Using Silence Like A Threat. @codename-kennedy - Tumblr Blog

don't panic: chapter 1

“Are you scared?” “Terrified.” He says it without hesitation, no embarrassment or need to embellish some masculine condition. You’re a little jealous of that, the way he’s cemented in his sense of self. His softness is not an obstacle, but a compliment to his character. “But you didn’t hesitate.” “I’m a cop, it’s kind of my job.” “Rookie cop.” You mutter, already sobering from your momentary panic. “But I didn’t hesitate.”

Summary: you've made it to the station, but in your journey to find one redfield you've lost the other. the raccoon city police department is one big escape room, everything is trying to eat you, leon thinks you're insane, and you almost get hit by a helicopter. the good news is, the undead throw you and leon a going away party and it's a blast!

Warnings: canon typical violence, language, angst?, fear, anxiety, re2 spoilers (if that's a thing atp), some jumping around the gameplay for the sake of moving the story along

a/n: welcome to chapter 1! it's a super fun challenge to write a fic where there are only 2 people most of the time, they're in one location, and you're working from a video game and a bunch of little puzzles. it's also interesting because i'm trying to get back into the groove of this kind of writing.

THAT BEING SAID i just want to disclaim that i removed a lot of the random puzzles and condensed this first chapter down since all if not most of you have played/watched playthroughs of the game. i've also altered some things just slightly to fit the story more (by things i mean how certain goals are met, etc...). As always, comments and feedback are appreciated, but i hope you guys enjoy!

Word Count: 10.3k

prologue ~ don't panic ~ confidential files ~

Your terror finds you without restraint striding warily toward the Raccoon City Police Department.

The silence once you breach the station doors is deafening. Likened to something hollow, yet unimaginably heavy. Not the chaos of a city. No panicked bodies thrashing amidst the mass hysteria of man versus something nestled horrifically between creature and human error. It manages to clear your head, but only marginally. Most of your being rests uncomfortably in the trenches of disquiet, fat globs of trepidation opposing your limbs and dampening your skin.

“Hello…? Is anybody here?” The room glows pale, the sudden brightness glares harsh against your retinas. The main hall is deserted, Leon’s voice bounces off the high ceilings, echoing back to make you flinch. You’re boxed in from either side, a pair of double stairs lead to a second floor, but you’re not sure it’s something you’re eager to explore just yet.

You wander further into the station while Leon scans feather light and focused.

There’s a computer situated behind the front desk, the station’s cameras still in working condition. You flip through, the slight tremor in your hand demanding more concentration than usual. Most of the footage is dusk, bodies scattered throughout, some moving in that freshly familiar way composed of jerky and disjointed limbs.

Leon approaches, gun lowered, safe for now. His hand catches at the nape of his neck, looking at the balconies cresting above you. “There has to be someone here…”

You flip to the next camera, your finger poised to bypass redundancy. Except it’s not. You freeze. A cop, living, breathing, human, is shooting at an infected. “Here!”

Leon rounds the counter, eyes locked on the screen. “Not good.”

“David! Marvin! You there!? I found a way out! It’s in here! Send reinforcements! East Hallway!” The officer cries, his speech is muffled and breathless, indicative of his struggle, words half masked by the shots he fires off every few steps.

Moving away from the screen you scan the walls, covered in plaques and cracked frames. You spot it on the far end, in near perfect condition. A map of the station’s first floor.

“Ok…I gotta find that guy. Jesus…” You’re staggered a moment, in awe of the certainty in his tone. After everything you’ve been through the past hour Leon is unwavering in his purpose. It strengthens something in your own chest, unwilling to let him bear the burden alone. There's a paperweight unmoved on the corner of the desk, it’s heavy in your hands when you pick it up and scale the length of the room. “What are you—?”

“The room is clear?”

“Yeah…I mean I think so. I didn’t see anyone or…thing.” It’s confirmation enough, both hands making an effort to swing the weight over your head with enough force to stick the landing when you hurl it toward the framed map. The sound of shattering glass echoes in the large hall. Your eyes shutter, stomach hitching despite Leon’s all-clear. Careful of the shards littering the ground, you snatch the floorplans up and spread them atop the desk, fingers skimming to the East Hallway.

“If we can make it here we can save him, find Claire, and get the hell out of here.”

“Right. But you should stay here.” Leon’s posture straightens, shoulders fully broadened like there’s something to prove. Somehow you know he doesn’t mean it that way, even as he leaves you trailing after him dumbfounded. He strolls his way to the steel door, kneeling with his flashlight tucked in his palm, scanning back and forth between the open sliver at the bottom. You hear something wet, and the only light filtering through is an emergency red.

“Tight squeeze?” You scoff, arms crossing at your chest. If he catches the bite in your tone Leon doesn’t let on when he sits up, tugging lightly on the door to see if it might budge.

“I can manage.”

“Leon, I know you’re trying to be all friendly neighborhood rookie right now, but going in there alone is stupid. We don’t know how many of those things are here.”

“Someone has to and I’m not putting you in danger again. It's my job to keep you safe.” He stands, making sure his weapon is secure, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt to minimize the amount of skin on display. “Besides, I’m the only one with a weapon and it'll be a lot harder protecting the both of us. You just stay here and look out for any more survivors. I’ll be back soon.”

He’s right, but some phantom attachment is gnawing at the tissue pushing against your teeth. You don’t want him to leave you alone and you don’t want to sit here wondering if he’ll make it back alive. It feels helpless and pitiful.

You promised to keep him safe too.

“Fine. But I’m gonna look around more, see if there’s anything to help us out.” You compromise, motioning toward the mess of the large hall.

“Okay…just stay out of trouble.” You smile just a little at that, head tilting, nose scrunching amidst the irony of it. That fate had twisted like a knife and left you both gushing and grasping hopelessly at the gaping wound of Raccoon City, its creation a metamorphose of its own unique gore.

“A little late for that, Officer Kennedy, don’t you think?” His cheeks tinge at the honorific and you realize he’s probably never been called that. Not by anyone other than sergeants and lieutenants, and even then it's more likely that it was scraped from the back of their throats and spit at him, unsavory and built to intimidate.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Be safe, Leon. And good luck.” Momentarily he shoves the flashlight between his teeth and tightens his hold on his handgun. He maneuvers himself beneath the door, a tight fit indeed, but he’s able to slip through with minimal effort.

