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✧ .* M.LIST: AO3; RESIDENT EVIL; JUJUTSU KAISEN;
✧ .* RECENT:
THE FUCKING DEAD [5/?] RE CAST X READER / 25K — The A-Virus is impenetrable, intricately manufactured to attack selectively from the shadows without a trace. You are one in five (Jill, Ada, Leon, Carlos) recruited all over the States to eradicate the bioweapon straight from the source—its headquarters in rural Mexico. Your objective: find Glenn Arias and stop him.
SEEKING THE LIGHT [ONESHOT] NANAMI X READER / 3K — Nanami's dream, and his final trip to malaysia.
tumblr and me have some unsettled business it seems. i queued my post, it disappeared from my queue, made me get out of bed, remake the post because it's gone, publish it to find it double posted like???
𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄
LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER
As the rescue team retraces footsteps of their MIA agents, they find out the virus is more than what it appears. Waiting to be opened like a pandora's box inside this eerie mansion.
NOTES: 🔞18+ READERS ONLY - NO MINORS🔞 descriptions of blood, zombies, injuries, death, realistic dolls, virus, fire weapons, rotten food, and mould. mentioned pegging. many action elements, a little closer to the plot reveal. includes two minor oc's in the unit. written in chris and rebecca's pov (reader is mentioned, not present).
8.7 k words | reblogs appreciated!
EMPLOYEE QUARTERS – 3:02 AM.
Who knows since when, the front door entered by the last squad is bolted shut, windows on the first and second floor barred. Inspection around the perimeter reports none of the side doors can be budged. Except one, secretly veiled away through a narrow, overgrown path only accessible from the backstreet.
An inconspicuous door can be found at the end of the passage, made of the same stone brick wall attached onto the thick mahogany door, vines enshrouding the exterior.
Presumably, this is the employee’s entrance. Much less glorious than the fountain driveway view where an imaginary doorman invites you into the residence by the ten-feet-tall double doors. This entry desperately needs weeding; the door is worn, rusted metal handles and weak hinges signal negligence in maintenance for years.
Chris, leading in first with his impromptu rescue squad of six, pushes down the copper handle, and lets it swing out. Wood squeaks slowly until the hinges fully extend, thudding serenely to a stop.
From within, a hollow void. Not a sound, nor a creak to be heard from the blackness of the echo chamber besides the six footsteps. A cold chill like a woman’s breath blows onto their necks from the outside, slowly swallowed by the thick odour of mildew and mould.
Someone rummages for a light switch, clicks it, and clicks it the other way again. Power’s out, of course. Chris presses on his earpiece, and just as he thought, communication to the outside is already fizzing into distortions. There will be no one from the outside to rescue them once they venture into the thick of this freak house.
They turn on the flashlight attachment on their rifles for convenience. It’s going to be difficult navigating through the dark, and vital for the unit to err on the side of caution. Who knows what ambushes Arias had conjured for an unwelcomed surprise, knowing his guarded nature.
“Agent Chambers. Do we have location?” Chris asks.
“I can’t track our exact location until the GPS is fixed. But I can tell you that the unit should be around south-east of the mansion according to their last known coordinates, which is approximately… that way.” Rebecca draws out an old-school compass from her pouch and points towards the left side of the hallway according to her device.
“Thank you, Chambers.” Chris states blankly. Rebecca taps her head down to acknowledge once. The air is damp with bitterness, only felt between them.
The front of the entrance invites them to a mudroom with a wide nook sweeping along the broads of the wall. The inner wood panel is enveloped by speckles of mould; more than half of the hangers are still occupied. Chris traces a thin sheet of dust along a puffer jacket.
“Captain, take a look at this.” A thick Hispanic accent gravels out. The figure behind Chris is almost as tall as himself. His face concealed but his personality undeniable focused and direct. Chris vaguely remembers the man’s name through a rushed introduction, Gabriel, sent by B.S.A.A.’s South American branch as a gesture of goodwill.
Gabriel points to the vague darkness behind himself. Chris turns away from the racks, directed into the lounge room around the corner. It is adorned with modest furniture: a few couches, a television, openly connected to the kitchen, and long dining table.
Above the table, there lies a bitten sandwich with splotches of green mould, mugs drank only halfway and meals abandoned before they were done. Leaving the uncut vegetables, dairy, raw beef, as they were for the inhabitation of fungi.
Everyone in the room right now is grateful for Rebecca’s last-minute idea for the masks to give them some coverage for the stench.
“November 19. Tch, all the food had expired five months ago. What a waste, tch.” This voice is deeper in timbre than Gabriel’s with a tendency to click his tongue at any inconvenience. He must be the other assigned unit, Miguel.
“That week was the first A-Virus attack in the world.” Rebecca comments solemnly. Can there be such a coincidence?
“Whatever they had to do, they left in a hurry.” Chris glances around the room once more. What business could they have to evacuate so suddenly?
“A-Are they going to be o-okay?” Nerves are getting a hold of the rookie; the flashlight circle from Johnny’s rifle is visibly shuddering. “What if those m-m-monsters got to them?”
“Can’t be since there’s no struggle. Like they’d blipped in time.” Mike suggests the possibility by recreating the events with his free hand, even uttering a fainted pooof! drifting into the silence for sound effect.
“Nothing had been in and out of this place for a week. Whoever’s left might be starving.” Unless all the employees had left way earlier. But there is an aching dread in Chris’ gut that fears this may not be the case. Just like the other MIA agents who are somewhere in this lodging. There must be more to this story.
“Search for any survivors in the area and stay in line of sight. Don’t ever split up.” Chris orders, looking directly into the darkness of the narrow hallway beyond.
“Yes, Captain!” Five voices bark in response.
- - -
It feels like they had walked for an eternity, through a series of sharp turns, with no visual signs of the end, only mould growing thicker and thicker the further they venture. It was the same portrait, same console table, decorated by the same damned tablecloth over and over again.
On top of the white laced cloth, there is always a baby, barely three months old.
It shook Rebecca in the beginning until she notices the infant is completely still. It’s only a doll. A very realistic one at that, dressed from head to toe in pink and frills.
After what seems like the tenth doll, the discomfort in her brews whenever Rebecca passes by. She can’t help but notice how glassy their eyes, how those irises and pupils look too damn realistic. Like real human eyes, staring. Like it can cry. Every time light hits those pearly beads, whatever light the darkness can spare anyway, Rebecca swears the doll is looking directly at her each time. She wonders if she had gone crazy.
Perhaps it was one of Arias’ secret hobbies… like Arias’ pegging fetish she unfortunately discovered in the depths of a gossip forum. Hey, it’s not her place to say what a billionaire can or can’t do for recreation if it isn’t harming anyone… besides his own crack, maybe.
That took her mind off the creepy temporarily. Nobody else seem to mind, or if they did, they didn’t say a thing. Chris in particular—his mind never left the objective.
“Anyone home? This is B.S.A.A. We’re looking for survivors. Any survivors? Survivors, please show yourself.” Chris announces their presence at every door that meets him along the corridor, bellowing out to make survivors known of their rescue.
But only the echo of himself returns his call, corridor after corridor, room after room, in the humble living quarters that is nothing more than a bunk bed and two desks. Not a soul nor a zombie in sight. But they haven’t given up yet. There is still plenty of the mansion unexplored.
The next door they encounter is different, standing out prominently against the rest with its steel surface, while the rest mahogany wood. And despite this whole area already zoned off from general access, a sinister sign on top warns that this place is off limits to even most employees.
The six of them look at each other and decide silently in unison to investigate inside.
LABORATORY – 3:17 AM
Chris is the first to enter the laboratory, stepping inside the darkness without hesitation to encourage his subordinates to follow suit without fear. Some sticky sensation is caught between their soles, leaving their every footstep. Mike notices first, and he aims his flashlight onto the ground.
Blood red pools, splattered across the bleached tiles in trails like spider lilies, painted across white coats of motionless bodies only several feet away from them… fifty of them. Beyond that, a daring splash of struggle across the mighty propane tank hulking over the centre of the laboratory.
Rebecca winces at the sight; her first time witnessing such a bloodshed. Chris notices, bringing a step forward to shield her from the sight.
“What the fuck happened here…” Chris growls. Before he can take another bloodied step, he hears someone making a retched groan.
It was Johnny, tightening his vocals to hold back a scream, but instead, it erupts into a high pitch shriek of fear instead.
The bodies react to the sound, starting to move. At first, only slight like the trick of an eye. Then, the torsos rise in isolation, head turning slow almost 180 degrees, eyes affixed on the intruders. Their skin ashen grey, veins and arteries pop out freshly, where the stench is the most putrid here.
All six soldiers ready their rifles. Avoiding big movements, slowing their limbs backwards to the way out. The zombie hoard of many dozens in front of them matches their pace, unsure whether friend or enemy.
Something falls. Slipping away from Rebecca’s back pocket, a metallic cylinder case—long and thin, that a ballpoint pen will fit perfectly inside. It crashes onto the floor, a light thud. But in the quiet room with nothing but hostile hisses and crackling of bones, the zombies pounce at the same time at the sign of confirmation.
Gunshots fire, without restraint, bullets whizzing across the room, taking aim. Shots pierce into the desaturated skin, but no blood manifests from those wounds. The water source that pumps into their hearts had dried up a long time ago. Even bullets hitting directly into the skull merely stuns them temporarily, and they rise back onto their feet in no time.
The unit is very effective and spares little ammunition for the unnecessary—but they are solely six humans in an army of undead. They can’t hold them off forever. If they are cornered, that’s it.
Rebecca, however, has her eyes set on something else instead of the massacre in front of her.
My case…. Where is my case! She thinks as her eyes dart around the ground in desperation, between legs and fallen bodies. Something shiny under a chair peeks out in the corner of her eye.
There it is! Despite every fibre of her gut opposing her, Rebecca advances further inside to retrieve it at all costs. She doesn’t dare to stray her eyes away from the container, fearing it will escape her again. Someone kicks it; the metal leaps and rolls near the lab console next to the large cylinder tank.
She makes her way over and tries to lay her rifle on top of the console. It slides due to its slanted surface, so she leans her rifle against the tank for support.
Some of Rebecca’s right palm brushes the metal sheet, and immediately, a stinging heat like a million thorns set her hand ablaze. She flings her arm away, winces, and notes the parts of skin that contacted the tank is patched red with small cysts forming.
The propane tank can easily fit 200 gallons inside. With closer observation, she can hear the flow of water bubbling, churning in its mechanism, pushing out steaming sounds. Rebecca notes that the tank is connected by ductwork.
“What’re you doing, Rebecca!?” Chris explodes, and Rebecca jolts in place, bringing her consciousness back to the present where she remembers they are amid a zombie attack.
She plants her entire body flat onto the ground, detecting the cylinder stuck under the console through a thin gap. The console isn’t secured to the floor, so Rebecca tries budging it to no avail. It’s too heavy.
Rebecca shoves her arm into the gap; her fingers slid in successfully, but it’s stuck on the protruding bone of her wrist. She outstretches her fingers, the tip of it almost reaching the roundness she is seeking. She just needs a bit more distance.
“Rebecca! Out, now!” She can hear Chris warn from afar. “This is an order!”
“One second!” Rebecca thrusts in a bit harder, and a bit more of her wrist enters at the cost of rough friction scratching her wrist bone. Her nail catches it, and she rolls it underneath the pads of her fingers. Now she just needs to lea…
……Wait. Wait, wait, wait. She can’t leave. Her wrist is jammed. Rebecca can’t take it out even if she uses her entire body weight to lean against the pull. Her face is still planted and vulnerable.
Danger is advancing ever the closer. She can hear it even if she can’t see it. The irregular beats of staggering footsteps increase in volume, snarls getting curious. It won’t be long before she is discovered. But what other choice does Rebecca have now?
As if a sign from above, dim light starts to creep under the table as it lifts, freeing her wrist. Rebecca grabs the case securely into her hand and pulls it back.
Right behind her is Chris, forearm muscles pulsing in tension as he hoists the entire console, slamming it face first onto the two zombies eyeing at them both. They tumble backwards and groans.
Chris’ face darkens with rage, grabbing Rebecca’s shoulder around his arm as if to caution her reckless behaviours, and commands: “You. With me. Now.”
Rebecca, simply glad that she is still alive, nods and lets Chris pull her up in one forceful motion. As soon as Rebecca’s weight is back on her feet, he pushes her along with both arms, propping the rifle under his right arm, tunnelling his vision to the exit. But zombies are visible from all four corners. They are surrounded.
