Chapter Text
The Outbreak
Location: Raccoon city
Date: September 23rd 1998
Time: 23:05
Aurelia
Florescent strobing lights illuminate the gold dress I'm adorned in; glitz, glitter and all too short. Backless. The dip of my spine curving as I sway my body sensually to a rhythm that speaks to my very soul. And I know he's watching.
I can feel it in the goosebumps gently raised across my heated flesh, from the hairs at the back of my neck that stand on end in awareness. Somewhere in a dark corner where I can't see him if I tried. Working still as the rest of us enjoy the aftermath of a supposed successful mission. The objective maintained, but a quarter of us reduced to ashes in the aftermath. Beneath the buzz of cheap beer, vodka and his whiskey lies a mass of guilt. I see it in the way their eyes droop in heaviness, the slight sag of shoulders, smiles that don't quite reach their eyes.
Still, we drink to forget and we dance to feel something. Anything. While it wasn't my escapade, it burdens me nonetheless.
So, I swing my hips, let my dark, silky locks fall down my exposed back and kiss the relaxed hemline at the very base of my spine, ignoring the ache in my feet as my heels click against the reflective, tiled floor till I can't stand it anymore. I still momentarily to catch my breath; my bangles clanging softly once more before they too cease to move and I head to the open bar to parch my thirst with something a little more bitter than my usual cherry daiquiri.
"Whiskey, neat." Resting my elbows on the bar top, I use two fingers to rub at my right temple to ease the strain of the past week.
"Dipping into deep waters are we kitty cat?" Enzo, our voluntary bartender for the night quirks his brow at me and I roll my eyes at the familiar nickname. It stuck since my days as a rookie when I naturally fell into the role of insubordination and squared up to my commanding officer within my first week post training. In my defence, he was being a bossy, misogynistic asshole. 'Claws' eventually turned into 'kitty cat' due to my lacking in height and that was that. I don't actually mind it. It could've been worse, a lot worse.
I shrug one shoulder "fits the occasion better with this being a glamorous funeral and all" gesturing to the room solemnly.
"Morbid... but true." He places a half filled glass in front of me and I eye the amber liquid, lifting it before absentmindedly swirling the glass in my hand. Fuck it. I take a sip, wincing at the burn. And then I feel it. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Warmth. Pooling in my belly before spreading throughout my body. I shiver and tilt my head back slightly, eyes closed as I savour the feeling. I'm probably unhealthily touch starved, but that's a worry for another lifetime. This field of work doesn't make space for relationships. Hookups, maybe. Marriage? Absolutely not. We collectively agree it's about as stupid as you can be working in the highest 'risk to life' industry and expecting yourself to survive, let alone your family. It's not something we even fantasise about. Hope is a careless and dangerous feat.
A fuck and dump isn't my fancy either. Though hardly sentimental, I can't help but hate the idea of giving myself to someone so intimately so... casually. Not that I look down on everyone else doing it, because they quite literally all do it. It's just not for me. That, and I haven't really met anyone I wanted to have their hands on me.
Ha. Liar.
Maybe one, just one.
The one whose crystal, cold eyes have been boring a hole in the back of my head since I waltzed in.
His gaze didn't falter once as I spun, laughed and drank surrounded by a hundred of our kind. But the only person I've truly been dancing with is him. Since they day we were formally introduced; my second year working for S.T.A.R.S in a unit of my own, we've been engaged in a tension filled game of analysing facial expressions, sarcastic one liners and suggestive remarks. Nothing concrete, nothing truly sincere. His watchfulness was brought to my attention by Sophie - his second in command of two months since the death of their Captain: Albert Wesker, and my best (only) friend-, that he'd had his eyes fixed on me intensely at all times. I figured it was her way of amusing herself amidst the darkness we live in, so I played in to the idea for her sake.
Until I started seeing it for myself. He'd zero in on me when I walked into a room and not release me from his sight even as he spoke to others. It weirded me out at first since we hadn't exactly been acquainted, and still, we're not entirely familiar with each other. I don't see him being close to anybody if I'm honest.
Always stoic. Unreadable. Unwavering.