“I’ll be back soon.” Are his last words. You crouch near the door, close enough that you can hear his wet footsteps slowly sloshing toward the East Hallway. You strain to hear, only falling away when fear licks at you like a sharp wind in the shift to silence.

~*~

For an alleged safe-zone, you don’t find much in the wreckage of the main hall.

There’s a makeshift first aid station behind the front desk, two or three beds and a sitting area. You scrape together bandages and some antiseptic, but it’s otherwise pilfered through. There’s a crate nestled against the sofa cushions, you make a note to check in a moment, your eyes suddenly drawn to the large statue in the center of the hall.

It doesn’t fit, not anymore. Its nature is grandiose, the woman depicted something of a goddess. You imagine it was a beacon of hope before there was none left, the white stone feeling rough where you drag your palm near the base. You follow her stature toward the upper level, though you remain faithful to the center of the hall. There’s another statue, this one a lion, a strange configuration of symbols arranged in three slots at the helm, like some sort of message or puzzle.

Your fingers push at them halfheartedly, glancing childlike when you hear an ancient shift, something like the scraping of old cogs. You’re convinced it means something, a hopeful start sitting crestfallen in your chest when it reveals nothing further.

Your hands fall from the mammalian bust, startled by a door creaking open down the hall of the second floor. You stumble back, looking around for something to defend yourself, your mind failing to register the cohesion of the movements, still stumbling but not nearly as clumsily as someone who wants to sink their teeth into you.

“Relax, I’m not one of them. Not yet anyway.” The man grunts, one of his hands clutched to his side, blood fresh and sticky coating his skin. Still you move back half a step, unsure of his sudden appearance. “Lieutenant Branagh, RPD.”

“Where is everyone else?” The question is stupid, you know it when it coats your tongue, but you hope he’ll craft something like hope, tell you there’s safety and he can guide you to it. He must see it too, his eyes softening even in the midst of his own discomfort.

“I imagine you met them on your way in. Some version of them at least.” He shuffles down the rest of the stairs, glancing toward the front of the station. “You make it here on your own?”

“No, I came into town with my friend, but we got separated. I’m actually with another cop.” He takes another look around the hall, likely surveying whether he’s found you of sound mind. “Oh! He’s heading toward the East Hallway, we saw an officer on the cameras there who needed help. Said he had a way out.”

“That’ll be Elliot.” He sighs, limping toward the front desk. “Well…?” He looks at you, imploring some form of identification.

“Y/n.”

“Well, Y/n, I reckon we better board up this door. Stop any more of those things from getting inside.” You think of Claire, your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

“Lieutenant, isn’t the gate out front enough? My friend is supposed to be meeting us here, I don’t want to lock her out.”

“I’d rather have as much distance between us and them as possible. If…–when your friend makes it here we’ll cross that bridge. But for now, I need you to help me fortify that door.” You nod, still unsure but unwilling to make enemies before you know what you’re up against. “And, kid? Call me Marvin. I’d say until we get this shit figured out we’re all on equal footing.”

Marvin helps you as much as he can, which isn’t a lot with the wound in his side. You feel rude to ask, but you can surmise the sickly pallor to his skin is indication enough of what occurred and what’s to come. You stack chairs and crates, placing them with strategy, ensuring your geometry won’t crumble from the faintest of blows to the station doors. You’re just finishing up when you hear Leon, his body resurfacing through the bottom of the door.

“Jesus! They’re everywhere! Come on! Goddammit! Watch out!” You run over to help him, Marvin gets there just a beat before you, using what little strength he has left to pull Leon through the door.

“Got it! You’re safe…for now.”

“Thanks…” Leon trails off, his eyes immediately accounting for you before they land back on Lieutenant Branagh.

“Marvin Branagh.”

“Leon Kennedy…” He speaks between pants. It’s instinct that you step into his personal, looking him over for any scratches or bites. There are splotches of blood patterned against his jeans and the soiled prints of hands catching the sleeves of his shirt, but he’s physically unscathed. “There was another officer…I-I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure you did what you could, Leon.” You nod, Marvin leading the two of you to the sitting area where he collapses on the sofa, taking a few moments to catch his breath.

“Are you alright sir?”

“I’ll manage” Marvin huffs, hand still clutching his side.

“Must be a cop thing.” Leon catches your eye, a brief amusement painting his lips despite the situation. It’s easy to decide you like when he smiles, you like when it’s because of you. It’s a silly thought, but you imagine most of them are when you aren’t sure if you’ll be alive in a few hours. “What’s that?”

There’s a small notebook clutched in Leon’s free hand, he lifts it like he’s just remembered something important. He passes it to Marvin, frowning at the implication. “The officer, he had it on him.”

Marvin glances down at it, thumbing the bound leather, its cover speckled in scarlet and tattered with age.

“Suit up, kid.” He nods toward the crate you meant to check earlier. Leon steps over and unjams the lid. Inside is an RPD uniform, some weapons and ammo. Marvin simpers, brow half raised in your direction. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the wedding because of these damn things.”

“Huh?” Leon is startled, your face heats, looking anywhere but the rookie cop. He flusters, dropping the lid in his hand, but recovers quickly. “Oh, we’re not…we just met sir.”

“Right on time.” Marvin jests through a wince, flipping through the pages of the notebook. You can tell he’s enjoying this and you don’t have the heart to stop him, knowing it’s probably one of the last times he’ll be able to enjoy anything.

You provide Leon space to change, tucking himself behind a privacy screen near the sick beds. Pacing back to the lieutenant, you occupy yourself with a knife tucked atop the crate of supplies. It’s heavy in your hand, but it feels nice when you balance it just right, like it could slice through flesh and tendon seamlessly. You tremor at the thought. That gruesome had become reality, forcing you to consider the efficiency of shredding human meat with the teeth of a blade. A sickening simulation of survival.

“Have you ever handled a gun?” Marvin points to one tucked into the crate. You nod slowly, pulling it free to test its skin, cold and metallic, against your own.

“Yeah, my friend's brother taught me. Said he hoped I’d never need one.” Your eyes clench, tracing the memory against that back of your lids.

