Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Resident Evil Blood ❯ Chapter 13 Discrepancy ( Chapter 13 )

Yoh! Disclaimer: I don’t own nothing’. Except an over active imagination and a will to rather write this than do homework. Resident Evil and it’s many AWESOME characters are all property of Capcom and I am simply borrowing their likeness to fulfill my internet obligation of Rule 34.

Resident Evil Blood

Chapter 13 – Discrepancy

East Coast, BSAA Field Camp and Training Facility. Six years after Raccoon City. Present Day.
“Alright, please begin by explaining what exactly happened during your mission.” McGivern opened one of the folders to the first page. Everyone else grabbed a folder too, even Claire, although she didn’t bother opening hers. “Please feel free to jump in,” he motioned to the others seated around the table, “if you feel the need to clarify or add to the report.” He turned back to Carlos, motioning with a hand. “Please. Proceed.”

“Thank you,” Carlos nodded, as McGivern uncapped his pen. “Well,” he began. “Our unit was ordered to investigate a suspicious building and we responded with the intel that we were given.”

“According to the report,” McGivern questioned as he skimmed through the first few pages in the folder he held, “It was a possible sighting of an infected. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Carlos nodded. “That’s correct. That city had already been evacuated since it’s outbreak and the rest was already swept, so there wasn’t supposed to be any remaining BOWs or possible hosts for infection.”

“I see,” the Colonel answered. “Continue.”

“We went in with minimal gear and weapons and…” Carlos suddenly stopped as he took a deep breath and slowly continued. “We secured the area around the building and then proceeded in. There was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. We checked out the first floor and then went up to the second floor. Boyd remained downstairs as lookout. He…” Carlos paused again, slowly shaking his head.

Chris could tell he was having a hard time with this. He didn’t blame him. Boyd was a good man and had been a good friend to them all.

“We received a warning from Boyd. Verbally. We later discovered that there was a problem with our radios.”

“Problem?” McGivern asked.

A radio frequency jam.

Chris already knew. It had to be that. He had been in that exact same position before… A year ago…

Of course. It was done to prevent A-1 from calling for back up.

He mentally cursed Wesker.

“Yes, sir,” Jill confirmed. “The radios weren’t working properly. There seemed to be some type of interference with the frequency.”

“Boyd had to shout the warning,” Carlos added. “Loud enough for us to hear him from downstairs. That’s why…” He paused again. “That’s why the swarm got to him first. If it hadn’t been for him, sir, I don’t know if we would’ve been able to make it out in time.”

“In time?” McGivern restated.

“Before the swarm got to us.”

“Where did this swarm come from?” the Colonel asked frowning as he scanned the folder. “There shouldn’t have been anything anywhere near that kind of magnitude there.”

“No, sir,” Carlos agreed. Chris could easily detect the anger in his voice. “There shouldn’t have been.”

“We don’t know where the infected came from, sir,” Jill hopped in, giving Carlos a few seconds to calm down. Chris couldn’t help but marvel at her ability to save her teammates, both on and off the field. “All we know, is that there were easily over three hundred of them in the building alone. And another two or three hundred waiting outside.”

“Waiting outside?” McGivern asked suddenly confused. “How did you get into the building in the first place without noticing several hundred zombies?”

“When we went in, sir,” Jeremy replied this time, “the place was clean. They didn’t show up until after we got inside.”

“I see,” McGivern nodded, but looked troubled. “Please continue.”

Carlos nodded. “We managed to vacate the premises by using a stairwell on the opposite end of the building. It was the only other way out.”

Of course. Wesker would do this in a building where he could control the team’s movements. From the moment they had entered the structure, they were already trapped.

Again, he knew. He’d been in that position already… A year ago…

They never stood a chance. Damn it.

“It led us back down to the first floor and to an exit. That’s where…” Carlos sighed as he closed his eyes for a second before continuing. “That’s where Kowalski stayed behind to cover our rear as we exited. He held off the swarm long enough to let us get out. He didn’t make it out himself. I suspect he got overtaken by the Crimsons in the group.”

“There were Crimsons?” McGivern asked both surprised and disturbed.

“Yes sir. Several of them,” Jill said in a low voice.

Fuck. What was Wesker thinking?! A normal swarm, OK. He could expect that, even understand that. But not Crimsons! No doubt that’s probably also what took Boyd out. Fuck! What the hell was Wesker thinking!?! By throwing Crimsons in there, how could he not have expected casualties-!

And suddenly it became clear to Chris.

He WANTED casualties. Ah! He wanted casualties, so that more attention would be paid to them and their death, and less attention would be paid to me! Damn it!

Chris didn’t know what was more infuriating: Wesker’s lack of human decency and respect for his old teammates, or the fact that his plan had actually worked. Everyone had been too busy preoccupied with Carlos’ injury and Boyd and Kowalski’s deaths to pay much attention to him in retrospect.

Fuck!

“When we got outside,” Jeremy continued this time, “we got locked in as another swarm hit us from the front.”

“That’s the swarm I mentioned that was waiting for us outside,” Jill clarified.

“Hm…” McGivern seemed lost in thought. “And then what happened?”

“Valentine and myself were the first to run out of ammo,” Carlos picked up again. “We had managed to make it a little ways to the building in front of us, located across the street, when we were overtaken.”

“That’s when Chris threw a grenade and gave us cover!” Jeremy tossed in.

“He threw a grenade?” McGivern asked not at all surprised.

“Yes, sir, from the top of the building that was in front of us,” the younger A-1 member elaborated.

“Three story building in front of us,” Carlos cut it, suddenly turning to look at Chris, who frowned at the glance.

He looks… Smug. What is he thinking..?

“Before that,” the Latino man continued, “he sniped several head shots.”