So, I kind of just started watching him back. At first to creep him out so he'd stop. Then, came the fascination. I wanted to see if I could get him to react, express something so I could read into him. Thus, it kind of became a thing. I memorised the way he'd raise a singular brow when he was amused, both brows when his authority was being questioned, the slight upward curve of his lips to the left which he only ever does when I make a snarky comment or try to get a rise out of him, and the thinning of his lips when he's trying not to punch a hole in the wall... or put a bullet between someone's eyes.
Though we never speak of anything but work related matters in short conversations, we continue observing each other. I never call him out on it. Neither does he. It's kept me sane through exhausting missions, near death experiences and now... I take comfort in it in the wake of Sophie's death.
I shake the thought out of my mind. I don't want to think about her. I don't want to know what the last thing she said was before she was blipped out of existence. I don't want to know if she suffered, or if it was quick. I don't want...
Inhaling sharply, I take a long swig of my drink, dipping my head back again and losing myself in the embrace the whiskey gives me from the inside, and I let my mind indulge in the one fantasy I've forbidden myself from enticing.
6ft2, 220lbs of pure muscle caging me from behind as rough hands work their way up the exposed flesh of my thighs. I crane my neck, the crown of my head falling between his collarbones. Six inch heels are a laughable accessory when he still towers above me so. His palms inching higher and higher before disappearing entirely beneath the liquid gold material of my dress and he digs the pads of his fingers across the apex of my legs so, so close to where they should be.
The sensation of something almost slipping out of my grasp has my eyes flying open and I manage to tighten my grip on the glass before it alerts everyone to the shameful dreamscape I'd lost myself to. Heat engulfs my cheeks and I set my drink down before turning my head to the left, resting the right side of my face in my hand as I scan the farthest edge of the room. I find a cold set of eyes on mine.
Steady, unyielding.
My lower lip catches between my teeth and his gaze shoots to my mouth before slowly dragging down my body to where I'm pressing my thighs together. I can't stop. I don't want to stop.
Straightening myself slowly, I let one foot fall in front of the other as I start towards him. I know what I want, and as blackened crystals of ice meet my pools of honey again, I know he wants it too. My breath expels from between my lips softly as step by step I approach what is likely to be my biggest error of judgement but I cannot find the will to care; and as the distance closes I taste the sin of his mouth before we even touch...
A scream erupts from somewhere in the room. My brows furrow in tandem with his, and that's when the roof caves in.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Eyes springing open, I groan at the pain radiating across the entirety of my back. Squinting, I struggle to get a hold of my senses. I shake my head and adjust to the newfound chaos erupting before me; people running in every which direction, screams and shouts, a few gun blasts, a male voice laced with fear and confusion as he pleads with someone somewhere off to the right of me.
"John... What the fuck John... What are you doing... Why? No....NO"
The force of the explosion which caused the very roof to collapse had flung me back a good five feet and I'd hit the metal legs of one of the bar stools- hence the ache, and probable concussion. I have to move. Figure out what the hell is going on and get everyone out of here. Why would we be targeted here and now? In practicality, it makes sense. Most of us are here in one place, having a good time. We'd have our guards down. But why? From what I'd heard, as much of a hit the team that branched out on the last assignment took, they had definitively eliminated any potential loose ends. Unless they missed some piece of information tying whatever they were doing to something bigger? No, it wasn't like him to not be thorough enough. He was too good. Too consumed.
So, then what? We have no shortage of enemies sure, but blowing up the top of a building haphazardly is plain sloppy.
Using the stool as leverage, I stand and clamber over the bar to the other side.
"Enzo?" he eyes me warily, scanning my entire body frantically and wide eyed. Once he comes to whatever conclusion that appoints me as not a threat to him, he sags in relief. "What's going on? How long was I out for?"
"A couple of minutes. I don't understand" he rambles, voice shaking with every word. "They... they're not normal. They're attacking everyone and the sounds they make... fuck I don't know whats happening. They're not people, kitty cat, not anymore"
I scrunch my face in confusion and peek my head slightly over the bar top. Assessing the situation and... he's right. People. Our people attacking each other... Except most of them are moving in a way so unnatural, limbs contorting in every which direction as they stagger, pouncing on people, ripping at flesh with their teeth and their skin- pale and greying- black veins protruding from their forearms and necks, lips as black as tar. Whatever they are, they're not human.