It was stupid, Chris’s attempt at cheering you up after you’d spent the night crying on the floor of your apartment. You’d asked him how he even got in, Chris had chuckled, like he was offended you needed to ask. “Best way to hide something is in plain sight. It’s what I taught Claire, now I’m teaching you.” He’d said it seriously, dangling your spare key in front of you. He’d spent the rest of the night watching over you, little to say in the way of comfort, but it wasn’t something you expected from him. Strictly a man of action if you’d ever seen one. You’re sure you were still covered in snot the next morning when he announced he was taking you shooting.

Claire would never have allowed it. You were always the softer of the two of you, your weapon sheathed in the strength of your mentality, emotional and intellectual intuition. Your ability to dress a situation down from observation alone.

The siblings always joked you must be some sort of spy with the way you’ve woven yourself so completely between them, learned all their secrets without trying. But they’d never know for sure because you’re a natural at hiding it.

But Claire wasn’t around and Chris chose that day to use it to his advantage.

You’ve kept it a secret between you all these months. Not because Chris let you shoot a gun, but because of the way he almost kissed you after. He leaned in slow, the space between you filled with something revelatory for the both of you. It was a startling little affair. It was also the last time you saw him alone before Claire lost track of him completely.

“You any good?” You blink, the gun and your body settled into the practiced stance you learned almost a year from where you stand. Breath steady, hands firm, lock on. There’s a monotonous whir in your ear from what remains of the station’s ventilation system, your pulse syncs against the sound. You think you even begin to feel the phantom throbbing that irked you for a week after from the electrifying jolt of your first shot. Chris hadn’t laughed outright, but when you’d turned to him, startled from the kickback, you could see a softness in his eyes and a tension in his jaw like he was trying to hold it in.

“I’m almost positive I wouldn’t accidentally shoot you.”

“Hell, with the state I’m in you might just be doing me a favor.” You sigh, moving to slip the gun back into the crate. Marvin shakes his head, passing you some ammo. You wonder how much of it is left. “You hold onto it,” he eyes the knife. “Both of em’. Rookie, needs you to watch his back.”

“Rookie? I thought you said we were on equal footing?”

“Yeah, but I can’t leave the kid without giving him as much of a welcome as I can. Especially after he came all this way when he would've been better off.”

You nod, grabbing one of the spare holsters to fasten at your waist. It's a simple, but adequate distraction busying yourself with securing some of the supplies you found in the hip pouch, leaving some for Leon as well. All the while twirling circles in your brain, attempting to configure yourself into an advantage rather than a liability. The protective stance Leon had taken against you earlier is still fresh on your mind. He couldn’t do this alone and you wouldn’t let him.

“Do you know Chris Redfield?” The air is beginning to grow stiff and unsure again, you find yourself dulled at your own negligent affiliation. If anyone could possibly know where Chris is this would be the place to find out. “He’s why I’m here, actually. My friend, he’s her older brother and she hasn’t been able to reach him.”

“Redfield? I haven’t seen him around since…well let’s just say he’s got bigger fish to fry than me, they all do. I wouldn’t worry about him too much, seems like he can handle himself.”

You’re about to ask what he means, but you’re sluggish to notice Leon’s resurgence until he stops between you and the Lieutenant. He’s tugging at the uniform, adjusting it like he’s not sure it quite suits him. It does. His arms are heavily padded with extra cloth, pads on his elbows and knees. Fitted for battle.

“Does anyone know what started this?” Leon slides his gun into its holster, you pass him some bandages and extra ammo.

“Not a clue. But honestly, all you need to know is that this place will eat you alive if you aren’t careful.”

“Yeah…well, I was supposed to start last week and I got a call to stay away. I wish I’d come here sooner.”

“You’re here now, Leon. That’s all that matters.”

“Ok, Lieutenant, I’m ready.”

“Hopefully, you’ll be able to find a way out of this station.” Marvin passes you the notebook, you flip through the pages, recognizing some of the drawings as the statues just a few feet away. “That officer you met earlier – Elliot. He thought this secret passageway might do the trick.”

The drawing depicts a tunnel, likely the sewer system below the station, and medallions that are meant to fit into the statue of the woman in the center of the hall.

“Well, I guess it makes sense that the only way out is through.” You find your way back to the lion statue from earlier, repeating the motions, this time with the symbols in Elliot’s notebook: lion, branch, bird.

It makes the same sound as before, something deep and ancient, though this time you feel it in your feet as the statue momentarily animates to reveal one of the medallions. It’s chilled in your palm, cold stone that’s been too long hidden from the light. You fit it into the main statue, glancing at Leon and Marvin when nothing, not even a shutter, responds.

“So Elliot was right…” Marvin observes, a deep melancholy coating the words.

“Yeah, but the passage isn’t open yet.”

“One down, two to go.” You shrug, passing the notebook back to Leon, determination settling into the lines of his face at the newly framed task.

“This is good news. We can get you to a hospital.”

“No, no, I am not the priority here.”

“Lieutenant, I’m not just gonna leave you here—”

“If we hurry maybe we can save you–” You and Leon trip over each other’s words.

“I’m giving you an order, rookie. You two save yourselves first. I’d come with you, but I’d just slow you down.” He pulls a knife from his person, it looks used, loved. He turns it over in his hand and passes it to Leon, “Now…you’ll need this.”

“I can’t take–”

“Stop. And don’t make my mistake. If you see one of those things–uniform or not–you do not hesitate. You take it out…or you run. That goes for both of you. Got it!?”

“Yes, sir.” You chorus.

“Wait…” Leon looks worrisome, an addled crease in the center of his forehead. “Y/n, you should stay with Lieutenant Branagh. You didn’t see what I did, it’s too dangerous.”

“Which is exactly why I’m not letting you go this alone, we’re a team.” You argue, gesturing to your own gear as if to prove you mean nothing short of business.

Leon looks to Branagh, who shrugs. “She’s right, safety in numbers. Plus, I hear she’s not a bad shot.”

“She needs extra protection, don’t you have another uniform or a bulletproof vest at least?”

“Leather jacket. Nice too.” Marvin compliments to which you smile, satisfied he’s taking your side in the matter. “It’s protection enough. If you’re so worried, rookie, try not to let her get bit, yeah?”

“Yeah, Officer Kennedy. Besides, I’ve got your six.”

