Fan Fiction ❯ To Live and Run... ❯ Mercy ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: C_Ravenlocke 
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.20.2005 | Updated On: 05.27.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 136 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.20.2005 | Updated On: 05.27.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 136 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I don't own Billy Coen, Rebecca Chambers, or Resident Evil. I'm just a fangirl with an overactive imagination and way too much time on my hands. The aforementioned trio all belong to Capcom. Many, many apologies for forgetting to put up this particular disclaimer.
Mercy
By C. Ravenlocke
In fetid darkness still, to live and run was the only true freedom. Even if the ground under his feet was little more than a memory, and the scent of trees nothing more than a teasing specter. The poltergeist image wrapped around his dreams, teasing him with sensations of a life long left behind. They were as much a curse as a blessing. They kept him sane, reminded him he was human. However, they also brought into achingly clear focus the perversion of what his life had been.
Living turned to surviving.
Running turned to hunting.
His instinct to kill had been isolated, twisted, and then nurtured. The taste of blood and the sound of rending flesh was as natural to him now as the sound of his own labored breathing and the taste of alcohol he’d once so enjoyed. He had a designation of some sort now, a specimen number that didn’t even resemble a name. He’d had a name once. He’d been human once. Now, he wasn’t sure what he was.
A killer.
A predator.
The tattoo on his arm was what brought the memories of running to him. It was the one link he had to his old life, and he kept his memories hidden like a child hiding a guilty treasure. If the men found out about his memories, his private treasure, they would take them away like they’d taken everything else. Then all that would remain would be the hunger and the darkness.
Hunger.
He hungered.
It would be time to hunt again soon.
#
His senses were awash in blood. He was intoxicated with the smell and taste of it. Instead of bringing satiation, it only brought on a more powerful hunger. There were shouts coming from some of the prey, screams from others. The prey he had killed was little more than a mass of shattered limbs and scraps of flesh. It no longer even twitched. It was useless now, and the hunger still needed to be sated. He turned back toward the others. One was staring at him. It was a female, and her hand covered her mouth. He began to move toward her. She took a step backward reflexively, but he sensed she wouldn’t run. He took another step closer. Her scent reached him, something sweet overlaid with herbal and medicinal smells.
It was almost familiar.
Hunger and curiosity battled for control.
Hunger won; he took another step forward.
The female’s hand dropped from her mouth. One hand scrambled for her gun, the other hand hunting for something else. She shouted something that sounded like a name, but he didn’t notice. Seeing her reaching for the weapon caused the hunter to stir. He had her by the throat in moments. She squirmed and fought, and the gun went off.
Pain.
Blood.
Exhilaration.
A growl escaped him, something thoroughly bestial, and the hands around her throat began to tighten. She choked out the name again, gasping out words as she held something up to him. A metallic glint caught his eye, distracting him momentarily from the kill and drawing his attention. His grip loosened as his gaze fell on a dog tag, scratched and dented slightly. “Billy, stop!” she screamed hoarsely, voice cutting through the haze.
Memories.
Fire.
An explosion.
Her voice.
A name.
Billy.
He released her abruptly, more fragments of memories assailing him. It was like physical pain, but held the welcome undertones of life. Not survival, but true life. The same feelings his treasure gave him. Now he stood, staring at her blankly, confused how she had caused such a feeling. She was speaking to him again, her soft voice coaxing even more memories to the surface. He slowly began to understand her words, saw tears in the prey’s eyes.
Not prey.
No.
Rebecca.
The final dam in his fractured and infected brain collapsed and he sank to his knees. Her name escaped his lips and he couldn’t even recognize his own voice. Awareness slammed into his consciousness, and he was suddenly very cognizant of the blood he was bathed in. He turned his head, seeing the dismembered corpse behind him.
Loathing.
Self-loathing.
Disgust.
Hunger.
He looked at Rebecca, kneeling in front of him, and realized only then that he was on his knees. He was acutely aware of her proximity. The Hunger was like a separate entity now, a creature gathering itself within him. Nothing more than a parasite, a rabid demon waiting for a moment of weakness to possess him again. He looked in her eyes and saw fear and pleading there. His bloodstained lips parted and he spoke.
Rebecca.
Kill me.
Please.
End it.
She shook her head stubbornly, her hands trembling. She touched his arm, tracing the tattoo that adorned his skin. The Hunger rose again, more powerfully this time, dimming his vision and demanding blood. Pushing it down was like trying to kill a living thing, and he knew then what was necessary. He took her hand, still holding the pistol. With a gentle touch at odds with the gore painting his hand, he placed the barrel of the weapon against his forehead. Their eyes met; hers were disbelieving, his silently pleading. A few seconds stretched on into eternity, and finally, she gave a slight nod. The Hunger tried to take control again, but it was too late.