Abruptly, a cold arm wraps Chris from behind, ensnaring the captain in place to serve him on a platter to its zombie friends. Chris squeezes the rifle closer to his sides, and with the strength of his entire triceps, thrust the blunt edge of his bump stock into his assaulter’s torso. He can hear bones cracking, weakening, enough to free Chris of its tight grasp.
With practised ease, Chris adjusts his finger swiftly to the trigger; other hand over the handle in under a full second and fires at the next target leaping his way.
Rebecca wants to help Chris too. She presses down an empty space on her back. She had left her rifle next to the tank still. And now, the HK416 is idly resting behind five limping enemies with no intentions of letting her pass by.
That rifle is practically gone as far as she knows, so she unholsters her back-up pistol, her trusty Samurai’s Edge, tailored to her own needs and got her through thick and thin.
Rebecca knows she isn’t as much of a good shot as Chris is, lacking in almost a decade of combat experience behind Chris, but she kept up a fair deal of gun training and hand to hand combat during her research years for emergency purposes. And now, those skills are coming in handy.
Her shots are careful, only decisive ones of enemies that come between her way to the exit. Always looking over her blind spots in wariness because Rebecca knows one bite from a zombie is all it needs to take her out. She can’t be messing around here.
A zombie leaps directly into Rebecca as she heads checks, baring its fangs and curling its squirming fingers. Too close for a shot, she raises her arms to a block, tossing them aside when the pale hands advance closer to her neck. The nails are sharp, clawing into Rebecca’s skin as she shoves them away. Rebecca front kicks the thing away, and while it stumbles, gave her the perfect opportunity to take out its head in a burst shot.
But no matter how many enemies the two fended off, the path becomes more and more obscured by zombie heads and limbs, leaving no room for breath besides defending their own.
Gunshots other than their own starts firing around them. The other four comrades are clearing the way while guarding the exits.
“Captain! Rebecca!” Mike cries out.
For a brief second, a window of opportunity surfaces, and their eyes catch sight of the clear line of exit between them and the zombies.
“Run! Just run!” Chris’ voice thunders over the gnarly crew of zombies.
But Rebecca didn’t need instructions for this one. They dash straight for the door, and when they passed, they didn’t stop either.
The others did a head start, already racing away; Chris and Rebecca eventually joining them at the end of the line, with Chris slamming the steel door in their enemies’ faces before he leaves. It will slow them briefly, but that won’t last forever.
The six of them sprint along the corridor, and a loud clang penetrates the air. Zombies had destroyed the entire metal door itself, following right behind, trying to overtake each other, despite the narrow width of the hallway that fits only two people side by side.
The hoard collides and tramples on each other, but their chase is relentless, showing no mercy until each and every one of their prey is devoured. Closing in distance, an inch at a time, but slowly and surely catching up to inevitable fatigued limbs of humans.
“W-We’re not going to make it, Ca-” Johnny, coming first in the sprint, sobs, but he isn’t allowed to slow down no matter even if his heavy backpack weighs him down, no matter how deep his leg sores. The sudden brake will trip everyone behind him, toppling his captain and colleagues together. And it will be all because of him. He can’t stop.
Chris can hear the stomping footsteps grow louder; he can feel it on the floor too, the wooden boards quaking in fury from withholding such strength and speed in the tight path. He turns his head, and the outreached arms of the zombies are within a few feet away from his own neck.
Chris had to think fast—no, don’t think. More time thinking means less action. They’re quickly approaching the end of the hallway several yards away, and beyond that darkness. It can be a dead end too, what then?
Till he hears a chime.
Tick, tick, tick.
He sees it. A grandfather clock propping up on the side of the wall, right before the cloud of darkness. Chris can use that.
First, it was Johnny who made it to the other side of the clock. Then Miguel, Gabriel. Then Rebecca. Then Mike. And when it was Chris turn, he spins his body 180 degrees, meeting the hoard eye to eye.
He claws all ten of his fingernails onto the intricate engravings into the heavy wood. With a heavy shove, pulls the entire seven feet tall clock sideways to barricade the corridor.
All can hear the break of the bell when it crashes and the mechanism within fails. The hourly melody starts playing abruptly in malfunction, failing its fundamental ability to read the current time. Only the crooked and solemn tone resonates throughout the hollow vicinity.
That won’t be enough. They can still crawl underneath, between and over the gaps of the wood. Chris readies aim between the gaps, waiting for the zombies to peek through.
But Chris can’t see any heads. Or any movement, matter of fact. They freeze at the call of the chimes, and after a few seconds, their bodies retreat. Over the gap, Chris can see zombies with their backs turned, returning into the darkness of the hallway once more like they were never there in the first place.
There is a moment of silence, first. A moment to catch their breath. But this moment doesn’t last when Chris storms towards Rebecca, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to take a backwards a step.
“What the fuck were you thinking? You coulda died!” Chris seethes with a face of pure rage; everyone clenches their fists in fear.
“C’mon now, Capt. Go easy on her.” Mike tries to stand between Chris and Rebecca, a valiant attempt to diffuse Chris’ temper, but is unsuccessful.
“No. There’s no need.” Rebecca assures him. This is something between her and her captain. Her own accountability she had decided to take on herself.
“Would you like to explain yourself?” Chris asks, his tone abrasive.
“It was important.” She tries to brush aside the issue. Rebecca can’t tell her about the metal case, not yet. He will be too protective about it.
Chris takes one big step to close the gap, she can feel the heat from his eyes scorching her.
“Chris! I need you to trust me on this!” Rebecca pleads, though it doesn’t provide the clarification Chris wanted at all.
“That’s Captain Redfield to you!” Chris roars, and all sounds turn still.
He pauses, immediately regretting his words and tone. Once again, Chris gazes directly into her eyes that displayed only sincerity. This isn’t like the open book personality Chris knows of her. Something is up. Something Rebecca doesn’t want to share. He can’t push her—what kind of person will that make him?
Only his final thought reaches her ears. “More important than your own life?”
The room turns silent. Rebecca’s answer says a lot without saying anything at all.
The grip tightens on her arm, and Rebecca flinches. This is when Chris sees the state of the arm he is grabbing—secondary burns, bruised wrist, and strips of fresh blood free-flowing from both arms.
“…Get her fixed up.” Chris releases the arm gently, so it doesn’t fall too hard, releasing out a heavy sigh that sounds older than his years.
“Roger, Captain.” Johnny lets down the backpack of supplies with relief.
“Anyone else injured?” Chris queries the group, significantly calmer since his reflection. He casts his eyes over everyone, deliberately avoiding Rebecca’s.
“I think I broke my foot.” Gabriel was running fine before, but after the adrenaline had died down, he begins to feel every pain on his leg. He now staggers and the injured foot is hovered slightly.
“Let me have a look.” Rebecca gets down onto her knees to examine the foot. She advises him to roll up his pant leg. The spot is swollen red and soft, and it flinches when touched. Rebecca asks him to move his ankle: he can’t.
“It’s a fracture. You might not be able to move your leg for a while.” Rebecca pats herself up. “Ice would be ideal here but nothing we can do now. There are some bandages in the first aid. That should help with the swelling.”
“Alrighty, I needa resupply anyway! Those zombies took quite a few mags.” Mike is already three magazines down in his front pouch.
Rebecca needs a resupply too; there should be spare rifle in there for emergencies. Her Samurai’s Edge is reliable, but she needs something stronger if she wants to survive the rest of this journey. She can’t risk turning back and aggravating the zombie hoard once more.
The fresh face unzips the backpack, reaching in. Initially, puzzled, then slowly morphs into the face of horror. His calm searching turns into frustrated shuffling, emptying out the contents of the bag one by one.
Lying on the ground are bags after bags of military rations, counting to fifty bags. After a while, he gives up. Everyone is fully aware now of his royal fuck up. Johnny had picked up the wrong backpack on his way in.
“Come on, rookie! You had one job!” Gabriel starts yelling, losing whatever composure he had just a moment ago.
“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, sir!” repeats Johnny’s brittle apologies, fists trembling.
“Qué pinche pendejo eres… tch.” Miguel grumbles to himself, and as an act of self-comfort, massages his hand with each other and feeling the wedding ring on his hand.
“You motherfucker!” Gabriel tries to rise, and almost trips over his broken ankle when he finds it unsteady. Johnny rushes in to support him.
“Mind ya business!” Gabriel flails his arms at the poor child, before lowering himself down slowly through a strained grunt. “I’ve got a fucking broken leg here ‘cause of you! You shoulda be glad I can’t whoop your ass right now! Once this foot is working again, you’ll be sorry!”
“It’s not that bad, really…” Mike tries to console, but this time, it’s more a desperate attempt for self-reassurance.
“Stay out of this, American.” Gabriel snaps back.
“Enough. Both of you. We’ll find a way out of this.” Chris interrupts before things escalate too far.
“Tch. And what do you suggest, Captain?” Miguel scoffs.
There’s no point in changing what can’t be changed. They can only adapt to what they have not. Be it without supplies or ammo. There is always a way around, if it means taking things slow or conserving ammo for their future fights. However…
Chris peeks at Rebecca’s arm. Her skin is turning white from blood loss. She needs first aid, ASAP.
“Let’s look around. Maybe there are supplies.” Chris says.
“There better be. This leg’s not gonna fix itself.”
KITCHEN / LAUNDRY – 3:39 AM.
Johnny had offered to carry Gabriel, but he refused without sparing a glance at the rookie’s face. But he didn’t complain when Miguel haul him instead, all whilst announcing their passive aggression about incompetent American soldiers and how they can only trust each other.
Meanwhile, Chris is focused on getting problems solved than whining about them. There must be a weaponry, maybe medical supplies somewhere in this damn fancy house. If only he can figure out how this foreign layout works.
The end of the corridor spreads out into a large open space, giving them much needed room to explore and not bump into each other shoulder to shoulder. There is a kitchen if they continue straight, enough to fit an army of private chefs with a glass room of wine display proudly to the side.
And towards the right, there is a laundry room. Beside it, a door that hangs a sign: [STORAGE AREA]
Hopefully they will find what they need here.
STORAGE ROOM – 3:41 AM.
For a storage room, it is quite spacious. Cardboard boxes stack high to the ceiling around the room, labelled with its contained items: [CLEANING], [MEDICAL], [AMMUNITION]. They look around potential hiding spots for zombies: there is none. It seems like they are safe for now. And for that, the unit is relieved.
“Alright. Let’s get you fixed up.” Rebecca immediately starts rummaging through the medical drawer. Miguel carries and rests the injured onto a large cardboard box for his treatment, then finds himself in the ammunition box.
This detour is much welcomed by everyone. After restocking what they need, hope has returned—whatever they can afford in the present state of things—uncoiling the tension brewing inside each of the soldiers. Chris can even hear Mike’s good-humoured banter ripples a warm laugh through Gabriel and Miguel. And Johnny is chattering next to them.
Chris relaxes his guard too, finally, for the first time today. As captain, he is always expected to be one to straighten his subordinates. And he does. Sometimes even at the cost of having his emotions get to him. Like just now, with Rebecca.
Sometimes, what the team needs is not just a guy yelling at their faces, but rather someone with Mike’s charm, or Rebecca’s friendliness to light up the room and boost squad morale.
Which Chris appreciated them for—doing the things he can’t do as captain. As captain, he must always remain a respectful distance from his team. He is the most senior member of the squad and must act that way even when situations are dire.
That got him thinking about his old team, still nowhere to be found, where their long history of acquaintance allows the lines of authority to blur. Many of those missions with them are often exchanged with laughs…
Chris bumps his arm onto a table beside him. Atop lays a vintage typewriter, a piece of paper is stuck to it.
It has been an unspoken protocol between S.T.A.R.S to document their adventures on the go, in case an accident occurs, so their stories are remembered and not forgotten. That ritual followed Chris and his team into B.S.A.A. He picks up the note; the ink is still very faintly lukewarm.
To whoever is reading this,
There is something really creepy about this mansion. It’s just too dang quiet. Where on earth is everyone? I know that Arias should be on a plane to a different continent now, so nobody’s home but—
“…Ch-.” A voice can be heard in the air while he reads; he pushes the sound out to focus.
…But I feel a chill down my back. If you’re in this room now, ge—
A heavy hand slams onto the table, winces, then goes back on the table again. The entire forearm is bandaged, and the palm is wrapped in some translucent cling film.
“Chris! I’m talking to you.” Rebecca taps her foot impatiently.
“And I heard you. You don’t have to say my name twice.” Chris looks at her for a second and brings his eyes down back to paper, reading between the blurred lines. “I saw you were tending to Gabriel when you were in a much worse state. You should prioritise yourself first.”
“I actually called you three times!” Rebecca clicks her tongue, crossing her arms now.