"Fuck me" I whisper under my breath. I turn to Enzo abruptly "We need to get out of here. Where's the spare weaponry?"
He points to a pile he'd already accumulated and I smirk. Smart guy. Crawling over him, I grab a S.T.A.R.S issued customary Beretta 92F pistol, a carbon reinforced alloy knife, serrated at the edges- his personal choice- and a few magazines of additional ammo to keep me going till I reach safety.
"There's a bunker half a mile out west from here for emergency situations. It's secure enough I'm sure none of them have gotten in. Whatever this is, there's too much open space to keep it contained in here. Grab as much as you can carry and," I notice his eyes glazing over, hands shaking and breathing rapidly but shallow. I grit my teeth, knowing exactly what it feels like to be so afraid. Taking his freezing hands in mine, I rub warmth in to them and try to transfer a little bit of strength. "Breathe, Enzo. Panicking will get you killed. You see one of them? You kill it. That's the plan. We just need to make it to that bunker."
He nods, seemingly coming back to himself. We're trained soldiers but we've never encountered anything like this. We don't have time to process it as the human numbers surrounding us are diminishing by the second. A quick scope of the room has me falling short. He's not here. In hindsight, that's a good sign; he likely found a way out and if I know him at all, he's getting some help from the outside. God knows we need it. Still, a heavy weight falls on my chest, some sort of disappointment.
"Lets go."
Grabbing the backpack I'd thankfully stashed behind the bar earlier since I knew I'd hate the idea of heels by hour 3, I swiftly strap it around my shoulders before inching to the edge of the bar ensemble on my hands and knees. Poking my head around the corner, I spy 3 of the creatures hobbling towards what remains of the glass wall facing the outer street, making that god awful chittering sound and lurching their upper bodies. We need to be stealthy and the cover of night should aid in just that. The roof coming down killed the lights in the room and likely most of the building, leaving us with nothing but the faint glow of whatever lights are left in the city.
The disarray outside will shield any small sounds we make; something I'm counting on as there's no way I'm risking being ripped apart by one of those things because I needed to change my shoes. Of all nights, this is the absolute worst to be hit by some bizarre edition of the plague. I sigh internally and motion with my fingers to Enzo that I'm about to start journeying forward. I don't wait for a signal back before I shuffle on the balls of my feet slowly, keeping the pointed ends of my heels off the ground, and my eyes on the critters, making my way to the slightly ajar door, praying to myself it won't creak when I open it so that we may pass through to whatever hell lies beyond.
Once my palm lays flat on the cold, wooden surface, I turn. My relief is imminent when I find Enzo at my back and I keep alert as I gently push the door open. It creaks. Ever so slightly. But that's all it takes. Traitor. The room falls heavy with silence as the critters halt and stand eerily still as if they're waiting for another sound to hone in on their next targets. I hold my breath, my heart rate sky rocketing and the roar of blood rushing in my ears nearly deafens me; but I hold my position and wait.
Seconds stretch out like hours and a cry in the distance distracts them enough to resume their staggering in the opposite direction. I let the breath I was holding escape me little by little as I open the door enough for us to both slip through.
Some of the lights bolted into the wall of the stairwell are out. Others are blinking, giving flashes of an empty space. Hearing movement somewhere below is my only indication we'll be experiencing an actual confrontation sooner rather than later and I glare at my choice of footwear for a moment before reaching down to unfasten the buckles at my ankles. Given the length of my heels, I won't be able to get down those stairs efficiently or quietly with them on. I'd risk toppling over and I can't afford to do that presently.
My bright idea is cut off entirely when I hear a squark at the foot of the first flight of stairs. "Seriously?" exasperated, I abandon my shoes and stalk to the top step. There in all it's gruesomeness is what used to be Anna Trisfen; the now former receptionist on level 10. "Bummer, I wanted to borrow that leather jacket," I deadpan before lifting my pistol and firing a shot between her eyes. She... or rather it collapses against the concrete wall before slumping onto the ground.