“Oh, yeah!” Jeremy nodded quickly. “You should have seen it sir,” he turned to McGivern. “It was insane! Taking them all out! Every single shot was right on the money!”

“Right on the money?” the Colonel re-stated.

“Yeah,” Jeremy answered enthusiastically. “A head shot! Every single shot was a freakin’ head shot!”

McGivern didn’t say anything. Neither did Chris or Carlos, although the man’s eyes never left his mark on Chris.

Shit.

Chris mentally cursed. He had him. He knew Carlos had found his flaw.

“So Chris had a sniper rifle?” McGivern asked the group.

No one answered for a few moments as they all thought about it. “Uh, no, sir,” Jill finally answered. “Not that I saw…” she looked confused.

“What weapon did he have?” McGivern asked, still to the group in general.

Fuck.

Chris suddenly knew what was happening. He knew how this was going down.

Fuck!

He’d stepped right into it!

“A, um, a 92FS, standard issue, if I remember correctly,” Jill answered again, even more confused now. It was finally starting to click into everyone’s mind.

“I thought you said Chris was on the roof of the other building. A three story building? Across the street?”

“He was sir,” Jill answered slowly, suddenly turning to stare at Chris. She looked both confused and terrified. Everyone else was also staring at Chris. They all looked equally as perplexed. And not without hints of fear.

“What?” Claire looked around. “I don’t get it. Why’s everyone quiet all of a sudden?”

“Because,” Carlos finally responded. “That type of aim and accuracy is impossible from that range with that gun. Especially at the speed he was shooting.”

Claire raised her eyebrows as she suddenly got it. But she smiled and laughed, “Well, that’s Chris for you!” she grinned trying to break the tension. “Come on Jill,” she said catching the other woman’s attention. “You know Chris has amazing aim!”

“Not like that, Claire,” Jill shook her head, her eyes filling with uncertainty. “…Not like that.”

Unknown Location… Five years after Raccoon City.

An empty void. Cold. Dark. Desolate.

There was no light. There was no tunnel. There was no warmth. Or shinning brightness at the end leading to a promised heaven. There was only cold. And darkness. And emptiness.

Forsaken tendrils stretching to wrap around the thoughts of what might have been, floating in a sea of eternal chaos on an endless expanse of oblivion. Nothingness. All around. A sea of eternal nothingness.

And in the middle of that vast stretch of emptiness, Chris wandered.

Thoughts refused to form; memories nothing more than broken fragments of refracted light glaring off sharp obsidian waters. His mind stretched into frayed threads, each pulled taunt against the undercurrent of existence. A wind; a nameless ripple, ghosted through the darkness, surrounding each metaphysical body part, tugging and suckling at him.

Pain. It flowed like shocks of electricity, swarming the encompassed plane, like thorned vines, cutting and squeezing, until nothing but the static of its presence sizzled and exploded. Pain! Loud and indescribable! And Chris screamed into the darkness, begging for light, for feeling, for anything!

Visions whipped by, clouding the empty void like halo projections of lost moments in time. A strange and random circus of images and thoughts conglomerating in a turbulent and meiotic whirlpool of insanity. He screamed again, his desperate pleas to any god willing to listen drowning in the destruction of his senses.

He arched, his mind breaking, flowing into tears of mental anguish at his forlorn fate, feeling his body dismember into black dust as the threads of his sanity snapped, riveting in discord like hair slow falling in the wind, disappearing in the gloom of nothing… Leaving emptiness behind.

And Chris ceased to be.

Wesker turned suddenly, having heard an impossible cry bellowed from the depths of the barge. Standing on the top deck, his long black leather trench coat flowing in the night wind, he narrowed his eyes as he questioned what could possibly have made that pitiful moan.

Not one to take arbitrarily strange noises made in the dead of night for granted, the Tyrant languidly walked towards the cabin entrance and descended the multiple flights of stairs downwards. With each level advanced, his pace quickened though, as he quite suddenly realized that the cries were emanating from the area of the ship where he had left Chris.

Then, at a mad dash, he raced down the corridors that lead to the storage hull, stopping abruptly as the sounds disappeared all together. This only intensified his excursion as he practically destroyed the hatch leading into the vast storage complex.

Kicking it to the side, he calmly walked in, his heightened sense of smell having already picked up the strong copper tinge mixed with the acid salt sting of the ocean’s residue. Blood and salt. Lots of it.

Wesker’s tyrant eyes scanned the dark area, not bothering to draw his 92FS. He found nothing, save the usual dull grime of unused containment units and dirty metal drum barrels piled high in dangerous stacks. Instead, he turned to his keen hearing and scoured the room.

He could hear the constant drips of slow leaks long abandoned and the eerie groaning of the ship’s desolate age made evident. The scurrying of rats was contrasted to the scampering of roaches and other vermin as they all moved in and out of the way in Wesker’s presence.

The Tyrant ignored them in favor of a strangely delicate although loud sound he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It thumped on a mismatched rhythm of synchronized beats; each pulse becoming stronger yet fainter all at once.

And then Wesker saw it. And he understood what the noise was. There lay Chris, hunched over in a fetal position, unmoving on the dirty floor, a vacant expression on his face, utterly lifeless. But Wesker could hear it, loud and clear - the beating of his heart.





***************************** Author Time! *****************************
Yoh!

So, I jumped the gun so to speak. The good stuff I was talking about in the last chapter isn’t actually until chapter 15, my bad. The next chapter (14) is good, but it’s going to have a WTF cliffhanger (have you guys noticed I really love those, yet?) that will lead into glorious OMG WXC SMUT in the following chapter. So, chapter 15 is the next SMUT fest scene. Chapter 14 finally answers a very important question, though, so that’s good too. Can you guess what it is…?