~*~

You’re almost regretting your decision not to stay behind with Lieutenant Branagh, your unease keeping you pushed against Leon’s back, peaking around his shoulder and over yours every so often. There were more infected than you were anticipating and the station’s covered in crumpled correspondence, clues leading to the city’s lockdown. You get the impression that this entire city runs on the Umbrella Corporation. Some pharmaceutical company apparently.

You recall the sign on your drive in and the billboards peering down at you every few feet. You find it a little odd that you’ve never heard the name before.

To Leon’s credit, he’s remained unwavering in his fortitude. He’ll glance back frequently to make sure you’re still there and he doesn’t question your own resolve when you push against him like a scared child. Though he insisted you start your search in the west wing of the station, clearly not quite as settled after his run in with Lieutenant Elliot as he’d have you believe.

You’d lucked out when you came across a supply room, a scant array of extra ammo and a shotgun, suspiciously untouched in the far cabinet. Leon had offered you the weapon, still cautious of your casual dress in comparison to his own, but you’d assured him he’d make much better use of the weapon. Not to mention the weight of it alone would be less help than hindrance.

Eventually you find yourselves in a larger room seemingly a hub for the officers, their desks settled in the center.

“Oh.” You say, flashlight filtering around, settling on a banner strung across the ceiling spelling out Welcome Leon in blue and gold. You wait for him to react, say anything, but he sets to rifling through the contents of the desks, searching for clues or extra supplies. “Leon, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He’s not, there’s a rigidity in his movements and you can hear his staggered breathing. You’ve only known him a few hours, but you can see that this is eating him alive. Some belief that if he’d just come earlier none of this would be happening. It’s not true, but his passion pulls at the strings of your own heart.

“Leon, it’s okay if you’re not. This is hard.”

“I’ll be okay. Let’s just look around.” He slips into the superior office nestled in the back corner, you continue poking around near the cluster of desks. Leon’s is stationed at the head of them, a welcoming note with a puzzle to open the combination locks fastened at each corner. You recognize Marvin’s name in the signature line. Seven desks and only two officers left to claim them, one a bloody and temporary fixture of the sofa in the main hall. It’s unsettling to be standing amidst the scene of what could have been.

The tip of your boot clashes lightly with something on the ground near the door you entered through. A golden nameplate that must’ve been strewn from the desk in whatever happened before the room grew so still. You lean over enough to shine a light over the name.

“George Scott, I’m sorry…–shit!” It’s a little louder than you mean it to be when an infected officer leaps at you from the desk. He catches you just off guard enough that you trip over your own feet, flashlight rolling, its hands grabbing at your ankle while you fumble for your gun. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Y/n?”

You barely register Leon’s voice, your body moves in full panic, struggling to disengage the safety. Your free leg is kicking at whatever it can reach, the sickening thwack of bone harsh beneath your boot. You finally manage a shot, horribly aimed. It deflects against the creature’s jaw, but doesn’t seem to deter its movements enough to free you.

You raise your gun again, but something in you snaps when you look at the thing. Something raw, unfiltered, condoling. Morality’s beating appendage.

Your finger slips off the trigger, you don’t realize until the undead officer is spitting at you. An amalgamation of fleshy leftovers drooled in pools of saliva on your boots. You move to raise your gun again, but a shot sounds ahead of you.

“Shit, are you okay?” Leon helps you to your feet, his hands a steady pressure on your shoulders. You holster your gun, the heat of the weapon suddenly sweltering in your palm. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m here, you’re alright.”

You hadn’t realized the wetness coating your cheeks, embarrassed that he saw it first. You’ve always wished your skin was a little thicker. It’s why you were glad to learn the control of a pistol, power sheathed in physicality. But despite everything, you’ve never been able to completely escape the grasp of your emotions, reduced to tears with even the most scorching of anger simmering beneath the surface.

Claire said it was why people liked you, that your softness just made you more human. Easy to love.

Chris said he found it adorable. Not in the way of someone who could find any sort of attraction in such a flaw of character, but as someone who regarded you as next to petulant. Like a damsel who needs to be coddled and reassured.

Leon doesn’t look at you any differently. His head is tipped just slightly, like he’s wondering how you ended up on the ground in the first place. Not life threatening, but rather something just a little silly. Not like he’s judging you for humanizing the very thing that would’ve eaten you whole without pause.

“I hesitated.” You whisper, choking against your own breath. You can’t look Leon in the eyes any longer, focussed instead on the RPD lettering emblazoned across his chest. “I promised I wouldn’t hesitate and the moment it mattered that’s exactly what I did.”

“You were scared, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter!” He lifts your chin, locking it in place so your eyes meet his wide, unwavering ones. “I won’t make it out of this.”

“You will.” The words are anchored, rooted in the belief that it’s the only possible outcome. You’re not sure how or where his faith in you lies. But you believe him. “Y/n, it’s okay to be scared. This is hard.”

“Are you scared?”

“Terrified.” He says it without hesitation, no embarrassment or need to embellish some masculine condition. You’re a little jealous of that, the way he’s cemented in his sense of self. His softness is not an obstacle, but a compliment to his character.

“But you didn’t hesitate.”

“I’m a cop, it’s kind of my job.”

“Rookie cop.” You mutter, already sobering from your momentary panic. He makes it easy, you realize, to recover from something that moments ago felt nothing short of a detriment. You try not to think about it too much, eyes held hostage by his own where he still holds you in place. Checking. Reassuring.

“But I didn’t hesitate.” He counters, your hand batting his wrist from your chin to hide the smile he’d inevitably eased from you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay if you’re okay.” He offers you his hand, a welcoming force in the presence of uncertainty. You take it.

“We’re okay.” You look down at the mutilated corpse lying pliant near your feet. Its grip was surprisingly strong around your ankle, but you recall how easily you’d snapped bone and tendon with your free leg. “We should shoot at their knees.”

“Huh?”

“I think a zombie crawling on the ground is a lot less terrifying than one lunging at you. Besides, their limbs are pretty brittle and we need to save as much ammunition as possible. Who knows what else is lurking around here.”

“Cut their legs right out from under them. Good call.” Leon agrees, passing you your flashlight. “One step closer to six feet under.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

~*~

The station's third floor feels miniscule, more a storage unit than a place of any particular purpose.

Your steps have molded into something rehearsed in the way you and Leon move around each other amidst the pressure of fatality should a floorboard creek or groan too hastily beneath your feet. Silence invites a deterrence, one welcome even if only in spurts. It gives you a head start, scoping each room just enough to assess the level of threat.