I'm just about to descend when it gets back up once more and this time, it's Enzo that delivers a blow to the things skull. Thick blood oozes from the wounds and it falls still entirely, mouth agape, displaying a line of charred looking teeth and dark saliva. We mutually grimace at the sight and make our way down. I make a point not to eye the corpse, a habit I haven't lost since I started here. I might be a killer, heck I've killed more people than I can count. But I'm human, and not completely dead on the inside. Not yet anyway. Actions have consequences. And sometimes, I prefer not to to linger on the consequences. These empty vessels wearing the faces of those we spend day in and day out with just makes it that much worse. I don't want to remember them like this.
Something deep inside me is glad Sophie isn't here to see any of this. Softer in nature, I don't think she'd have the heart to take our comrades down. He saw that in her too, which is why he put her on active comms duty; still in the field, but at a safe enough distance behind a computer screen, guiding their team and finding out any information necessary to whatever cause was being fought for that day. I hope her death was swift. She didn't deserve to go out at all, but she definitely shouldn't have suffered.
A stray tear trickles down my cheek and I rush to wipe it away and harden my expression before Enzo sees. He's putting up a front; in reality, we both are, but I need to keep it together for the both of us. As a part of my unit, it's my duty to protect my team, and right now, we're all that's left of us.
Step by step, we venture down. Taking out the critters and depleting our fighting resources with each kill. By the time we reach the bottom floor, my bullet count is one to none and Enzo is all out. Problem, the ground level is swarming with more than 20 undead.
Whispering as low as possible, "we're going to have to fight our way through. Stealth isn't an option either. I'm not risking getting backed into a corner, we won't make it out."
"Listen, if-" Enzo starts.
"No." My voice firm and sure. "Do you trust me?"
"With my life, Captain." He says sincerely.
"First of all, that promotion is far too recent for the 'Captain, oh my Captain' bull. But, most importantly, you're making it out of here. We both are." I'm not sure the smile I muster is convincing at all but- totally not the priority right now. I take the empty pistol from his hand and hand him my one bullet wonder. "Best case scenario, you fire that in the last one's head. Worst case scenario, one of us bites it." He looks at me like the thought of offing ourselves hadn't occurred to him and I cringe at my words. Way to boost morale Cap.
Knife at the ready, I signal to the two closest to us. "Happy hacking!" With a playful wink, I'm off.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Being acutely aware of your surroundings whilst being occupied in combat is a special type of training reserved for the ones at the Top. The highest ranking; the future leaders. Our responsibility doesn't end where orders are met, tasks are completed and enemies slain. We're accountable for five other individuals. Five other beings. Five other lives. S.T.A.R.S has no shortage of numbers when it comes to more menial agendas; situations that are deemed 'trivial pursuits'. Beta and Delta are the units that handle all of that. They consist of over 60 soldiers, all organised in a neat little bundle with a ranking system. Teams within a team.
Alpha and Bravo are different. Six of us form a whole each. We're reserved for the trinity of dirty work; the shadows, the secrets and the lies. Everything we do is classified. So much so, that we don't discuss matters between the two either- unless it's a joint force effort. It's rare the two work together. Rare enough, it's only happened twice. Neither of which I was present for- something I'm not sorry I missed. I'd be dead if I'd been Bravo two months ago. He would've been too if he hadn't miraculously booked a vacation at the time. I wasn't filled in on any of it when I was pulled out of Delta to assemble what is now the new Bravo though. At first, I thought nothing of it. I knew the line of work would be cagey and secretive in relation to past events; but, as Captain, should I not have the right to know?
As an underdog to the country's most elite task forces, working for the Tops is a rare sought dream. Access to more information, data and resources than anyone could dream of. Information is power. Power is control.
So, now that I have it, why don't I seem to have any?
Just five people to protect, one order to follow. In hindsight, all I've gained is a babysitting job and a fancy title. Not that 'Captain' is flashy in any way whatsoever. They need to make a feminine goddess-esque version of that. What? I like nice things.
Back to babysitting; I always thought being all alert meant putting your brain into overdrive and managing the chaos. I soon learnt it's nothing of the sort. To be present and aware, you need to turn your brain off entirely, save for one variable only. The location of six people. You, and your team. Combat for a leader is pure autopilot. And it makes perfect sense.