Chris shrugs. Rebecca continues when she realises he isn’t going to say anything else.
“I can take care of myself, don’t worry, captain.” She utters the word captain with much disdain that it irks his eyebrow slightly.
“Suit yourself.” Chris pretends to read, but Rebecca is still staring intently, so he asks: “How can I help you, Chambers?”
She picks the paper out of his hands, and declares: “Maybe we should address the elephant in the room.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” Chrisfolds his arms to match hers.
“Clearly there is. Or you wouldn’t be ignoring me.” Rebecca’s voice comes out a little louder than it should, sounding throughout the room as everyone peeks at the duo. Chris doesn’t need an audience for their petty drama, lest appearing unprofessional to his own personnel.
“Let’s talk outside.”
The two promptly walk to the exit, with Rebecca behind Chris so he can’t escape. They leave the room, facing the wet laundry, as Chris closes the door behind him to avoid prying ears.
“Alright, talk then.” He begins, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.For a man like Chris, he can be cold when he is upset. Even among his close ones. But there is still a bit of warmth in his voice, a bit of unspoken openness to listen. But for Chris to be convinced, it is still highly dependent on what Rebecca says next.
“Hey- I just want to say.” All of a sudden not knowing where to start, or when. After trying to get Chris to make peace with her all day, she finally has his attention. But when the moment comes, Rebecca is lost for words. Stuck behind her throat and tongue ice frozen.
“I know you don’t want me here. Putting my life in danger.” says Rebecca quietly.
“Like I said, you are free to do what you want.” Chris deadpans. “…And you did. What’s done is done.”
“Hey, don’t give me that. C’mon, Chris. You know it would be better if I was here. I know this virus better than you do. I’ve been researching this for months, and- and- you know my radio won’t reach you in here with the signal jammed.”
“Everything beyond these doors are unknown territory. Did you forget five of our best agents went MIA here?” Chris releases one long, arduous breath.
Rebecca is silent. She hasn’t forgotten, will never forget if the agents are dead—but doing anything is better than doing nothing. She will rather put her life at risk than the waiting game just to be told her friends are dead. “Yes. I know that. But you need me here.”
“And what I need most, is for you to be safe.” Chris places both hands firmly on her shoulders, sighs, and lets go.
Chris admits; there is truth in her words. The virus is alive, a living subject. They must tread carefully. And who else knows about this virus better than Rebecca? She may be the means of life or death.
“We are still a team. We watch each other’s back. We trust each other.” Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then continues. “…Just like S.T.A.R.S, the good old days.”
Chris tries to push away the betrayal from the back of his mind and focus only on the good parts of the memories. But it didn’t work. The clockwork of life kept running, wondering if the same fate will happen to him once more.
Trust? How long has Chris trusted someone? Put his life on the line of other people’s desires, capabilities? How many people have died trying? When has that ever worked out for Chris? He knows that the only person he can rely on saving himself and others is his own self.
Abruptly, his thought process is interrupted by cheers cascading from the other side of the door. Chris opens the door, and Rebecca’s curiosity peeks inside.
The crowd is cheering at Miguel, passing around bottled water around the circle. In this house trapped with years’ worth of heat, rotted smell preserved in humidity, water is a found treasure to these men. Especially after the laborious sprint earlier, they can feel half of their bodies’ liquid lost, throat turning dry and lips crackling.
Rebecca recalls her discovery about the water supply. She remembers warning the crew about this. Yet through the corner of her eyes, she sees Gabriel cracking open the bottle seal, shimmying his mask out the way, his lips touching the lip of the plastic bottle.
“DON’T DRINK THAT!” She yelps, as loud as she can possibly muster.
And everything happened all at once.
STORAGE ROOM – 3:57 AM
Gas starts to sizzle into the room through tightened air pressure, escaping rapidly into the space. Engulfed in smoke, Rebecca clutches onto her mask, hoping that the cheap material will be sufficient. At the minimum providing a bit of resistance before they remove themselves from the smoke-filled room.
“Squad! Make your way to the exit!” Chris orders.
Chris and Rebecca guide the team out one by one. Individuals start shuffling out of the mist from within. Johnny comes through first, then Mike, Miguel, and Johnny.
“Captain!” Johnny cries, pointing a wobbly finger into the puffs of smoke. “He’s still…”
Faintly from the haze, a figure manifests, sprawling on the floor. It grunts in fear, choking and coughing with arms extended.
“I… I can’t move! My… my leg…” His facial features slowly uncover from the smoke, and there is Gabriel desperately dragging along his broken foot towards the door. The injured had completely slipped Chris’ mind. He needs to get him out of there, now.
Chris pushes himself inside, but Mike grabs him before his foot makes its way in. Mike utters in grave realisation: “He’s unmasked.”
“I swear to god I’m alright! I swear on my life!” Gabriel cries even louder, swallowing a lump of smoke into his chest, and he chokes. “I didn’t drink the water!”
“Captain… what do we do?” asks Miguel, voice softening in desperation. He knows the answer to that question, but Miguel refutes that option, denying it like a child in the face of loss. “Captain! What do I do?”
Chris does not say a thing, nor it is his place. This farewell is reserved between him and his friend. Then afterwards, Chris must do what must be done.
“Miguel… ¡No me dejes aquí!” They can barely hear Gabriel’s sobs over the continuous hissing, louder through time, breaking free of the closed room to contaminate the air outside too.
That is, until Rebecca cuts in: “It’s not too late. The gas is useless by itself, as long as he didn’t drink the water. He’s going to be fine. But we shouldn’t risk it… Just in case.”
“Fuck this, I’m not leaving him there.” Miguel sprints past Chris and Mike into the white without looking back. They try to grab hold of him before he does anything reckless, but Miguel flings them away. “I’m not leaving him behind. We grew up in the same town. Enlisted together. Same squad for years. I’m not letting him go now.”
Miguel searches inside the fog, and finding the lightly conscioused Gabriel quivering with his chest on the floor. Miguel hauls Gabriel’s body weight onto his own.
“We’re getting out of here alive, Gabito.” Miguel swings an arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling Gabriel’s feeble foot upwards and lets his torso limp over himself.
“Tch c’mon, haven’t we been through everything already? I’ve seen you worse when you broke your arm and ribs.”
“I remember that. You carried me all the way back to camp just like this.” Gabriel speaks with a mellow voice in reminiscence. Miguel can hear something clicking its throat, sinisterly gargling the air. Miguel pauses to look around, there is no other presence. Right, he already checked the room. It’s safe. So, he continues forward.
“And we will get through this one too. Your abuelita will be heartbroken if you’re gone. I can’t do that to her.” They are approaching closer to the ray of light at the end of the door. Gabriel falls to his side.
“Hang on, man! I’ll get you out of here. You can trus—”
Rebecca hears a clack, the sound she recognises to be bones snapping in half. She can’t see where Gabriel and Miguel are, with the fog blurring her sight. The vague silhouettes that can be seen before are now gone.
She leans in, peeking into fuzziness, but Chris’ arm moves in front of her, blocking her from getting any closer. He, too, is cautious of the sound.
“What’s taking them so long?” Mike calls out their names but there is no response from the other end. “That’s it, I’m heading in.”
“Mike, wait!” cries Chris.
Mike steps inside, warily inspecting. When he lifts the other foot, he almost trips. “What the—?” He shifts his leg around some more.
“I can’t move my foot!!” Mike’s shrieks are like little girl squeals throwing a tantrum. He wiggles back and forth to readjust balance with all his might. “Eek! Some slimy shit’s holding me down!!”
“Get it off me, get it off me!” The three of them attempt to pull Mike out and the foot lifts into the air. As if noticing the traction, the mist yanks Mike’s leg backwards. “Fuck shit fuck fuck!! Lord have mercy!!”
What is this power? How can it be this strong? There shouldn’t be anyone else in the room, Chris had already done all the check spots. The only people still in the room are just Gabriel and Miguel. What happened to the two of them anyway?
Mike had enough; he pulls out his handgun and shoots at the general direction of the force. The strength loosens, and they can see the whole foot now and the mysterious force dragging him back.
A bloody hand fastens around Mike’s ankle, fingers tightening sturdily around the soft skin. Another hand appears abruptly and secures right above the other hand. It has a different complexion, a silver coated wedding band over its ring finger. This is Miguel’s ring.
Something can be heard from within the fog, distinctly Gabriel’s voice.
“Mike… we’re having a party in here. Come join us!” The cheerful tone sends goosebumps rushing down Mike’s back.
“Shit! It can talk!?” Chris tries to pull the leg again, but it’s planted to the floor.
“It’s okay, Mike. Let’s have a lot of fun!” This doesn’t even sound like Miguel, but it is his voice.
There’s a bullet hole through its palm from Mike’s shot. It bleeds all over the other hand, still able to grab persistently despite suffering from such a wound.
“No, no, no! This… This isn’t supposed to happen!!” It shouldn’t be possible for the virus to activate only on gas alone, Rebecca was confident about this. It was one of the key implementations of this virus for its remote activation.
Yet the impossible is right there in front of her, the evidence of the vein-popping, skin-crackling bloody hand lay bare contradicting her every hypothesis.
Mike’s foot stumble further backwards, his hamstring swallowed now. The shrieks are turning into despair, losing his childish tone, becoming more pleading, demanding.
Chris draws his dagger from his holster and stabs straight down into the mist, briefly missing Mike’s foot and directly into both palms, skewering the two hands together. Both hands let go simultaneously, withdrawing into the white once more.
“Now!” Chris orders, and the four of them backs away from the entrance, with Chris slamming the door shut behind. He secures the door with his entire back, feeling the full force of banging. He growls out: “Barricade!”
Rebecca, Mike and Johnny shuffle around, dragging a table, cabinets, chairs—anything heavy to prop in front of the door. Chris stuffs the tiny door gap with vintage draperies to confine the poisonous air, taken directly from the curtain racks itself.
Whatever that is left of Gabriel and Miguel can still be heard snarling, clicking their throats, gargling air beyond the closed door. Occasionally muttering to themselves, pleading the rest on the other side to open the door ever so slightly with their gentle persuasion.
LAUNDRY – 4:06 AM
“I thought I was dead meat for sure.” Mike leans against the other side of the wall, checking his own foot. There is a purple bruise on his skin, but his ankle moves freely. All his joints are fine; nothing is twisted. “Thanks, you guys.”
Rebecca and Chris nods.
“So we lost two, huh…” Mike dry laughs at the situation, even when there is nothing funny going on right now.
There is another moment of silence as each of them thinks about their own fate in this mansion. With their numbers dropped by a third, their chance of survival is looking rather slim.
“Hey, if it helps, I never like those two anyway.” Mike tries to break the suffocating atmosphere with some humour, before a voice that had been quiet for a while suddenly speaks up.
“Gabriel and Miguel wouldn’t have died if he didn’t get false info.” utters Johnny.
“You, rookie?” Mike stops to eye Johnny up and down, who is currently sitting right next to him, with his hands and definitely his ass clenched too. “Defending the guys who yelled at your face?”
“It was ‘cause of my own fuck-up.” Johnny clenches his own fist, guilt dripping through every word. “They shouldn’t have died regardless.”
“In this line of work, people die.” Chris states. It’s a matter of fact. They all knew what they signed up for. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Even so… If they did know about the gas, they would have been alive. At least, Miguel would have been!” Johnny stares directly at Rebecca for responsibility.
When confronted directly, Rebecca hesitates, she knows the blood is in her hands. “This… This is also news to me too… I have read the reports multiple times, there is no mention that A-Virus is capable of such transmission. It doesn’t match up to the research.”
“What if the report was a plant?” Johnny asks. “Arias sent fake data to your email.”
“It can’t be. Each transaction requires a single use security token to grant access to my private cloud storage. This token can only be authenticated via fingerprint recognition. So Leon must have sent the files himself.” Rebecca clarifies. In her mind, her system is impenetrable, mostly…
“And what if he’s dead? Or held hostage? Arias could force his thumb to send whatever he wants.”
Rebecca pauses, then she speaks: “That is a possibility.”
“Clearly, you have not thought of everything.” Johnny leans back.
If Johnny’s theories are right... Rebecca instinctually pats down her back pocket, feeling the cylinder case she tried so hard to save in the laboratory room... then this would have been a waste.
“You—” Chris grabs Johnny on the arm in an uncomfortable angle, squeezing it hard for a lesson. “Enough, kid. I don’t need you going around insulting the best B.O.W. tech I know. She’s doing everything she can. So zip it, focus on your own shit, and follow my orders as I tell you. And I’m ordering you to be quiet.”
“Fine, fine. I got it.” Johnny shrugs off Chris’ hand and rises. “Where’s that same energy to the doctor, huh?” He walks towards a pillar far from the three of them but still within sight.