“Ok, I’m getting creeped out again.” You shutter, the hallways filled with dust and wooden crates, the only lighting besides your own filtering from the irregular windows tracing the wall. You think you hear Leon laugh, nearly running into him when he stops just outside of the only door at the end of the hall.

“That would mean that at some point you weren’t creeped out?”

“This is different. We’re basically in the spooky attic of a haunted police station.” As if some clairvoyant, macabre humor, something slams against a nearby window pane. Its body scurries across the side of the station, shadowing something akin to an ant or giant spider, less legs, but just as disturbing. “What the hell was that?”

“No idea, but I don’t think it’s here to help.”

“And it certainly isn’t a zombie.” You inch further down the hall, body pressing to the wall opposite the offending glass panes presenting you to whatever creature is prowling the exterior foundation of the police department.

The hall is a dead end, just more crates and empty shells. Crumpled amongst the rubbish is a letter curling at the edges and smudged in a suspicious liquid. You avoid the stain, pinching the page between the fingers of your free hand.

[To any survivors]

Consider this a gift for anyone still unfortunate enough to be alive.

Keep your eyes peeled for those creepy fucks that look like they were skinned alive- "lickers," we call ’em. They’re blind as bats, but their hearing more than makes up for that.

So long as you don’t run around like a total idiot, guns a-blazing, you should be able to slip right by them… probably.

Either way, make like my grandma and creep around as slow as possible around ’em, yeah?

Anyway, not that I wanna go, but duty calls. That, and I’ve got a friend to avenge.

David

“You think he’s talking about that thing outside?” You pass the note to Leon, trying to glean any recollection of what it actually looked like rather than the preternatural image you’ve already conjured in your head.

“Let’s just keep going. It won’t bother us if we don’t bother it.” You have a feeling Leon believes his words about as much as you do, but you press on, edging into the only door in the dense stretch of hallway. It’s a stockpile of everything you don’t need, boxes and bins of dusty storage piled in paths, the unmistakable moaning of infected muffled, giving the impression there are foes in all corners. On the far wall there’s a cell, the bars caging in a whole host of the undead. “Guess we’re late to the party.”

“At least they have good party favors.” You point toward one end, a statue of a maiden poised and waiting to be unveiled. “The real question is, how do we get in?”

“I have a feeling this guy just did us a big favor.” Leon passes you another letter, this one scribbled and angry. The writing borders manic, a vendetta that must have been fueled by a hatred boiled over into madness. The gist is C4 and a detonator to blow the wall of the cell out. “But, given how our night is going, we’re gonna have to work for it.”

“Maybe this’ll help.” You hold up a key, its dusted imprint resting where the letter had been thrown over top of it. Its handle glimmers a saturation of emerald, presenting the shape of a spade.

“We should head back to Lieutenant Branagh, see if he remembers where this fits.”

You’re startled by the sound of static at Leon’s hip. “Leon, it’s Marvin. I need you back here ASAP.”

“Are you okay, Marvin?” Leon responds immediately, the two of you easing back into the hall to avoid the stirring of the infected that were likely trying to navigate the heaps of junk to get to you. You slide the key into your hip pouch and glance cautiously toward the previously occupied window. If that letter about the “lickers” was any indication about that thing, you’re positive a whirring radio is the perfect way to draw it toward you.

“I’ve got something to show you. It’s important.” Marvin pants. The two of you exchange a look, situated somewhere between curiosity and exhaustion at the prospect of something more than what you’ve already faced.

“Copy that, we’ll be right there.”

~*~

Unfortunately, the trek back to the main hall is uneventful. You know you should be grateful, but the realization is a bleak one. You’re already growing accustomed to looking over your shoulder, not immediately spooked by every ache and groan of the buckled floorboards beneath your feet. You’re still on edge, but your movement is more rehearsed than gawky, as it had been just a few hours ago.

When you make it back to Marvin he looks worse than when you left. His breathing has swallowed significantly and his skin borders on gray. “There you are…Come here, take a look.”

You and Leon approach the laptop sitting before him, the security footage displaying an image of Claire, standing outside of one of the station gates, trying to find a way in.

“Claire!”

“Yes! I knew she’d make it!” Leon’s hand rests affirmative against your shoulder.

“You know her?”

“That’s Claire, my best friend.” You study the screen, looking for any indication of where you need to go to reach her. There’s a sudden desperation like hope spreading through your chest. It was strange, not to claim you didn’t miss Claire or fear for her safety, but you felt an odd sense of well-being in the presence of Leon. One ordinarily reserved for your best friend, the other half of your whole. “How do I get to her?”

“You can get to that courtyard through the second floor…east side.”

“What about this?” You pass him the spade key, he flips it slowly in his palm like some old relic. You imagine for him it must feel like it’s from a different life. You can hardly grasp the concept that you were sitting in your apartment just last night with no idea what was happening in Raccoon City. You can’t imagine living through its collapse in real time.

“Library, second floor.” Marvin points to the balcony, west side. “If memory serves, it’s got one of those statues in the lounge. The first door to the left once you get in.”

“You should go, get the medallion and see if you can find anything to help with that C4.” You take the key back from the Lieutenant and enclose it in Leon’s fist. “I’m gonna go find Claire.”

“Are you crazy?” His eyes are moon-like, zeroed in on your sudden plan. He uses his free hand to trap yours between both his palms. “What happened to not going this alone?”

“The faster we get through this, the faster we can get out of here.” You’re covert in the way your neck cranes toward Marvin, who’s too focused on his current state to think much of your disagreement. You beg Leon to entertain a secret hope that you’ll make it out in time to save him. A necessary good for all he’s done to save you. “Just…meet us in the courtyard. Okay?”

“I don’t know…”

“Leon, I know you’re just trying to protect me, but let me do this. Please?” You don’t break eye contact, you can see the conflict jumping between his pupils. “Please.”

“Fine.” He relents, hesitation still bullseyed in the whites of his eyes. “No detours, no extra exploring. Get to Claire and stay safe until I can get to you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No detours–”

“–No extra exploring. I promise.” You ease your hand from his, backing leisurely toward the staircase closest to the east hall. “You be safe too. I need you to come back to me in one piece, Officer Kennedy.”