We don't ask questions, don't take hostages, don't spare lives.
We assassinate, siphon data, retrieve treasure.
This new reality we've been thrown into is no different, save for one fact. I don't have my team in it's completion. It's just me and Enzo. And when I protested my title, it's because I'm not worthy of it. I have two purposes in life.
1) Carry out orders.
2) Protect my unit.
I have neither anymore. I'm not a Captain. I'm a confused nobody trying to survive the night.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
We've been at it for what feels like hours. Slashing, stabbing, punching and pushing. My muscles are tired, my breaths are faltering pants, and I'm sticky from all the blood and sweat. Sparing a second glance at Enzo, he's not faring well either. Our movements are far slower than before and with each critter trying to get a grab on us, I'm not sure how much longer we can hold out for.
They're a lot harder to kill than I anticipated, which is yet another tribute to how inhuman they are. Ripping off their limbs doesn't keep them down, slashing their eyes doesn't deter them. They keep coming. Unafraid and unrelenting. I've taken down a total of 15; each kill exhuming a mass of energy from me. If it's this hard for the specially trained, civilians don't stand a chance.
I dig my blade into the thick bone of a skull, trying not to gag as it opens it's mouth and screams straight into my face; assaulting me with it's putrid breath and toxic spit. It's hard to think they were like us once. Especially when it's a face you don't recognise. There's a sad irony to that. They don't recognise us either. So we seek to kill each other.
I lift my right leg, ramming my heel into it's chest and kicking outwards. The thing falls to the floor, still as branches of a tree without leaves. That's what they are. Bare vessels without the colour of a soul. Three others take it's place and I resume my rhythm. Stab and punch one, stab another while the first loses its footing and using the tip of my heel to forcefully kick at the third in an attempt to keep it at bay for a few seconds.
I had an idea a while ago for both of us to fight back to back and work our way in a line to the exit. If everything had gone to plan, we wouldn't have had to resort to taking on every critter in here. Unfortunately, plans are generated in a theoretical format for a reason, and we were separated minutes after we began our attack.
"ENZO!"
"ALIVE!"
I've been checking on him periodically; after each time I slay three. As I begin striking my first of a new set, I hear his pistol go off. My pistol.
"No..." My heart plummets to my feet and I begin mindlessly tearing through anything within proximity. I barely register the pain in my body. Don't be dead, please, don't be dead. My ears are ringing, leaving me deaf to my surroundings; and as I furiously stomp the last of the vile creatures' head to a pulp. I then realise my ears weren't ringing at all. It was me. I'd been screaming.
I wipe the back of my hand over my ruined dress and rub away the sticky liquid coating my face. Disgusting. I spit at one of the corpses in malice before making a beeline for where I saw Enzo last. His gun is laying in a pile of mush on the ground and I scour every inch of it with my eyes trying to find him.
A faint groan has me whipping in an eastward direction and I briskly walk towards it; knife at the ready for one last victim. To my utter disbelief, and earth shattering relief, I find a very alive Enzo slumped over with his arm against the wall steadying him.
"What the fuck E-" I stammer "I heard the gun, I thought you were dead."
The bastard offers me a half-hearted thumbs up before choking out "you told me to save the bullet for the last one;" he gestures to a body barely two feet from him with a considerable hole in it's head. I can't help the giggle that erupts from me; though in reality it sounds like wheeze. "You're an idiot." There's a note of softness in my tone and I reach to wrap his arm around my shoulders. He grunts in pain but lets me hold him upright as we walk towards the doors at the far end of the corridor.
A momentary glance at the utter turmoil raging outside has me backing us up immediately. "Nope. Not happening." He wouldn't survive another encounter in this state. It was taking everything in his power just to stay conscious. "There's a tunnel below ground that leads out half a click from the bunker. I can't guarantee it's safe but I'll be able to set you down and take anything in our way down a lot easier in a narrower space."
"Yeah, sounds cool." If he wasn't close to a week long coma, I'd kick him for the utter unappreciativeness to my genius. I have no idea how he's going to get down that ladder but that's a future me problem.