Chris considered raising his voice, but he drops the idea. Instead, he plops down onto the ground next to Rebecca, patting on her head like he would to his own sister. “Never mind that guy. He’ll lose that attitude real soon. I remember I used to be the same rookie who would talk back to my captain too. Got my ass whooped. Never did that again. At least, not in front of their faces. Maybe I’m going too easy on these fresh ones, who knows…”
A rare moment of gratitude flashes across Rebecca’s eyes; Chris simply dismisses it with a wave. It’s his job to ensure they focus on the present of objective. Not their past, nor their failures. Moreover, B.O.W. techs are more valuable than brawny field soldiers like himself by the hundreds.
Rebecca reaches for something in her bag, and a paper floats to the floor, crumpled from action.
“It’s the letter I took from you.” She should give this back.
He refuses, instead says: “Let’s read it together.”
Trust is rebuilding again, brick by brick.
Chris whistles at the other two and Mike carries himself towards them. Johnny does not move, hand on cheek looking at everything but them even if he did hear the captain. Mike and Rebecca exchange a ‘just let him be’ glance with Chris.
So, Chris unfolds the paper, and reads it out loud, from the part he left off in the storage room.
Get out of there this instant. We think the storage room is booby trapped. I thought the gas was going to turn all of us, but I feel fine. Carlos and Jill though…are off. I accidentally brushed against them, and they felt… cold. When I try talking to them, they seem distracted for a split second. Far off.
Or it could be a false alarm. We don’t know yet. We decided to split into teams for efficiency: Jill and Ada to retrieve the sample while Leon, Carlos shall investigate the pipes. And for me… we’ll see. Once we’re done, we will meet up and get the fuck out of here. I trust Rebecca and the team; we would get through this. We always find a way.
If this is you reading, Arias, get shit on, sucker! The sample will be ours, good riddance to your little game! Justice prevails once more!
There is a hand drawn winky face next to it. Chris and Rebecca scoffs, that optimistic trusting behaviour. So typical of you. And oh, so wrong you were about everything.
“So, the lab, huh? That’s the one by the corridor?” asks Mike.
“Most likely. I know three people was last seen on the ground floor, the others on the top floor. And it’s likely Carlos and Jill to be turned first, according to Leon.” answers Rebecca.
“Could they have split up to divide numbers so they can infect them?” asks Chris.
“That explains why they went MIA. Either infected, or worse, dead.” Mike comments, but none of this is looking too favourable on their side right now.
Chris shakes his head. “I don’t think it’ll be so easy. I know these guys. They’re not the kind to give up without a fight. And these guys are some great fighters.”
Rebecca nods reluctantly. “True—That is, if they know a zombie is among them. These zombies can fucking talk. They wouldn’t have seen it coming. And from what we saw today, they can blend in and entice with their human speech. We have to be very careful.”
What’s to say one of them is not between them now? But she seals her tongue from making such bold statement. Rebecca eyes over a suspicious glance at everyone, including Johnny, checking for any irregularities. None she can notice from a fair distance away.
“But how does the infection work then? Was Gabriel bitten?” Mike asks.
“No, it was only a fracture. The bite marks would be distinct. He only made contact with the ga—” Rebecca pauses.
Her brain starts chugging, like a cogwheel in a complicated mechanism with fragments of facts. Neither of the boys dare to interrupt Rebecca from her thoughts. When she is in the zone, nothing anyone say will get into her head. And it clicks.
“Arias, you sneaky bastard…” She grins. She would kiss her brain right now if she could.
Chris and Mike look at each other in confusion.
“The poisoned water is all around us. It’s the air.” Rebecca elaborates, smiling wide the entire time after her newfound discovery.
“The air?” Chris and Mike gasps in unison.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that when you stepped inside the house, it’s musty?” She pauses to let the boys think. “But the outside, it’s cool.”
“Well, there must have been residual heat from the day still trapped in the house.” Mike comments. It seems abandoned for a long time after all.
“What residual heat during April? It should still be dry season in Querétaro. It’s the humidity! Arias had been pumping up the humidity in the house, that’s why mould is everywhere.”
“And how does that tie to—” Halfway through Mike’s sentence, he snaps his fingers. “Oh.”
“The water supply in the humidifier, of course.” Chris grins, nodding his head in approval.
“The bottled water in the storage is bait. It never had anything to do with the virus.” Rebecca points at Chris and does an a-ha! sound. “The tank in the laboratory is actually just a large-scale humidifier, sending the virus through water vapours in the air. All around us. That’s what those employees were guarding.”
“Gabriel was the only one who took off his mask.” Mike hits his palm with a fist. “And Miguel was infected by being bitten. Then why was Carlos and Jill the ones infected?”
“They had all been infected since the beginning.” Rebecca says, which is the scariest part about this whole operation. What would have happened if Rebecca never suggested the masks?
She continues: “How it activates, I have no clue. The speed of activation drastically varies from person to person so far. The A-Virus attacks always happen either immediately, or up to an hour. I wonder if it’s individual resistance to the virus.”
“Regardless! That’s a major discovery!” Mike launches himself up in joy. “My lord, you’re a genius, Rebecca!”
“As long as we keep our masks on, we should be fine.” Rebecca states, for real this time.
“I’ll let Johnny know the good news.” Mike scoots off. It’s just Rebecca and Chris alone now.
Rebecca takes in a nervous gulp now they are alone. She had forgotten to tell him the most important thing. Rebecca owes him that at least. “Hey, Chris… About the metal case…”
“It’s okay, Becca.” Chris shakes his head understandingly. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Only if you want to. Only when you’re ready. Because we’re going to see this to the end.”
“The both of us?” Rebecca suggests with much confidence.
“With everyone. I’ll make sure we all get back home.” Chris reassures, and this time, he can see clearly what lies at the end of the rainbow.
But what they didn’t know, is that during their heartfelt revelation, Johnny had let a tear fall in private, lifting his mask ever so slightly to wipe the wateriness from his cheek.
TFD SERIES MASTERLIST // RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST
MY BELOVED BETAS: @scar-crossedlvrs @jellybonbons
the plot really boggle my brain i made so many changes last min. my first longfic so forgive me. on the bright side, we're so close to the finale omg!! the next chapter will take me a while, just a heads up!
whoever is still reading this, i appreciate you guys for still staying tuned and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for still believing in me. i love you all sm.
You shuffled wearily through the corridor, your fluffy slippers softly padding against the wooden floor, still half asleep. The closer you drew to the kitchen, the more enticed you were by the aroma of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs, mingling with the sound of the bubbling water from the electric kettle. Entering the kitchen, you found Rebecca bustling about, expertly preparing breakfast for herself.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she greeted with a warm smile, her eyes bright with morning energy.
“God,” you squinted your eyes at the radiant aura she was emitting. “Morning,” you replied with a yawn.
As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, Rebecca glanced over with a playful grin. "Rough night?"
You nodded, reaching for a mug to pour the hot water. “Yeah, spent the night reading the novel you recommended. I couldn’t put it down.” Then you added cold water to the mug, balancing out the hot-to-warm ratio. You took a sip, the warm liquid easing you into wakefulness as you watched her expertly flip the bacon in the pan.
“It’s good, right?!” she said excitedly, her eyes lighting up.
"Seriously, I stayed up way too late," you replied, setting the mug down. "But it was worth it. The plot twists are insane!"
Rebecca beamed, flipping the last slice of bacon. "I told you! Just wait until you get to the ending. It's mind-blowing."
“And what are you doing up so early? I thought weekends were your sleep-in days,” Rebecca chuckled.
“Forgot to turn off my morning alarm,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I might nap later to make up for it.”
Rebecca laughed softly. “Sounds like a plan. Want some breakfast? I made plenty.”
You nodded, grateful for the offer. “Sure, thanks Rebs. Breakfast smells amazing.”
After thanking Rebecca, you joined her in placing the plate of bacon and scrambled eggs on the dining table, the delicious aroma wafting through the air. Sitting down together, Rebecca poured herself a cup of coffee while you went back to the kitchen to fetch some toast to accompany the meal. As you buttered the toast, you couldn't help but notice the quietness of the apartment, prompting you to ask about Leon and Chris.
"Hey, where are Leon and Chris?" you inquired, curious about the whereabouts of your other roommates.
Rebecca glanced up from her plate, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Oh, they’re out for their morning run,” she replied casually. “They’ve been doing that every weekend lately. I think they're trying to get in shape or something.”
“Typical,” you chuckled, shaking your head slightly as you returned to the table with your toast. The apartment felt unusually serene without their usual banter or the sound of Chris's laughter echoing through the walls.
“At least more bacon for us,” Rebecca said with a mischievous grin as she took a satisfying bite of her crispy bacon.
You nodded in agreement with a smile, but then the jingling of keys interrupted the quiet.
"Speaking of the devil, looks like they’re back from their run," Rebecca groaned loudly, her playful annoyance evident in her voice.
As if summoned by Rebecca's groan, the front door swung open, and in walked Leon and Chris, both flushed and sweaty from their morning exercise. Leon's usual stoic expression softened into a smile when he saw you two at the table— especially you, with your bags under your eyes and hair slightly dishevelled.
"Morning, slackers!" Chris greeted cheerfully, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and taking a long swig after taking his sneakers off.
"Morning," Leon replied with a nod, a faint smile quirking his lips as he peeled off his sneakers.
As Leon and Chris settled in, you couldn't help but admire their athletic bodies, a result of their consistent morning runs and gym sessions. Your gaze lingered on Leon, noting the way his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his defined chest, accentuating every muscle with each movement.
Then, as you observed the contrast between their well-built torsos and your own, a thought crossed your mind. "Y'all need a bra?" you quipped, breaking the comfortable silence and drawing laughter from Rebecca.
Chris, in mock horror, quickly covered his chest and gasped dramatically. "Pervert!" he exclaimed, feigning offence. "I worked hard for these pecs, okay?"
Rebecca smirked at Chris's antics, shaking her head playfully. “Please, you love the attention," she scoffed, reaching for another slice of bacon. “Cause you’re an attention whore.”
Amidst the laughter, you noticed Leon’s cheeks taking on a faint hue of pink, his stoic demeanour momentarily faltering under your teasing remarks. His reaction only added to the amusement, prompting a grin to spread across your face as you exchanged playful glances with Rebecca and Chris.
Chris feigned hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. "Me? An attention whore?" He shot a mischievous glance at Leon. "Unlike some people who get flustered over a simple compliment," he added with a grin.
Leon rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were still faintly tinged with colour. "I'm not flustered," he insisted, his tone mockingly defensive. "I just don't appreciate being objectified first thing in the morning."
Rebecca laughed, reaching for another piece of bacon. "Aw, Leon, it's all in good fun! Plus, I think you secretly love it," she teased, winking at him.
Leon sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I start commenting on your outfits every morning."
"Okay fair," you replied with a smirk. "As long as you admit that deep down, you love the attention just as much as Chris does."
Chris grinned, nudging Leon. "See, even they know it. Just embrace it, man."
Leon chuckled, finally relenting. "Fine, fine. But next time, at least buy me dinner first."
You raised an eyebrow, smirking playfully. "Is that an invitation? Because I know a great place downtown," you teased, leaning in slightly.
Leon’s eyes widened for a moment before he caught on to your playful tone. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but he quickly recovered, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, if you're offering, how can I refuse?"
Chris, shaking his head and looking between the two of you. "Seriously, man? Right in front of my bacon?" he said, feigning exasperation.
Leon laughed, finally relaxing. "Hey, bacon and dates can coexist," he quipped, reaching over to grab a piece from the plate.
Rebecca chuckled, handing Chris another slice of bacon. "Here, maybe this will help you cope with the trauma."
Chris accepted it with a mock sigh of relief. "Thanks, I need all the help I can get with these two flirting right before me."
You rolled your eyes playfully, taking another bite of your toast. "C’mon, Chris. You know you love the entertainment."
Chris chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't forget to invite me to the wedding."
MY FAVOURITE DYNAMIC AAAHHHHH the conversations are so natural and their friendship is just.... can that be me pls...
i'm such a softie of how chris,, sweaty chris,,, double d chris,,,,
and rebecca,, my darling!!! she has a special space in my heart i love when she is mentioned . truly underrated !!!
Big fan of sun motifs in characters not necessarily being about positivity and happiness and how they're so " bright and warm" but instead being about fucking brutal they are.