Leon mimics your movements up the west staircase, the two of you locked onto each other until you reach your respective doorways. Rather than alert the building's population of rabid lurkers, you salute him one last time and slip through the door to the waiting room.

There’s a moment to rest, commit to the practiced task of steeling yourself for whatever awaits on the other side. Your hand ghosts against the handle of the blade strapped to your side, gripping your flashlight with your other hand. You swallow hard.

“It’s just around the corner. You’ll be fine.” You push the doorway to the east hallway open, flashlight shifting in either direction to assess the level of threat. It’s quiet, so alarmingly mute that your fist tightens even further against the neck of your torch. It’s instinct that sends you to the right, the hall ending in a sharp left. Flashing urgently at the end of the corridor is an exit sign leading to the fire escape. “Bingo.”

It’s become second nature to keep caution, feet leading a steady rhythm toward the door, no intention of letting your guard down. About halfway to your destination, a blip shoots past the glass framed in the center of the door. You don’t have time to react before there’s a crash and you’re thrown into the adjacent wall.

“What the hell?” You wheeze as you regain your footing, surging toward the cause of the ground’s swift alteration. Your arms shove against the door to the fire escape, a helicopter smoking in the hole it cratered into the east hallway when it crashed through the station’s wall. In the wreckage there’s a body unmoving in the pilot’s seat.

“Hey!” You startle, glancing around for a voice. “Y/n!?”

“Claire! Oh my god! Hold on, I’ll be there in a sec!”

“Ok!” You rush down the stairs of the fire escape, the helicopter all but forgotten when you spot Claire standing on the other side of the fence, unscathed as far as you can tell. She’s already tugging at the door handle with no luck when you make it to her.

“Claire! I was so worried, are you alright?” You pull at the handle yourself, begging the door to loosen at its hinges.

“I’m good. How’re you doing? Where’s Leon?”

“He’s–”

“Y/n!” Like a figment, Leon is hurtling toward you from the fire escape. He scoops you up, bone crushing you momentarily before you’re on solid ground again. An affection that’s startling, but not unwelcome. “Are you alright!? I heard the crash from the library, I came as fast as I could.”

“A little rattled, but I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that helicopter came out of nowhere…” Claire inserts, the way she looks at you indicative of years of silent conversations. A call and response consisting of pursed lips and dilated pupils, clearly asking What do we have here? You choose to ignore it, something you’re sure she’ll make you pay for in due time.

“Claire… It is so nice to see you.” Leon braces against the fence, vigilant of the space outside of it and the infected lurking in the distance.

“How’re you doing? Keeping each other safe I see.”

“Yeah… I’m in one piece.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have a key in one of those fancy pockets?” She gestures toward his lack of civilian clothing and Leon’s shoulders drop a fraction.

“Unfortunately, no… But how are you doing?”

“You know, just surviving.”

“What about Chris, have you seen him?” You recall your initial destination, something that feels further and further off as the night rages on. “There haven’t been any signs of him in the station.”

“No, not yet.” There’s a tension blanketing the topic, a fear of what state you’ll find him in if he’s still in the city.

“Honestly, Claire, maybe that’s a good thing. It’s no better in here than it is out there, maybe Chris made it out while he still could.” You attempt to posit a modicum of hope, though a part of you is less than willing to believe that Chris would get out when things started getting bad. He’s never been one to run from a fight. Marvin’s earlier words serve as a minor catalyst for this hope of abandonment, though Chris’s radio silence still doesn’t make any sense.

“Don’t lose hope.” Leon adds empathetically. “I’m sure we’re gonna find him–” He’s interrupted by the helicopter exploding over your heads, your bodies falling into shadow against the harsh orange flames. It triggers the piercing wail of the fire alarm and the scene behind Claire names her the main character of a sudden horror. “Dammit. You know what that means…”

“Yeah… Dinner time.”

“Claire, I think you should go.” Leon urges, to which you lightly shove him away from the door to yank against the handle again.

“No, we have to get the door open somehow. We can’t just leave her out there!” There’s a tool room to your right, you hurry inside, hoping the key will be sitting atop the dusty worktable or hanging on some hook of protagonist convenience. No luck. But there is a pair of bolt cutters that you grab a hold of, rushing back to where Claire and Leon are exchanging knowing looks.

“There has to be something we can do with these. If we cut a hole small enough you can get through without letting anymore of them in.”

“Don’t worry about me, Leon. Take her and go.”

“What!?” You’re kicking at the frame of the door, unyielding against its metal and chainlinked infrastructure. You know she can’t stay, can’t wait for you to try to find the key or something strong enough to break through the handle. But you just got her back and it’s nauseating to lose her again so quickly.

“Claire, you need to go– Now!” The infected are beginning to close in on her, the window for a stealthy escape narrowing the longer she idles. Claire steps away from the fence, turning once to lock eyes with you.

“Hey… Let’s get through this. All of us.” You nod, vaguely catching sight of Leon pulling his radio free.

“Uh, Marvin. I’ve got a situation here… We’re surrounded by zombies! Marvin! Do you copy? Marvin!? Dammit!” Your fingers catch in the fence, watching Claire sneak as quickly as possible through the hoard that’s trudging toward the alarm still shrieking in your ears. Leon has to physically drag you away from it, murmuring something about how you’ll get to Claire. He guides you back to the main hall, Marvin lying on his side, his breathing faint, but still there. “Still alive…”

“Did you get the medallion?”

“Yeah.” He holds up an emblem similar to the one you found earlier, striding to put it in its place. “We need to find a detonator for the C4 and something to power it most likely.”

“Ok. Sounds like it’s time for some more exploring.”

~*~

“God, this place is a mess.” You glance around the locker room, or what’s left of it. You aren’t sure who got a hold of the place before you, but the wall separating the men’s and women's has been blown to pieces. The floor is covered in water from the burst pipes and debris from everything else. “Should we be concerned with the amount of explosives laying around this place?”

“I hate to say it, but that might be the least of our worries.” Leon nudges gently past you, walking into the women’s locker room with his gun raised. It looks like the explosion took out the infected that were lurking, leaving the path to the other side of the obstructed west hallway clear. You slowly follow in Leon’s footsteps, stopping to look into the lockers lining the wall, hopeful that there will be some spare supplies left lying around.