Shuffling forward with the brunt of his weight is no easy feat and I internally berate myself for not thinking of changing out of my heels the one time I actually could. Genius my ass. It takes close to ten full minutes to reach the hatch for the sub ground tunnels and a further five to work through my mental list of lock combinations before I punch in the right one. The door clicks open and the mechanics hiss as I push it open. It's stupidly heavy and so not practical. I'll have to talk to someone about that if there's ever a world where we come back here. Doubtful.
I enter first, stepping down enough to fit Enzo just above me and we begin our descent with one of my hands firmly on his... for lack of a better word... butt. It's the largest core area I can reach so, while not ideal, it'll have to do. And it's a good job I did since he's almost slipped a total of 17 times. (I'm counting to entertain myself at this very slow game of Jacobs' ladder). Enzo mutters to himself incoherently and I'm worrying more and more by the second. I'm not sure how this affliction causes rapid changes to a human, but I'm willing to bet getting bit is one way it spreads.
"Enzo?"
"Hmm?"
"Were you, uh, bitten by one of them?"
"No, I don't think so. I landed on the end of a pole pretty hard though." He coughs once, then twice before erupting in a fit of them. We pause climbing down and wait for him to get through the brunt of it before continuing.
"You need water. Extreme exertion and the change in air pressure and composition as we get lower is going to take toll on your body... plus your injury doesn't help. I think I have some in my bag."
"Nerd." I'm going to kill him.
In anything but good time, we reach the rocky surface below. Setting my potato sack of a team mate down, I unbuckle by heels and kick them off as though they've personally offended me. I moan in ecstasy at the relief of fashion's greatest burden and take my time rolling each ankle and massaging the balls of my blistered feet. I've never been so happy to put on my combat boots, and I'd skip in sheer joy like a kid in their favourite welly boots, if it weren't for the grown man I'm basically half carrying, half dragging.
"You awake?"
"I swear to God kitty cat if you ask me that one more time I'm going to punch you; woman or otherwise."
"Rude. You know what, if you bundle up all that testosterone borne aggression and sprinkle a little balding into the equation, I bet you'd be up to walking in no time. What with the offence of a woman holstering you about like a princess and all."
"Shut up."
"No."
A treacherous forty minutes for him, and the best forty minutes I've had almost all night, we make it to the rear end. Pressing my lips in a thin line, I side-eye Enzo. He's going to have to climb all the way back up. And the worst part? I can't spot him from the bottom because I need to open the hatch while we're both at the top to prevent any critters from flooding in.
"How are you feeling?"
"You're going to have to leave me here and get help." His voice is faint, too faint.
"Not an option."
"Kit-"
"No. I'm going to take off your shirt."
"Uh, take me out to dinner first?"
"No, you idiot, not like that." I roll my eyes dramatically. " I'm going to rip it up..." Okay that didn't sound great either. Sighing to myself, "I need to rip it up so I can create some sort of harness. One where I can carry you safely incase you fall or pass out."
"Huh. Smart." He smirks at me in mock suggestiveness and actually manspreads. "Have at it then."
I unbutton his shirt, while he tries not to laugh and carefully peel it off him. Using my knife, I rip into the material at every which angle till I've formed a straight line as long as I can manage. Helping him up, I tie one end to almost the middle of my makeshift rope around his waist.
"When we get up there, I'm going to throw you at a critter granny and let her have her way with you."
"Kiiiinky." The nerve to wink at me. Asshole. I knot it too tight on purpose and he yelps in protest. "Ouch."
"What? There's a kink for that somewhere."
"It's called masochism."
"See, you've heard of it. Freak." I smile brightly at him before securing the other end of the rope around my own waist. "Do your best to climb up till you physically can't anymore. And I don't mean till you're exhausted, I mean till you're on the verge of death. I'll get you up the rest of the way." He nods and I say a small prayer in a Godless world as I grip the first bar. "Here goes nothing."
I collapse onto the cold, wet pavement, heaving. The fucker tapped out half way up and almost had us both plummeting a good 15 feet. Once my lungs are saturated with as fresh of air as Raccoon City gets, I grip Enzo's shirt with both hands and haul his limp body to the surface before laying him flat on his back. Gripping both of his shoulders, I shake him slightly. Nothing. I place two fingers on his neck, feeling for a pulse; it's there. Barely. But he's alive.
