hudson, and Grigori Weaver. After Code Veronica, this series may change from Resident Evil Black Ops to Resident Evil Modern Biowarfare. Just a thought.
To fit the timeline properly for this unified universe, I'm also planning on going with the OG MW timeline ages while keeping most of their reboot personas. That way, they can be at least ten years older, so most of them can get involved with many of RE's events. Plus, I'm more familiar with their reboot counterparts, but that may change as soon as I get back to playing the original MW games again someday lol.
Anyway, sorry for the rambling. Moving on!
Review Responses:
Guest - Can't argue with that! Honestly, that's what I picture him doing if Adler had spared him in the main story. I mean, the CIA pretty much screwed him over for the rest of his life, and with nowhere else to go, he'd probably feel right at home with being back with Perseus. I'm very glad you liked the little reunion scene between Frank and Jill. :) I tried making it believable how both would react in a situation like this after what they've been through previously. I feel accomplished! XD
And for those who have already preordered the new CoD game, I hope you enjoy its early access campaign! Unfortunately, I haven't gotten enough saved to preorder the game yet, but I guarantee you that by the time I upload the next chapter, I'd already have played the game by then. You'll get a small review from me when the time comes.
Greatly appreciate you reading until the end! Keep them reviews coming! And remember...
No Russian.