Radiant. A FORCE of nature that will turn you to ash. That warmth that burns so hot it feels like ice. Piercing yellow and red and white. A character being a Sun because you cannot challenge a Sun without burning alive or taking everything down with them if victorious.
a fellow goodbye miss flower thief lover detected on my recommended..! 🥺🫶
OMG SOMEONE GOT MY VOCALOID REFERENCE!??!?!
it's one of my favourite songs from one of my favourite producers aaahhh!!! i was really into meru and vocaloid (old stuff usually) for a while!!! glad to find a friend who likes vocaloid here omg!!
please do tell me your favourite artists / producers, i would love to hear about it !!! (and reminsce my childhood aha)
CW: 18+ (mdni), virgin reader, college roommate au, retired fuckboy!leon, vendetta trio (chris, leon & rebecca), talks about virginity/relationship/trauma (car accident), fluff/angst/smut, a lot of kissing, dick piercing, oral job (afab receiving), pussy slapping, thigh jobs, aftercare.
Words: 7.4k
A/N: special thanks to my wife @roseglazedlens for beta reading and helping me with the banners <3 muah muah
Without a doubt, college is such a drag. It’s a wonder you haven’t given up on yourself already, with all the assignments piling up, submissions one after another, professors breathing down your neck, dealing with crappy groupmates and customers from your part-time job. But here you are, almost three years deep into your degree, with no turning back now.
You sighed, feeling the strain in your fingers from typing away all day. The pressure was real with an assignment due in just a few days. You tried to unwind with a book and music, but the impending thought of reading through another paragraph might just make your head explode.
It’s been known that college can get pretty lonely at times. Sure, you've got friends here and there, but they're all caught up in their own stuff, on top of all that, their partners. This is when you wish you had one yourself. You've had your fair share of relationships or flings in the past, but it never really went beyond first base – blame it on your commitment issues and insecurities.
Virginity is a funny thing, isn't it? Some people don't really give it much thought, while others, like yourself, see it as a significant part of who they are. To you, it's more than just a physical state – it's about vulnerability, about letting someone in and truly being seen. Maybe that's why your relationships never seem to last long. You realise now that you settled for them, not for yourself. You were caught up in the idea of a relationship rather than being honest with yourself about what you truly wanted and needed.
Heading into college, you finally found yourself crushing on someone – your roommate, Leon Kennedy. Your first meeting was awkward, to say the least. It started with your classmate-turned-friend, Rebecca Chambers, asking if you wanted to live with her and two of her friends since they had an extra room. Without hesitation, you agreed – after all, why not? Splitting the rent between four people and having a bigger apartment than your current one sounded like a win-win. But when you finally met her two friends, it felt like you stumbled upon an adorable squirrel with her two guard dogs.
You could definitely say that Leon and his other friend, Chris Redfield, were pretty protective of her, but Rebecca reassured them that she trusted you and thought you were a lovely person – bless her heart. From that day on, the tension slowly dissipated, and all of you learned how to live with each other, quirks and all. If there was ever a disagreement, Chris would call for a 'family meeting' to sort things out.
You've grown close to both Chris and Rebecca, but with Leon, it's different. He's close, yet there's still a sense of distance.
—
Exhibit A:
The huge, comfortable couch in the living room was decorated with a mismatched assortment of decorative pillows, giving the area a homely, well-worn feel. The walls were covered in posters of bands, and a shelf next to it held a tidy collection of DVDs. Game controllers, remote controls, and empty food wrappers were frequently strewn all over the coffee table – no matter how many times Rebecca told Chris and Leon to clean them up. The room had the ideal ambience for movie evenings thanks to the floor lamp's warm glow and the fairy lights.
You noticed that Leon would always have your favourite snacks on hand, without you even needing to ask. But then again, he made sure to get snacks for everyone else too. You never once mentioned your favourite snacks to him – you guess he might have overheard you talking to Rebecca in the dining area while he was playing video games with Chris in the living room that one time.
"Here," Leon said, passing you the brightly wrapped package after doling out snacks to the others.
“Thanks,” you said, taking them from Leon. “How did you know these are my favourites?”
He shrugged casually. “Maybe I'm just good at picking up on things.”
"But I've never told you," you pointed out, genuinely curious.
Leon hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. "I've got my ways of finding out,” he replied cryptically before turning away to grab a drink.
You raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his response. “Oh, well, thanks again.”
"Oh my god! It's been so long since I've eaten those," Rebecca, who was cuddled up next to you, exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she gazed at your snacks. You chuckled at her enthusiasm.
"You want some?" you offered, opening the snack package.
"Yes, please!" she eagerly replied.
If you had turned back, you would have noticed Leon's ears turning a faint shade of red, but you were too focused on sharing the snacks with Rebecca to notice his reaction.
Exhibit B:
Amidst the chaos of exam week, you and Chris had taken over the living room for a study session. Notes, textbooks, and Post-it notes were strewn everywhere, creating a cluttered workspace. Rebecca had wisely chosen to isolate herself in her room, knowing that if she joined you two, it would devolve into gossip rather than studying. As for Leon, he preferred the solitude of studying alone.
By 2 am, Chris had already succumbed to exhaustion, snoring away on the couch. Meanwhile, you were hunched over your notes on the floor, frustration building as you re-read the material for what felt like the hundredth time. A headache was starting to form, exacerbated by the late hour and Chris' snoring.
Lost in your work, you didn't notice Leon's quiet approach until he set a hot mug of green tea on the coffee table beside you. "Take a break," he said casually, before moving over to Chris and gently nudging him awake, signaling that it was time for him to call it a night.
"Hey, wake up," Leon whispered.
Chris grunted in response, rolling over to his side and snoring loudly. Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes and deliver a – gentle – punch to Chris's arm, hoping it would be enough to jolt him awake.
"Ouch! Damn, Leon, that hurts," Chris groaned, rubbing his arm where Leon had punched him.
Leon, unapologetic, raised an eyebrow at Chris. "Maybe if you didn't snore like a freight train, I wouldn't have to resort to violence."
Chris, still rubbing his arm, shot you a playful glare. "Well, if someone didn't study so quietly, maybe I wouldn't need to fill the room with my soothing snores."
"Don't look at me, I'm just trying to study peacefully," you retorted, raising your hand in mock surrender while cradling the mug in your other.
"Yeah, right. Your snores are like lullabies, Chris. I almost fell asleep while making my late-night snack,” Leon said with a slight smirk.
Chris mockingly gasped. "You wound me, Leon. My snores are an art form."
You chuckled. "Well, gentlemen, whether it's an art form or a lullaby, it's time for the masterpiece to take a break. Chris, go get some beauty sleep." Chris nodded.
"You too, don't stay up too late," Leon said to you, shooting a glance in your direction before grabbing Chris by his shirt.
"I'm up, I'm up," Chris protested, his voice muffled as Leon playfully put him in a headlock and guided him towards his room.
You couldn't help but chuckle at their antics, taking another sip of your tea as you watched them disappear down the hallway.
—
You found yourself in a dilemma. Leon had always been just a friend, but lately, you couldn't shake off the growing attraction you felt towards him. It wasn't just his physical appearance that drew you in, although his blue eyes, his piercings and the little details about him were certainly captivating. It was the way he was always there for you, that’s what friends are for, right?
You discovered that you couldn't stop thinking about him, day or night. His presence seemed to linger in your mind, occupying your thoughts even when you were supposed to be focusing on something else. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his video game strategies or the way he would absentmindedly run his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought. And those moles scattered across his skin, you found yourself itching to trace your fingers over them, to memorise every little detail of him.
But despite your growing feelings, you were hesitant to act on them. You cherished the ‘friendship’ you shared with Leon and you were afraid of risking it by admitting your true feelings. So for now, you kept your emotions buried deep within, hoping that they would eventually fade away – but they didn’t.
—
Leon had been sceptical when Rebecca first introduced you to him and Chris. He thought you might have ulterior motives, using her to get closer to him for his body. After all, he had a reputation as a fuckboy, although he considered himself a retired one now. That's why both him and Chris were so protective of her; he didn't want to drag Rebecca into his messy past again.
However, Leon was genuinely surprised when he discovered that you didn't know much about his past. While you were aware of his existence, you weren't deeply immersed in campus drama, preferring to spend your time online with other interests. You treated him like any other person, and he found himself grateful for that. In the past, he had been the worst version of himself, indulging in alcohol, weed, and sex, using his body to get whatever he wanted. But hey, in this economy, whatever works.
He had grown accustomed to people using him, whether it was for physical gratification or emotional support. It was the darkest chapter of his history, and his once-close friendship with Chris and Rebecca had deteriorated to the point where they were practically strangers, but that was six months ago. Now they were back to being three peas in a pod, their bond stronger than ever.
Then came that one fateful night – that one awful night – when he had drunk too much and made the reckless decision to drive home while intoxicated from a party. What great friends he had.
As Leon stirred awake in the hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of machines punctured the air, accompanied by the clinical scent of antiseptic. His gaze fell upon Rebecca, slumbering peacefully in a chair beside his bed, though the fatigue evident in the bags beneath her eyes spoke of restless nights spent by his side. Summoning what little strength he could muster, he attempted to rouse her with a feeble movement of his finger.
Suddenly, Chris burst into the room, bearing two cups of coffee in hand. The sight of Leon awake nearly caused him to fumble the cups, hastily setting them down on a nearby table before rushing to his friend's bedside with evident concern. Rebecca, startled by Chris's sudden entrance and booming voice, blinked awake in a daze.
“Leon, you’re awake!” Rebecca's smile lit up the room as she clasped Leon's uninjured hand in hers.
Leon attempted to speak, but his dry throat betrayed him. Swift to notice, Chris quickly retrieved a water bottle and a straw for Leon. While Rebecca, with practised ease adjusted the bed to a more comfortable position, allowing Leon to sit up slightly. As soon as the straw touched his lips, Leon didn't hesitate to take a much-needed sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat.
Once he had quenched his thirst, Leon managed a weak smile of gratitude, his gaze shifting between Chris and Rebecca. "Thanks, guys," he murmured hoarsely, his voice still rough from disuse.
"Was anyone else hurt?” he asked anxiously, recalling the events of the previous night with a sense of dread. He knew he had made a terrible mistake by driving under the influence, and he dreaded the thought of anyone else being harmed because of his actions.
Chris exchanged a glance with Rebecca before answering, his expression sombre. "It was just you, Leon," he replied gently, placing a comforting hand on Leon's shoulder. "You're lucky, man. Could've been a lot worse."
Rebecca nodded in agreement, her worry evident in her eyes. "We're just glad you're okay," she added softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
For once in his life, he let his tears flow freely, openly crying in front of them. There were many reasons for his tears, but two stood out: their unwavering support despite his past behaviour and the stark realisation of how close he came to losing everything. It felt like a wake-up call, a sign that he needed to change his ways.
As both Chris and Rebecca leaned in for an embrace, he felt the warmth of their love enveloping him. That moment marked a new beginning for them. They took turns caring for him, offering support and encouragement every step of the way. And with their help, he began to see a therapist to address his trauma and work through his issues, determined to become a better version of himself.
He knew he wasn't perfect, but he was steadily making progress.
—
You were like a breath of fresh air, bringing a sense of normalcy to Leon's life outside his close circle of friends. The more he observed you, the more smitten he became. He found himself falling hard for you, enchanted by the melody of your voice and the way your smile lit up the room. Even when you laughed at his silly jokes while Chris and Rebecca remained unimpressed, it only deepened his infatuation. From your quick wit to your undeniable charm, he felt like a lovesick puppy in your presence.
Many moments with you left a lasting impression on Leon. One night, he had fallen asleep on the couch, and you had just returned from a night shift. Spotting Leon asleep, you crept, careful not to disturb him. You gently placed your belongings on the dining table before quietly slipping into his room to retrieve a blanket.
You returned with the blanket and draped them over him, ensuring he stayed warm throughout the night. As you crouched down beside him, you couldn't resist the urge to tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, smiling softly at the peaceful expression on his sleeping face.
As you quietly left the room and retreated to your own, Leon being the light sleeper he was, felt a rush of emotions flooding through him. His heart raced as he became aware of your proximity, even in his slumber. The gentle touch of your hand and the warmth of your presence lingered in his mind, leaving him feeling strangely comforted yet unsettled all at once. It was a moment he couldn't shake, stirring something within him that he couldn't quite put into words.
These mixed emotions were still present during another memorable moment, when you, Chris, Rebecca, and Leon gathered for a pizza dinner. Chris, in his usual generous fashion, ordered a variety – cheese, pepperoni, and BBQ pizzas. The living room transformed into a makeshift dining area as you all settled in to watch a movie while enjoying the feast. Despite the lively atmosphere, Leon found himself quietly observing you, the feelings from the previous night still lingering in his mind, adding a layer of depth to the otherwise ordinary gathering.