Gunshot.
Tears.
Her tears.
Smile.
His smile.
Darkness.
Welcome darkness.
Thank you.
Rebecca.
Love you.
Then nothing.
Mercy
By C. Ravenlocke
In fetid darkness still, to live and run was the only true freedom. Even if the ground under his feet was little more than a memory, and the scent of trees nothing more than a teasing specter. The poltergeist image wrapped around his dreams, teasing him with sensations of a life long left behind. They were as much a curse as a blessing. They kept him sane, reminded him he was human. However, they also brought into achingly clear focus the perversion of what his life had been.
Living turned to surviving.
Running turned to hunting.
His instinct to kill had been isolated, twisted, and then nurtured. The taste of blood and the sound of rending flesh was as natural to him now as the sound of his own labored breathing and the taste of alcohol he’d once so enjoyed. He had a designation of some sort now, a specimen number that didn’t even resemble a name. He’d had a name once. He’d been human once. Now, he wasn’t sure what he was.
A killer.
A predator.
The tattoo on his arm was what brought the memories of running to him. It was the one link he had to his old life, and he kept his memories hidden like a child hiding a guilty treasure. If the men found out about his memories, his private treasure, they would take them away like they’d taken everything else. Then all that would remain would be the hunger and the darkness.
Hunger.
He hungered.
It would be time to hunt again soon.
#
His senses were awash in blood. He was intoxicated with the smell and taste of it. Instead of bringing satiation, it only brought on a more powerful hunger. There were shouts coming from some of the prey, screams from others. The prey he had killed was little more than a mass of shattered limbs and scraps of flesh. It no longer even twitched. It was useless now, and the hunger still needed to be sated. He turned back toward the others. One was staring at him. It was a female, and her hand covered her mouth. He began to move toward her. She took a step backward reflexively, but he sensed she wouldn’t run. He took another step closer. Her scent reached him, something sweet overlaid with herbal and medicinal smells.
It was almost familiar.
Hunger and curiosity battled for control.
Hunger won; he took another step forward.
The female’s hand dropped from her mouth. One hand scrambled for her gun, the other hand hunting for something else. She shouted something that sounded like a name, but he didn’t notice. Seeing her reaching for the weapon caused the hunter to stir. He had her by the throat in moments. She squirmed and fought, and the gun went off.
Pain.
Blood.
Exhilaration.
A growl escaped him, something thoroughly bestial, and the hands around her throat began to tighten. She choked out the name again, gasping out words as she held something up to him. A metallic glint caught his eye, distracting him momentarily from the kill and drawing his attention. His grip loosened as his gaze fell on a dog tag, scratched and dented slightly. “Billy, stop!” she screamed hoarsely, voice cutting through the haze.
Memories.
Fire.
An explosion.
Her voice.
A name.
Billy.
He released her abruptly, more fragments of memories assailing him. It was like physical pain, but held the welcome undertones of life. Not survival, but true life. The same feelings his treasure gave him. Now he stood, staring at her blankly, confused how she had caused such a feeling. She was speaking to him again, her soft voice coaxing even more memories to the surface. He slowly began to understand her words, saw tears in the prey’s eyes.
Not prey.
No.
Rebecca.
The final dam in his fractured and infected brain collapsed and he sank to his knees. Her name escaped his lips and he couldn’t even recognize his own voice. Awareness slammed into his consciousness, and he was suddenly very cognizant of the blood he was bathed in. He turned his head, seeing the dismembered corpse behind him.
Loathing.
Self-loathing.
Disgust.
Hunger.
He looked at Rebecca, kneeling in front of him, and realized only then that he was on his knees. He was acutely aware of her proximity. The Hunger was like a separate entity now, a creature gathering itself within him. Nothing more than a parasite, a rabid demon waiting for a moment of weakness to possess him again. He looked in her eyes and saw fear and pleading there. His bloodstained lips parted and he spoke.
Rebecca.
Kill me.
Please.
End it.
She shook her head stubbornly, her hands trembling. She touched his arm, tracing the tattoo that adorned his skin. The Hunger rose again, more powerfully this time, dimming his vision and demanding blood. Pushing it down was like trying to kill a living thing, and he knew then what was necessary. He took her hand, still holding the pistol. With a gentle touch at odds with the gore painting his hand, he placed the barrel of the weapon against his forehead. Their eyes met; hers were disbelieving, his silently pleading. A few seconds stretched on into eternity, and finally, she gave a slight nod. The Hunger tried to take control again, but it was too late.
Gunshot.
Tears.
Her tears.
Smile.
His smile.
Darkness.
Welcome darkness.
Thank you.
Rebecca.
Love you.
Then nothing.