You’re paying more attention to the contents of your search than you are to Leon when his boot catches at the hinge of the door, flicking it open just slightly. You can see him beginning to edge into the hall from your peripheral, but you snag an abandoned backpack in one of the lockers that steals your concentration. There isn’t much inside, but you find a tear in the lining of one of the pockets, your fingers snaking inside to pull an old newspaper clipping. It's frayed and slightly water damaged, but you can make out the shapings of an umbrella in the framed photograph edging the page.

“Hey, do you think—” There’s a loud bang, Leon’s back pressing into the door he just inched out of, an unknown force challenging him from the other side.

“Help.” You’re there in a second, shoving the clipping into your hip pouch and digging your feet into the tile floor, still slick from the leakage of busted pipes. “So, I think I just found a licker.”

“Shit.” You huff when the thing slams into the door another time. You swear you hear the scrape of its claws and hope they aren’t sharp enough to penetrate the space between you. “Well, all we have to do is be quiet and it’ll go away. Right?”

“There’s an office,” Leon grits, steadying his hand against the frame of the door. “It's just a little further down the hall, to the left. If we can make it there we should be safe, at least for a little while.”

The weight pressing against the door slowly subsides, letting you catch your breath. You can still hear it moving in the hall, making a sort of clicking, snarling noise every few moments. Eventually, Leon cracks the door enough to hear it more clearly. The two of you wait until it sounds far enough down the hall that you can clear the gap between you and the office Leon scouted earlier.

Ready? Leon mouths, his body is wedged between the door and he’s steadily looking back and forth between you and the chasm of a hallway. You nod, a quick inhale, like stripping yourself of breath will build your confidence and level your stealth. He steps into the hall, your foot catching the door to follow his same motion, slowly freeing yourself so that its locking mechanism locks back into place as silently as possible, but even the subtle click has your shoulders hunching regrettably.

Your steps are knee deep, like wading water. The hallway feels miles long and your eyes refuse to leave the predator hawking at the far end. There are several broken windows dressing the hall, their glass like dusted snow scattered along the floor, the soft crunching beneath your two sets of feet inevitable. Naturally, one of your hands fastens itself at Leon’s elbow, like you need to know that he’s there when your eyes screw shut in your attempt to glide to the office door.

The licker is facing away from you, but its tongue is a tape measure, a snake on the prowl the way it creeps from its jowl with the frequency of a starving predator. A licker, indeed. Its body looks skinned, pale and fleshy where it reflects in the natural lighting from the window. You’d read a journal once on wendigos, at the time it was more for sport than any sort of academic advantage, but now you’re glad you did. It feels the closest explanation to what you’re looking at now. Though a wendigo is described as once human, cursed to an immortal hunger after the feasting of mortal flesh, and you’re unsure whether this thing ever could have been. It lacks the anthropomorphic condition. You don’t feel the draw of deeper understanding, the one that earlier forced you to fall short.

A placard comes into view that reads S.T.A.R.S OFFICE, a name that rings a bell, but the pounding that sits deep in your chest doesn’t allow it to sink in just yet.

Your chest strains and you exhale slowly, the sound stuttering the way it bounces around the cavity of your chest. The ghost of wind catches violently against the shards of glass still outlining the window pane, whistling frigid against the conch of your ear. Every inch of noise sounds like it stretches for miles, building sweat at the base of your neck and an all encompassing itch that can’t be scratched.

Leon’s hand extends toward the doorknob, slowly twisting it. He guides you forward with the arm you’ve remained latched onto, allowing you to sidle through the doorway first. His body is pressed directly against yours, leaving a slim margin for error.

Though, your night has provided you with little in the way of serendipitous encounters with any of the anomalous beings jaunting the halls, you supposed every dog has its day.

“Christ!” Leon shoves his back against the door once it closes mutely behind him. “That thing is gross.”

“I mean yeah, did you see its tongue?” It's a moment of self contained mania, the way the two of you nearly double in laughter, your immediate fear flipped into joint hysteria. You’re sure it is in part, on your end, the only way to keep from crying, a twisted dissociation from the supernatural reality of your circumstance. It takes several moments, laughter bubbling up each time one of you would accidentally meet the others eyes, but once you’ve calmed down enough you sigh. “This is insane.”

“It’s crazy to think we only met a few hours ago. This night makes it feel like a lifetime.”

“Keep thinking I’ll wake up any second, like there’s no way all this is real.” You look around the office. It’s tight quarters, like whoever worked here had their whole lives shoved into each of the desks crammed in the middle of the room. “Where are we?”

“S.T.A.R.S Office,” Leon reads. “Special Tactics and Rescue Service. Wonder where they are now.”

“S.T.A.R.S?” There’s an office branching off to the left, the desk messy with files and random documents. Placed neatly on the cabinet behind the desk is a frame filled with officers, a team photo if you had to guess. You handle the frame, tracing over the faces. You recognize Jill Valentine in the front row, and follow the rest of the faces, the dots drawing together nicely in your head. “Chris. I knew this sounded familiar, Chris is an officer in this department.” Leon is still skulking around the main office when you approach him with the frame. “Maybe there’s something in here about where he could be.”

“Maybe, but this place is so cluttered I’d be surprised if you can find it.”

“Well I have to try for Claire. Besides, there has to be something in here that can help us get that cell open. There aren’t many other places for us to look.”

“I wish we could get in here. I bet there’s some more ammo, and that gun could be useful.” Leon nods toward the armory branching off from the main office. It’s locked by a security gate, the only way to get inside is a desktop that neither of you have access to. You consider telling Leon to give Marvin a call, but you doubt he’d have a way in, and even if he did he’s likely in no state to help. “I’d try to break through if I wasn’t terrified that something out there has grown sentient enough to work a door.”

“Well, there has to be something around here to get us in. Search the desks!” You’re looking for one in particular, it’s easy to spot with a shot of Claire pinned to the wall beside the chunky monitor. You’re slightly taken aback to find one of you there as well. A recent photo, one taken the night before Chris left for Raccoon City. When you and Claire forced him to spend it with the two of you instead of pretending to finish his packing. You’d spent the evening taking as many photos as possible of the nearly departed siblings.