Whatever, he shook his thoughts away.
As the pizza boxes opened, Leon grabbed a slice of the BBQ pizza, only to discover a surplus of onions. His displeasure was evident and despite his efforts to discreetly pick off the offending toppings, the struggle did not go unnoticed by you.
Your laughter bubbled up as you observed Leon's onion-removing antics. "Not a fan of onions, huh?" you teased.
"Nah, I don’t like the extra crunch," Leon replied, continuing to pick them off.
You extended your plate towards him. "Just give them to me; I like onions," you offered with a smile.
"Really? Thanks," Leon responded, handing you the onion-laden slices.
"You need to stop being such a picky eater, Leon," Chris chimed in between bites of his pizza.
Leon shook his head defiantly. "Nope, not happening," he retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.
Rebecca joined in, adding with a playful grin, "Hey, at least now we know who the real onion lover is around here!"
After your laughter died down, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Leon – you loved onions, but little did they know that you had a particular disdain for red onions.
Despite all this, Leon couldn't shake the memories that haunted him. Beneath the surface of his laidback demeanour lay a vulnerability he had yet to reveal to anyone outside his close circle of friends.
It was a sunny morning as you and Leon walked side by side to class, chatting idly about your schedules. But then your conversation was abruptly interrupted by the screech of tyres from behind, a sharp, piercing sound that seemed to echo through Leon's bones.
Without warning, Leon's steps faltered, his body freezing in place as his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened with fear, his muscles tensing as if preparing for impact.
You sensed the shift in his demeanour immediately, instincts kicking in as you turned to face him, concern etched across your features. "Leon?" you called softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"
"Don't," he said sharply, his voice tinged with a mixture of desperation and frustration. "Please, just... don't touch me."
You froze, your heart sinking at the rejection. You had never seen Leon react like this before, and the realisation only fueled your determination to help him.
"Okay," you said softly, pulling your hand back. "I won't touch you. But I'm here, Leon. You're not alone."
Leon's breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggled to regain control of his racing thoughts.
Thinking quickly, you searched for another way to reach him. You remembered the breathing exercises you learned from the internet, the rhythmic pattern designed to calm the mind in moments of distress.
"Leon," you said gently, your voice a steady anchor in the storm of his panic. "Listen to me. We're going to try something, okay? Just focus on my voice."
Leon nodded hesitantly, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.
"Close your eyes," you instructed, your own voice calm and measured. "Now, take a deep breath in through your nose... and out through your mouth. Good. Now, let's do it again. In... and out."
Together, both of you repeated the breathing exercises; Leon's tense muscles gradually relaxing with each steady breath. You kept your voice low and soothing, guiding him through the process with gentle encouragement.
The chaotic noise of the campus faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your shared breaths. And with each passing moment, Leon felt the grip of panic loosening its hold, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity.
"Thank you," Leon whispered as he finally opened his eyes, his voice hoarse with overwhelming emotions.
"Anytime.” You smiled softly at him.
—
You were attractive, considerate, attentive, but sometimes sarcastic — all the more reason to love you. So imagine his surprise when, during one of your deep conversations, you dropped the bombshell: "I'm still a virgin."
Leon's reaction was immediate. "Wait, what?" His eyes widened in disbelief, and he nearly choked on the iced tea Rebecca had made for everyone.
You couldn't help but smirk at his reaction, finding his surprise somewhat amusing. "Yeah, I know, right?" you replied casually, trying to downplay the moment. "Just never felt the rush, I guess."
Leon's expression softened, his initial shock giving way to an understanding. "Well, that's... unexpected," he admitted, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "But hey, it's your choice, and there's nothing wrong with that."
"Yeah," you said, taking a sip of the iced tea. You couldn't help but grimace as the sweetness hit your taste buds; Rebecca had gone a bit overboard with the sugar again. “I guess, I just have a hard time trusting people to truly see me, you get it?” you said, revealing a vulnerability that Leon hadn't seen before.
“Just the idea of letting someone see a vulnerable side of you and then, things fall apart, and that person is not in your life anymore... it's terrifying."
Leon nodded thoughtfully, the flicker of a reassuring smile appearing on his lips. "I get it," he responded softly, his eyes reflecting understanding.
"It's hard to open up when you've been hurt before. But not everyone is the same, you know? And sometimes, taking that risk can lead to something beautiful."
"Yeah, but I’m not ready to take that risk," you pondered, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
Leon leaned forward, his expression gentle. "That's okay," he said. "It's all about timing, and when you're ready, you'll know. Until then, just focus on being true to yourself." If the old Leon heard this, he would cringe in disgust at how poetic he has become.
“Aw, look at you, Mr. Wise man,” you teased, playfully punching his shoulder.
“Hey, I have experience, okay,” he chuckled, offering a playful wink. "Life's full of surprises, and you never know when the right person might come along." Leon thought to himself, hoping silently that he could be that person for you.
To be your person — it was a dream he cherished deeply. He already felt privileged enough to see you with your dishevelled hair every morning, to enjoy the breakfasts you made, to hear you humming to yourself as you cleaned the apartment, and to witness all the little quirks that made you... you.
Like the way you always insisted on starting your day with a cup of hot warm water because of its health benefits. Or how you had a habit of tapping your fingers on any surface whenever you were anxious. The way you collect little trinkets and gift them to others because they reminded you of them, or how you could never resist stopping to take pictures of the sky when it looked especially pretty. The way you scrunch your nose when you laugh, and how you always double-knot your shoelaces because "you can't be too careful,” even though they somehow always come undone, so he has to tie them for you again — cue to Rebecca and Chris giggling quietly at the back.
“Yeah, who knows?” you replied with a smile, stopping him from his daydreaming state.
Leon looked into your eyes, a gentle warmth spreading through his chest. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you at that moment. Your smiles softened, and a comfortable silence settled between you. Time felt like it slowed down as you both gazed at each other, the unspoken words and hidden shared feelings hanging in the air.
However, the moment was cut short when cock-block Chris slid the balcony doors open, surprising you guys.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt," Chris said, his voice breaking the momentary silence. "But I thought you might want to join us for board games. Rebecca's been bugging me to drag you both inside.”
You chuckled at Chris's interruption. "Sure, sounds like fun," you replied, shooting a playful glance at Leon.
Leon grinned in response, a twinkle in his eye as he nodded in agreement. "Let's go then," he said, rising from his seat and motioning for you to follow.
“Can’t wait to beat you in Monopoly,” you added with a mischievous grin, earning a playful scoff from Leon.
“Dream on,” Leon replied with a playful smirk, grabbing both his and your drink before heading back inside.
“Hey, we know Rebecca is the master of Monopoly,” Chris chimed in.
"Yeah, you’re right, she always bankrupts us within the first hour," you agreed with a laugh.
"Alright, let's see if we can finally overthrow the reigning champion," Leon said with determination, leading the way back inside.
—
You should have been spending your weekend with friends, but alas, the call of assignments beckoned you to spend the week in your room. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you typed away on your laptop, nearing the end of your essay. All that remained were the conclusion and the references.
This was the second time you had to redo this assignment. Your professor, Dr. Wesker, critiqued it during the tutorial, and it fell short of his expectations, so you had to incorporate the points you had missed. You made a mental note to give him three stars in the end-of-semester review – that being generous — and to punch Chris because he said Wesker’s class was easy. No, it was not; Wesker made sure to run the class like the Navy.
As the evening turned into night, you fueled your essay-writing spree with a touch of spite. The anticipation of going to the new jazz bar in your area with your friends was the added motivation. Empty instant coffee cans littered your desk, proving your determination. In the apartment, it was just you and Leon; Chris was visiting his sister, Claire, while Rebecca was out on a date with Billy. Helping Rebecca get ready had only made you more jealous of her evening out. Ever the sweetheart, she noticed you were down and promised to bring back treats for you as a reward.
The apartment felt unusually quiet, with only the hum of your laptop and the distant sounds of city life filtering through the windows. The silence was a stark reminder of the fun you were missing out on. Yet, there was a strange comfort in knowing Leon was just in the other room, a silent presence that somehow made the tedious task of essay writing a bit more bearable.
However, the universe was not on your side as your old laptop finally decided to give up on you. Despite all your efforts — charging, troubleshooting, and pleading — it refused to turn back on. "No, no, no, no!" you exclaimed, punctuating each word with a frustrated slam of your hand against the desk. Scratch that, Dr. Wesker is getting only one star and a long paragraph in the comment section.
Hearing the commotion from Leon’s bedroom, he paused his game and rushed into your room. "What happened?!" he asked, concern etched on his face.
You looked at him with tears streaming down your face. "My laptop won't open," you said.
His face softened as he approached you. "I'm assuming you've tried everything," he remarked.
"Yes!" you exclaimed, frustration evident in your voice.
"Okay, okay, calm down," Leon reassured you, his tone soothing. "What did you use to do your assignment on?" he inquired, rolling your chair closer to him and kneeling down in front of you.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "Google Docs," you replied.
He nodded reassuringly. "Okay, they have an auto-save feature, so your work is still there. In the meantime, you can use mine." Leon wiped away your tears with his thumb. "I know a guy who can fix your laptop, so you don't have to worry."
Leon's comforting touch eased your tension slightly. "Thanks," you said, your voice wavering with emotion. "I'm sorry for lashing out. It's just….it’s been a stressful week."
He offered you a sympathetic smile. "No need to apologise," he said softly. "We all have our moments.”
"You're too good for me," you whispered, your gratitude evident in your eyes.
Leon's sympathetic expression softened further as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Hey, don't say that," he replied earnestly. "You're amazing, and anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. And if you ever need someone to talk to or help you through tough times, I'm here for you, always.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” you said softly as you wiped the remaining tears away.
There was a moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then, you hesitated before speaking again.
"Leon... there's something I've been meaning to tell you," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know we're friends, but... lately, I've been feeling something more. I can't shake this feeling that there's something between us, something deeper?"
Leon's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't interrupt as you continued.
"I understand if you don't feel the same way," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush as you fidget with your fingers, feeling vulnerable and exposed. "I just needed to get it off my chest."
For a moment, there was only silence as Leon processed your words. Then, he reached out and gently took your hand in his, stopping you from fidgeting. On the inside, he was literally jumping up and down and screaming internally. His heart raced with excitement and joy, but he kept his composure, squeezing your hand gently to convey his feelings.
“I... I've been feeling the same way," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with emotion. "I didn't know if you felt the same, but… I've been wanting to tell you how I feel for a while now." His hands felt warm against your cold ones, a reassuring touch that sent a shiver down your spine.
"But are you sure you want to be with someone like me? I’m a bit damaged,” he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of insecurity. As you shared a tender gaze, his vulnerability spilled out.
"At the same time… I want to be with you. You keep me grounded, and every day I feel like I'm becoming a better version of myself because of you. But I don’t want to burden you with my baggage."
Your heart swelled with affection as you reached out to cup his face, gently wiping away the traces of doubt etched there. "Leon, I see you, all of you, and I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“Being damaged doesn’t make you any less worthy of love and happiness. We all have our scars and struggles. What matters is that you’re taking steps to heal, to become the best version of yourself. And I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”
At that moment, Leon knew he couldn't let his fears hold him back any longer.
Leon’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours. The world seemed to stand still as he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a passionate heartfelt kiss. His hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to be apart.
The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotions he couldn’t put into words— the love, the gratitude, the desire. His lips moved against yours with fervent need, and as you responded, you could feel the weight of his insecurities lifting, replaced by the warmth of your mutual affection.
Breaking the kiss, Leon scooped you up from your chair with ease, his arms strong and secure around you. He carried you to your bed and gently laid you down, his gaze never leaving yours. The tenderness in his eyes spoke volumes as he caressed your face.
"You mean everything to me, and I want to be the one you can always rely on." He leaned in for another kiss, sealing his promise with the warmth of his embrace. “Just how I can rely on you.”
When Leon's words settled in, you felt a rush of emotion swell in your chest. You reached up, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch and moving down to his neck where his moles were. The tenderness in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and you could see the sincerity behind every word he had spoken.
Leon let out a gasp as your fingers continued their gentle exploration, the touch feeling soft and human against his skin. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. Letting out a sigh of contentment, he buried his face against your neck, inhaling your familiar scent—the comforting mix of laundry detergent and coffee, so wonderfully homey.
“God, you don’t know how much you've softened me.” He chuckled softly, his lips trailing kisses along your neck.
You couldn't help but tease him, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, is that so?" you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips. "Big, tough Leon going all soft on me?"
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze with a grin. "Yeah, you have that effect on me," he admitted. "Never thought I'd be saying that."