Looking around, I find my visibility limited with the onslaught of rain. There's not a critter in sight as far as I can tell. I can't hear their incessant chittering either. I take a moment to gather my bearings and tilt my head up to the sky, relishing in the cold downpour washing away most of the thickened film of gore covering my bare flesh.
As if a miracle itself bore fruit in the wake of my suffering, I hear the tell tale sounds of a vehicles engine approaching. I'm on my feet in a second, my arm resting across my brows to shield my eyes from the rain as I inspect what looks like a jeep heading in our direction. I can't discern much but when it stops and I spy a S.T.A.R.S uniform on the driver currently rolling down his window. I almost cry in gratitude.
"Bravo, Captain." I shout hastily.
"Yeah, I know you! Need a ride? We're getting out of here, it's a shit show back there."
I furrow my brows. Why are they leaving? In a crisis, no matter what the context, we're supposed to help. Not run and leave the current survivors to fend for themselves. "Where are you headed?"
"Tops' made a base five clicks out of the city. We're heading there till further orders."
Hm. I guess re-cooperating and forming a plan is better than jumping in blindly.
"I need you to take him." I point at Enzo, still unconscious. "He's injured but alive. Get him to a medic, keep him alive and tell him I'll call."
"Wait, you're not comin'?" He looks at me like I'm crazy. Damn lackey's.
"I have something I need to take care of. I'll meet you at base when I can. Get Enzo to send me coordinates when he's up."
He nods firmly and steps out of the car along with two other soldiers. They work in tandem to lift him, evening the distribution of his body weight to not injure him further. They lay him in the back with one of them to monitor his condition. My face falls when I take in his battered appearance. I probably don't look too good myself but... God, he's so dead looking it hurts. I place a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You'll pull through Enzo, I know you will; and I'll see you soon." Closing the door, I tap on the rear end of the jeep and they take off.
Letting out an exasperated breath, I stand in the middle of the road. The weight of the past few hours hits me all at once. I'm in agony, head to toe. My middle is probably bruised from taking Enzo's weight and I'm cold. So cold. Rubbing my arms is pointless. I have no warmth to give myself. My only option is forward.
The streets are silent. Lamps above are flickering in and out. With any indication, we'll be out of power in a week, if that. My boots stomp in murky puddles as I navigate my way through the outer suburbs of the city. Judging from the short glimpse of havoc earlier, it wouldn't take long for whatever this is to branch out of the city. What I want to know is how this even started. I'm willing to bet the answers are all here, amidst some sort of deceptive scheme. I have my theories, but I won't be any use at all if I don't get some rest.
Slipping into an old, worn down warehouse in an area long since abandoned, I take careful steps down and down and down and down. A maze of corridors I memorised long ago leads me to a hatch not unlike the one I opened a mere hour ago. Pinching in the code '1173', I push the hatch with all my might. The ladder is shorter than the one in the tunnels and it stops before a concrete set of stairs. I make my way with the aid of a singular light hanging from the ceiling at the bottom and walk through another dim hallway to the first door.
Closing it behind me, I lean my forehead against unforgiving steel and exhale till there's no air left in my lungs. Of over a thousand people in peril tonight, I managed to save but one. That's if he survives his injuries. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to curl up in a ball in bed and sleep myself to death. But I can't.
Brushing aside my depressive spiral, I spin and face the promise of temporary warmth and safety. I take one step before I halt. The sheets are rumpled, light pours from the screen of a laptop sitting on a desk to the far right corner and next to it... is a mug of what smells like coffee. And it's steaming hot.
A gun clicks in the passageway to my immediate right. I instinctively reach for my own and ball my hands into a fist when I feel nothing. I turn and face the wrath of my reaper, eyes adjusting to the darkness and trailing up to meet...
Crystals of ice.
"Aurelia." He states, voice deep, velvety and smooth. Like whiskey. His shoulder span consumes the entire width of the passage. I should reach for the door. I should run. But I don't. Taking a deep breath, I utter the name of my own undoing.
"Christopher."