Chris had taken the one of you off guard. You set the camera aside to devour a slice of pizza when he’d called your name, sauce dotting the edge of your mouth, eyes wide, and crust shoved halfway past your lips. You can still hear the faint laughter of both Redfields when he snapped the photo, pulling it from your polaroid to hold hostage despite your weak efforts to steal it from him. You’d forgotten about the shot by the time the night had ended, too caught up in goodbyes to realize he still had it.

“Huh, that’s convenient.” Leon’s proximity startles you, his breath fanning against your neck. He reaches for a USB stick resting in a cup of pens perched atop the desk. “Probably just some useless files or something, too easy to find.”

“That’s the beauty of it.” You smile, shoving Leon lightly toward the PC, inwardly begging for something to give. He clumsily shoves the stick into one of the ports, the two of you leaning eagerly toward the monitor, gazes shifting back and forth between that and the armory gate. When it connects, the monitor flashes green granting you access to the third room. Leon heads straight for the arsenal of weapons, saying something about the gun hanging on the wall. You nod along catching the name of the firearm, but you’re not sure what he’s talking about and you trust he knows enough for the both of you.

You’re rattled significantly by a letter laying haphazardly on the wooden bench lining the lockers. The scrawl dotting the page almost as familiar as your own.

To my bestest S.T.A.R.S. buds,

How are you all doing in that drab, old station? Hanging in there against old Irons? Me? I just got back from a date with a hot chick. Bet you can guess what we got up to under her extra-large umbrella.

Europe is amazing. One month is in no way enough to even scratch the surface. Maybe I’ll extend my vacation for another six months.

Barry, don’t even think of coming to join me. Wouldn’t want to make all the cute girls cry yeah? So you just leave the babes to me.

Jill, if Claire tries to contact you, please let her know I’m OK.

Chris Redfield, August 29

“This doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t even sound like…” You read the letter over three times, unsure whether to be upset or relieved. You settle on confused.

“What’s wrong?” Leon moves from his own distraction, scavenging for bullets for his newly acquired black hawk. You pass him the note, collapsing onto the wooden bench. He takes a second to read it over, looking at you then back at the letter. “So he’s not here. That’s good news, right?”

“But why wouldn’t he tell Claire? Or me?” You take the letter back, to look it over a final time and begin to slowly fold it into a neat square then thinking better of it you shove it roughly into your hip pouch. “If he’s off picking up girls on some European beach then that’s great, I’m happy for him. But I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him. This letter was sent a month ago.”

“I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

“Yeah…There has to be.” You relent, thinking better of your little fit. You attribute the sudden bile coating your stomach in part to whatever unresolved tension needles you at the thought of him, but mostly because this feels out of character for Chris, making Claire worry on such a large scale. If he’s writing to his co-workers it feels off that the only family he has left would be kept in the dark. You decide that whatever is going on with Chris will be better suited for your thoughts outside of imminent death. Leon is still waiting for you. To do what you don’t know, but he hasn’t moved from his spot hovering at your side. Your eyes catch on something in one of the open lockers. “This look like a detonator to you?”

“Son of a bitch.” Leon smiles, grabbing the angular device. “And I’m sure I saw some batteries back in the office.”

“Great. So, what are the chances that thing is still waiting right outside of the door to attack us?”

“Well, let’s just say we better make like David’s grandma and creep.”

~*~

“Alright, party people.” Leon fastens the detonator into place. “Let’s turn this bash into a blowout.” He sprints toward you when the timer begins counting down, shoving you enough around the corner that you only stumble slightly when the C4 goes off, rattling the room's four corners.

“God, I’m so sick of things exploding.” You wait it out for a few moments, attempting to get a clear picture of how many of the undead you’ll have to fight through to get to the statue. You peek around the corner, several of the bodies that were sequestered behind the metal prison are lifeless, finished by the detonation.

“I’ll take down the zombies, you get the medallion.” You move in sync, Leon passing you the notebook then knocking a crate onto its side to draw the attention of the bodies meandering about the room. The final piece is easily secured as he neutralizes the threat and you signal as much to him edging back into the hall with Leon following shortly after.

“This is it. Hopefully Elliot knew what he was talking about.”

“Only one way to find out.” Leon mutters, accepting the medallion from you with an anxious disposition. It’s the first time all night you’ve seen him waiver, like it’s dawning on him that if this doesn’t work there’s a chance you'll be trapped here. “Let’s head back to Lieutenant Branagh.”

Most of the undead that had previously blocked your path have been killed off, your journey back to the main hall one of the smoothest you’ve had all evening.

You watch Leon slide the last medallion into place, the large statue steadily rising to its full potential to reveal a metal grated door living beneath it.

“So it goes underground…. Huh. That’s it– that’s our way out. Lieutenant Branagh! Marvin! Time to go!” Leon moves toward Marvin, still lying unconscious on the sofa. His words and a gentle nudge against the lieutenant’s shoulder activate the officer so rapidly he shoots up with something akin to a snarl tearing out of him. You jump directly into Leon who steadies you and kneels before his superior. “Hey, Marvin… We need to get you to a hospital right now.” You move forward again, gently encouraging him to get up.

“No, no… Save yourselves…” His words are slowed and slightly muddled, jaw working hard to make you understand. You swallow, backing up a tad to look at Leon.

“Come on, I’ve got you–”

“Go!”

“Marvin, we want to help you.” You plead, those damned tears tracing the lining beneath your eyes.

“Look, we can still make it out of here together, if you just gimme–” Marvin pulls his gun, pointing it directly at Leon who shoves you behind his frame. The move is halfhearted, you all know it in the way his hands tremble and it takes him a moment to meet your eyes for the last time.

“It’s too late. I tried, Leon…Y/n... But I couldn’t stop it. We can’t let this thing spread. It’s on you now. Just go…” Marvin leaves no room for conflict, his words concise and filled with a meaning you’re sure will sit with you for the rest of your time in being.

You recognize Leon’s next move as one of respect for his first friend on the force, his lieutenant.

“I understand.”

He places a strong, grounding hand against your back, the other on your arm to guide you toward the door to the secret passage. You fight against him gently, just enough to look Lieutenant Branagh, Marvin, in the eyes.

“Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry.”

“You two take care of each other.” Is the last thing he says before Leon is once again pushing you gently ahead, the sound of the door closing echoes in your ears, settles in your hollowed chest. You don’t speak just yet. Can’t.

Leon turns back toward the station, something new rising within him.

“I won’t let you down, Marvin.”

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