You laughed softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. "Well, I kind of like this softer side of you," you teased, your eyes sparkling. "Makes me feel special."
"You are special," Leon whispered, his expression turning serious. "More than you know."
“Leon…I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady but your heart racing.
“Ready for what, sweetheart?” he asked, the endearment rolling off his tongue naturally. He liked how it felt, unlike the generic terms, ‘Babe’ and ‘Baby’ he had used for his past flings when he didn’t bother to remember their names.
“Ready… for you to take my virginity.”
Leon’s eyes widened slightly before he softened, his expression filled with tenderness. "Oh… you're so precious. Not now, okay? I want to take you out on a date first."
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupted gently. “I can make you feel good without taking it…do you trust me?”
“I do,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth.
“Then just relax," he said softly. "I’m here, and I’ll gladly help you release your stress.”
Without another word, Leon closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate, desperate kiss — a culmination of months of longing and pent-up desire. All your worries and stress melted away as you sought solace in each other’s embrace.
As the kiss deepened, Leon’s hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer with a strong need to please you. The hunger and longing that had built up over the months drove you both, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity neither of you had ever felt before.
Leon’s fingers deftly found the hem of your sweater, slowly lifting it up and over your head. As your bare skin met the cool air, a wave of shyness washed over you. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself.
Leon paused, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and gentle reassurance. He reached out, his hands gently removing yours from your chest. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “You’re beautiful, and I want to see all of you.” He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, and you felt your body relax under his touch, trusting him completely.
“Leon…”
With a reassuring smile, Leon stepped back slightly and grasped the hem of his own shirt. In one smooth motion, he pulled it over his head, revealing the defined lines of his chest, the faint scars that marked his skin, and the tantalising happy trail leading down from his naval.
“See? Nothing to be shy about.” Leon had come so far, enduring countless battles, to reach this moment of vulnerability and softness with you.
You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the sight of his happy trail peeking through his sweatpants. His lips, slightly swollen from your shared kisses, only added to the heat coursing through you. The mere thought of kissing him had you feeling an ache between your legs — maybe those cringy scenes in films about virgin sex aren’t so fake after all. As you squeezed your thighs together unconsciously, he chuckled softly and gently pulled them apart.
"You okay there?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.
You laughed nervously, trying to mask your embarrassment. "Yeah, just... overwhelmed, I guess."
Leon's chuckle deepened. "I'd say that's a good sign," he teased, his fingers tracing a soothing pattern on your thigh. "But let's take it slow, okay?"
Leon's fingers trailed along the curve of your thigh, a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Have you ever... touched yourself before?" he asked softly.
Your breath caught in your throat at his question, the sensation of his touch combined with the intimacy of his inquiry making your heart race. "Um, well... yeah," you replied hesitantly, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.
Leon's touch became even more tender, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he leaned in closer. "Tell me about it," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "I want to know everything."
“I... I just use my fingers,” you confessed, feeling a little embarrassed by the simplicity of your answer. You found yourself rambling about the prices of sex toys and how impractical they seemed, but Leon's attention was elsewhere as he trailed his fingers down to your clothed heat.
With unabashed hunger, he traced his fingertips over the fabric shielding your wetness, sending shivers through you. He moved lower, his mouth finding your inner thighs, licking and biting gently, his breath hot against your skin.
As you continued to ramble with hitched breaths, Leon nodded along, occasionally responding with a thoughtful "hmm" here and there. His lips pressed against your clothed mound and his tongue piercing tracing circles over the fabric. Each teasing lick and swirling motion sent shivers coursing through your body.
“Leon, fuck,” you moaned, bucking your hips toward his face.
His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he slid down your underwear, revealing your glistening folds. His tongue darted out, flicking against your swollen clit while his hands moved to your hips, holding you in place.
Leon savoured the taste of your arousal, relishing how you quivered beneath him, desperate for more. His lips closed around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue worked in skilled motions. As your moans filled the room, he intensified his assault, his tongue delving deeper and applying more pressure.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against your slick folds, his voice filled with possessiveness. “My special sweetheart.” With a playful yet firm touch, he lightly slapped your clit, eliciting a gasp from you.
Your breath hitched at Leon's possessive words and instinctively, wrapped your legs around his head, pulling him closer and squeezing them together in response. The sensation of his tongue and lips working so intimately against you, combined with the pressure of your thighs around him, heightened the intensity of your pleasure.
“Leon!” you babbled his name like a prayer as he worked his tongue on you. Each flick and swirl of his tongue made you tremble, the overwhelming sensation almost too much to bear. Your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as you surrendered to him.
Lost in the intensity of the moment, Leon started to grind himself against the mattress. His sweatpants strained against his growing erection. He could feel the dampness of his pre-cum soaking through the fabric, each grind intensifying the need coursing through him. His cock strained painfully against the confines of his pants, desperate for release as he focused on bringing you to the edge of ecstasy.
Your breathing grew ragged, and you could feel the tightening coil of release building within you. Instinctively, your hands flew to his head, gripping his hair tightly as you arched your back, your body seeking more of his touch. The sharp tug made Leon grunt, a deep, guttural sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh.
Despite the pain, he refused to relent, his determination evident in the way he continued to devour you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as his tongue and lips worked with relentless precision, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, refusing to let you go.
Finally, with a shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal bliss. Leon held you through it all, refusing to let you go until you were utterly undone beneath him, lost in the euphoria of the moment.
As you lay there, panting and trembling, Leon parted from your cunt, his chin and lips glistening with your release. He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes, before tenderly kissing your clit. "You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I could devour you all night."
Your cheeks heated up due to his remarks, a turbulent rush of feelings that filled your senses with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. Under the intensity of his gaze, you quivered, feeling another desire surge through you again.
Leon leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he spat on your cunt, the warm liquid mixing with your own arousal. He clumsily peeled off his sweatpants, revealing his hard, straining cock. He positioned himself between your legs, pushing your thighs together to create a tight, plush space.
With a low groan, Leon began to stroke himself between your thighs, the friction against your slick skin sending jolts of pleasure through him. Each thrust caused his piercing to occasionally bump against your clit, sending thrilling shocks through your body and making you gasp with the unexpected sensation.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his eyes fixated on the scandalous sight before him — the view of his reddened and swollen tip emerging from the clutch of your thighs.
You were certain Leon would leave bruises on your thighs from the way he was gripping them. “I’m gonna... gonna—shit,” Leon whimpered, quickening his pace. His thrusts became urgent and forceful, driven by an insatiable hunger for release. The air was filled with the sound of your moans and the slap of skin against skin. He leaned over you, shifting into a mating press with your legs squished to your chest and his balls slapping against your ass.
With a few more thrusts, Leon succumbed to the pleasure, his body tensing as he spilt himself between your thighs and stomach. Waves of ecstasy washed over him, and he continued to move, riding out his orgasm with a mix of intense relief and satisfaction. His body trembled with aftershocks and his breathing erratic as he slowly descended from the high.
As Leon collapsed beside you, panting and spent, he realised that you hadn't come for the second time. He then shifted his position, propping himself up on one elbow as he glanced down at your flushed form. Seeing the need still evident in your eyes, he gently brushed his fingers over your slick folds, seeking out your swollen clit.
"Let me take care of you again," he cooed as he began to rub gentle circles over your sensitive bud. With each stroke, he felt your body respond, the tension building once more as you whimpered and writhed beneath his touch.
Leon focused entirely on bringing you to the peak of pleasure, his movements deliberate and precise as he pushed you closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, and your hips bucked against his hand, signalling how near you were to release. With a shuddering gasp, you finally reached your climax. Leon’s grip was steady as you trembled beneath him, lost in the overwhelming euphoria.
He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. "I'll be right back," he whispered, leaving the room momentarily to grab a warm, damp towel. Returning swiftly, he carefully wiped away the sweat and traces of cum from your skin.
Once he finished, he picked up your discarded sweater from the floor and slipped it over your shoulders, ensuring you were comfortable. You nestled into its warmth as Leon retrieved his own sweatpants and pulled them on.
Returning to your side, he asked softly, "Feeling better?"
You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you snuggled closer to him. "Yeah, much better. Thanks for taking care of me."
He smiled back, his eyes filled with affection, and gently massaged the nape of your neck. "How was the aftercare? It's my first time doing it."
You chuckled softly. "Honestly, I can't say much about it since I don't have any experience either."
Leon laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Guess we're both new at this. Maybe I should include 'aftercare specialist' on my résumé."
You grinned, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "Yeah, but only if I get to be your reference."
He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal."
Pics are from pinterest and edited by: @roseglazedlens
It was genuinely such a fun read and SPICY HELLO???? I can tell you put your heart and soul into this one,, I'm so proud of you for this one!!!
Well done on writing your longest and probably the best piece you ever wrote (even though all of them are good, it just keeps getting better like c'mon!)
𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄
LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER
synopsis: With both squads going MIA, Rebecca is left with no choice but to call local B.O.W. expert: Chris Redfield for back-up. She joins Chris to fight zombies in the front lines as tension hangs high with disagreements about life and death.
content: NO SMUT. human experimentation, needles, zombies, weapons. featuring my beloved rebecca chambers and chris redfield to the rescue!
a/n: an update finally!! writers block kicked my ass hard, but i found my flow again! hopefully the next one will be the soon(?)
« 3.8 k words | general masterlist | reblogs appreciated!
CHICAGO, 10:18 PM
In the middle of the laboratory, the pot is stirring. Time is running out. Anxiety levels are through the roof.
White coats scurry across the room with fretful urgence, one arm cradling report stacks while the other cold calls manufacturers, suppliers, and government officials in direct contact with the virus. The ones in worse conditions have their heads plant into a screen, laboured bags shadowing their eyes as they examine the abundance of complex, crude data… Anything to give them a head start on the discovery of Glenn Arias’ top secret weapon.
Meanwhile, Rebecca Chambers, B.S.A.A’s lead advisers on all things bioweapons, is multitasking all of that at the same time. She had been working on this case for restlessly days and nights, filling the gaps between the bytes and grasping loose straws at the vast possibilities with minimal success and much brain scratching.
“Water supply working in conjunction with the gas…” Rebecca thinks aloud her last exchange with Leon, which he speculates that is how Arias had been spreading his infection to communities without getting his hands dirty. It’s all just a theory for now… but what if he is right? What if there isn’t just not one strain of virus, but multiple origins of the virus?
Rebecca still needs to investigate the reports that Leon had sent much more thoroughly. It made her job harder when most of the reports attached in the transmission had been corrupted. However, Rebecca can vaguely piece together the words on top of every document, marked by a name:
CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENT: ANIMALITY VIRUS (ABBREVIATED TO: A-VIRUS)
A sting reaches her head before she reaches her next thought. Rebecca pushes herself away from the desk, remembering her doctor recommended her five minutes away from the screen every fifteen minutes. And it had already been five hours of her grinding her head at her options. Words and numbers are bleeding into each other.
The symptoms of this so called ‘A-Virus’ are too unstable. While some have delayed symptoms of the infection, most would immediately mutate and go berserk. Yet there is also a small percentage of people who experience no reaction to the virus.
Arias is experimenting with this virus—he must be. But Rebecca needs more concrete evidence, her theories aren’t solid just yet. Fortunately, during the outbreaks, a B.O.W. impacted by the A-Virus had been detained and supplied to the laboratory for research endeavours.
Rebecca spins her armchair away from her screen. There lies a zombie in front of her, flat stone surface used as an impenetrable bed, all four limbs spread wide by cuffs bolted onto the structure itself. It barks, it growls, it snarls against its metal confines with futile resistance. There is no chance for escape.
A chain necklace jingles from its volatile motions, and amateur carving of the name ‘Elías’ can be seen on the wooden ornate at the end of the chain.
Rebecca curses under her breath, well aware she cannot make any meaningful promise in her heart to save him. The host was already too far into the lifecycle—blood cells rewritten, features indistinguishable between animal and monster. Far too late for Elías.
Once a civilian, overnight a monster. Elías didn’t deserve this, yet he is bound to a fate worse than death. A fate subjecting him to microscopical cuts of a scalpel and harsh white lights above him, hammering into his will over and over again, or whatever soul is left of it.
Rebecca isn’t innocent. She knows she isn’t. She was there in the operation room too. Doesn’t mean it feels good doing so. Sometimes, you must sacrifice one to save many. That is her conviction.
With a heavy hand, Rebecca snaps on a pair of rubber gloves. She reaches to the operation table, and the zombie winces due to muscle memory. Its piercing wails reach the ears of everyone present in the lab, like the cries of human desperation as the zombie bangs bloodied fists on the uncomfortable mattress. Nobody pays mind to it, not especially if it’s a daily occurrence.
“Sorry, Elías.” Rebecca prepares a disinfected syringe against his arm. “I really need your blood sample.”
And she presses the needle into his decaying skin, drawing barely one full ounce of blood into the barrel. This was nothing compared to what he had to go through during the week, but his body from retaliating before his senses.
“I’ll save your friends. For sure. It’s a promise.” Even if Elías can’t comprehend Rebecca’s words at his current state, she vows to him regardless, to do everything in her power to deploy a cure, so no more lives are affected.
“Professor Chambers, sorry to interrupt,” A figure taps Rebecca on the shoulder, and she relieves at the sight of his colleague Aaron holding out her usual caramel macchiato from the café next door. “I found a lead. Our specialist discovered a common denominator in the cities affected by the outbreak. A foreign element in the water supply that is also present in the subject’s body.”
“So Arias contaminated the water… He might have planned this for a while, and increase the contagion dosage in the supply gradually. That’s why not many reported the taste of water had changed… Or the virus might had been truly tasteless.” She takes a hearty gulp of her fourth coffee of the day. “And the symptoms, Aaron?”
“On the surface, there is none. We examined a few survivors living in those cities who have not turned, and no irregularity has been observed. But I suspect the virus to be dormant in the body.” Aaron picks out the examination results from his pile and hands it to Rebecca. She reads it intently.
“So there must be a trigger. It’s rather interesting how there is always a car accident moments before the outbreaks happen in every city. The story is the same: two trucks collided, cargo destroyed, causing a gas leak from the cannisters. And of course, no news coverage.”
Aaron nods as they feel their answer drawing near. “I noticed that too and did more digging. The trucks belong to a reputable logistic company, which is also a subsidiary to ARIAS Health Inc, founded by none other than Glenn Arias himself.”
“Of course it is.” She places the report down. “You’ve been helpful, Aaron. Keep finding out what you can.”
Aaron leaves and returns to his seat. All Rebecca needs to do now is to inform the agents of this new discovery so they wouldn’t fall into the trap that Arias planted, possibly in the mansion as well.
Rebecca glances over her screen for a live broadcast of a conference across the continent. And there sits Glenn Arias, listening intently at the keynote speaker, clapping and chuckling infrequently, oblivious of the hidden camera. There is still plenty of time to retrieve the sample. It would be an advantage for them to be cautious than brash.
Granted, Rebecca never had any concern about their wellbeing. This is B.S.A.A.’s five most elite agents after all, she has no doubt this assignment is child play’s to all of them.
Sure, most times the work is dangerous, often times she won’t hear from the team for a while. But one thing Rebecca knows for sure is that they always return victorious. Just like every other time… But this.
It had been two hours without a word from either groups. Rebecca dials each of the four devices, and each strike returns her a singular note of despair, foreboding something atrocious beneath the silence.
She swings around to clack frantically at her keyboard, and five dots lit up on the floor plan of the mansion. Flickering red like a faint pulse, flashing the words:
STATUS: OFFLINE.
The GPS signal is jammed. Someone must have known this. This whole disappearance is intricately calculated. Someone had plan for this to happen. Just like that day at Spencer Mansion. A zombie isn’t smart enough to do something like this.
This… This must be the work of Glenn Arias. But isn’t he supposed to be on a plane across the globe right now? So how would he had known?
Rebecca dials into the campsite. Someone must have a clue what on earth is going on down there. The line connects, fortunately.
“Hey Mike. It’s Rebecca. Any word from the squad? I can’t seem to get in contact with them, over.”
“Rh- Re- b’cca. Hey! Nh-n-not a wor-” Distorted frequencies and blends into crisp gibberish. “I -an’t he- ar you, doc. O—ver.”
At least the transmission is not fully broken yet outside the perimeters of the mansion. That relieves Rebecca, but if this continues, it would be difficult for Rebecca to assist B.S.A.A remotely from her laboratory in Chicago. She needs to be there, right in the thick of it.
“Hang tight, Mike. I’m on my way. Stand down and wait for back up, Mike. I repeat: Stand down and wait for back up, over.” Rebecca’s voice drips with tremor and fear. Catching her surprise.
“R-R-Roge-r, m’ -am. Ove—” The line cuts, but her message is delivered. Now the rest is up to Rebecca to make her next move.
She has to organise a jet ASAP, and back-up, and supplies, and the paperwork… Things has turned sour too fast.
In any case, Rebecca will need a specialist for this type of work. Especially if whatever lurks in this hellhole can defeat B.S.A.A’s greatest agents, she will need someone stronger, sturdier, skilled with dealing the unexpected among the unexpected of this new variety of zombies. And there is only one person she knows who meets this description.
She punches the number into the dial. It clicks after two rings.
“We need your help. ASAP.” says Rebecca, no formalities needed for an old friend.
And he answers, a coarse smoker’s voice rumbles into Rebecca’ ear. “I’m on my way.”
~ ~ ~
QUERETARO, 02:18 PM
Beyond Arias’ mansion at the top of the hill, forest-green envelops the vicinity like a predator. The woodlands are solemn in silence underneath the moonless night. Despite its late hours, the hot humidity fuses with human skin—leaving a sticky stench and night full of uncomfortable rests for all the soldiers in the camp.
A distant vibration can be heard amidst the hills, till the rustle gradually crescendos into a mighty howl that rocks the sky. Surfacing from the darkness is a helicopter, aerial blades whirling above the campsite. The chopper approaches closer and closer to the empty spread of land, eventually landing on the broad green carpet.
Every member at the campsite starts to rise, positioning themselves a fair distance away from the landing zone. When the cabin door unlatches, a cold quiver stiffens their backs straight in anticipation of the man in the vehicle to disembark.
And the captain emerges: with his distinct green compression shirt and a vest adorned with an embroidered patch of the B.S.A.A. logo to match as he takes a firm step and plant the ground. Chris Redfield pinches his nose bridge disgruntledly and patted on the plane’s body so the pilot departs to the sky once again.
Word on the street says that he single-handedly punched a boulder in a mission before. And with that reason alone, nobody dares to approach, still frozen on the spot, until Chris makes eye contact to the closest soldier, barely twenty in age.
“You, kid.” Chris beckons him over. He jolts and sprints into Chris’ direction.
“C-Captain Redfield! A pleasure meeting you, sir!” The young soldier stutters, shaking all over his body then straightens himself once more. “My name is Johnny, new recruit for B.S.A.A. Th-This is my first assignment, sir!”
The sight of the recruit has Chris realise his own furrowed brows from jet lag exhaustion. Chris softens his tone, pats down the rookie’s shoulder, and tries for a weary smile. “Take it easy, Johnny boy. I won’t bite.”
“Thank you so much, sir!” Johnny raises his voice in confidence, relieved to find the captain kinder than his reputation. “Captain, may I escort you to your tent?”
“No need. Where’s Rebecca?” Chris didn’t need to overstay his welcome. He’s not one to worry about formalities after all.
“Right this way, sir.”
As Johnny escorts Chris, soldiers stop and stare, clearing the way for Chris. But he pays them no mind. When he heard five members of his Special Operations Units went missing, Chris practically jumped off his seat, wrapped up his last mission as fast as he could and got here without a moment of rest. Now, he has business to finish.
Rebecca’s tent is all the way in the back, secluded away from all the other tents behind the infirmary. Chris unzips the fly screen to enter.
Rows of weaponry and equipment are propped up against the storage units with plenty of back-up firearms, grenades, flashbangs, armour pads and all the supplies needed for any kind of operation. Right in the middle of it, Chris sees a familiar pixie cut brunette, playing tug of war with some shoelaces on a stool.
And why is there an assault rifle next to her?
Rebecca notices a presence behind her, and without turning, she sees the tall bulky man and speechlessly assessing the fireweapon.
“Oh Chris, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it?” Rebecca tugs at her laces once more and the fabric tightens. She does the same for the other shoe. “Hey- pass that over, would you?”
When Rebecca said ‘that’, Chris thinks it can’t be the rifle she was referring to, right? The rifle that is almost half her size? Or could it be something behind it that he can’t see or—
“What’re you dozing off for?” Rebecca grunts and gestures the rifle with her eyes impatiently. When Chris is still unresponsive after her right shoe is done, Rebecca rises herself and retrieves it herself with a sigh.
Chris sees clearly then, that over Rebecca’s shirt is a tactical chest rig, paired with some dusty elbow and knee guards that are a size too small on her. When she walks, her belt clinks with grenades and flashbangs. A sight Chris hasn’t seen Rebecca in for a very long time, not since the good old days of S.T.A.R.S.
“Why are you wearing that?” Chris widens his stance, arms crossed, not an ounce of amusement on his face as he looks down on Rebbeca.
“What does it look like, Captain Obvious. I’m joining you.” The soldiers standing on guard tenses ever so slightly. Such audacity to the captain would get you kicked out and sentenced back to the ruthless training grounds. Yet Chris falls silent, recalling the dynamic between the old squad, then cracks into a scoff of nostalgia.
“Long time no see too, Rebecca. It’s been what- five years? Since you’ve been out of field? Give me your arm.” Rebecca accepts Chris’ offer to fix her guard, moving the padded surface a few inches to the right and pulled on the strap until it’s snug on her elbow. “You don’t even remember how to put this on anymore.”
“Hey, my memory is a little rusty on the equipment. But I haven’t forgot how to use a gun.” Rebecca reassures as she shifts around her left elbow pad too. But Chris doesn’t buy that for even a second.
“Are you sure?” He says, eyebrow quirking in incredulity. Perhaps he shouldn’t—that would just encourage her more. “This isn’t just any assignment, Rebecca. It killed five of our men.”
“More reason for me to be there. I got the brains, you got the brawns. It’ll be perfect.”
“This isn’t a TV show, you should know this already.” Chris comments, feeling the impatience cutting into his throat. He composes himself. “Maybe you should rethink about putting your life in danger.”
“I won’t be in danger. I’ve got the great Captain Chris Redfield protecting me, right?” Rebecca winks playfully. Chris frowns.
“I can’t protect you always. Who knows what shit Arias got the other five with their pants down.” He rubs against his temples, and thinks: So I’m not just worrying about my survival, but Rebecca’s too? Chris can’t be babysitting and taking down Arias at the same time.
“Well, I won’t watch my friends die while I do nothing. If there’s a chance they might survive, I need to save them.” Rebecca says through one quaking breath, before breathing in deep and adds: “We don’t know how deadly this virus is. If I’m there, I’ll be able to help them. And you too.”
“Your current state is not fit for military combat. B.S.A.A cannot lose our lead researcher. There is no replacement for you.” Says Chris.
That seems to grind against Rebecca’s gears, enough to dish back the same attitude to him. “I’m not just a tool, Chris. I want to help.”
“As your captain, I will command you to stay here and monitor the current survivors.” Chris doesn’t mean to sound like a parent, but how could he not realise this is all for Rebecca’s good?
“With all respect, Chris, you can’t play the Captain card on me anymore.” Rebecca says, eyes defiant and direct.
The lines all over Chris’ face sets deeper. Rebecca is right. He knows that. Chris is well aware that Rebecca had been keeping up with her practice, and without her, the team could be missing crucial information that is imperative to the mission’s success or failure.
Yet the thought of another dead friend lingers over Chris’ mind, possessing his very being. Him in a wasteland of debris, the sole survivor. There is only a certain amount of times a man can go through grief without going insane.
“I’m asking you a favour on behalf of a friend.” Chris says—begs. At least, that’s the closest you will get for Chris to beg.
But Rebecca isn’t going to budge her decision. She can’t let Chris face it all alone again. She snatches the rifle off the table, and secures it into the back of her vest. Rebecca is going, regardless if the captain allows her.
“Come or not, you can choose.” Chris is out the tent before Rebecca even realises it. Only the hard thumps of footsteps to signal the finality of his choice. “But you know where I stand about this.”
Not one farewell uttered, Chris leaves Rebecca behind. The perils of their journey awaits them, in Rebecca’s head, it fills with nothing but thoughts.
~ ~ ~
QUERETARO, 2:37 AM
Small teams are the most competent in scenarios like these, which Chris took in consideration and decides on a team of five to embark on this assignment. Correction—Six, including Rebecca Chambers.
But right now, the medic is nowhere to be seen when Chris commands the selected soldiers to rise from their positions in the assembly and stand in an orderly line before Chris.
He’s relieved at Rebecca’s absence. Perhaps she has changed her mind; decided against the foolish gamble of her own life. Rebecca’s stubborn nature may refuse to admit this, but it was for the best that she assists from the backlines where she performs the best as the medic.
Chris faces the four soldiers once more, his deep set eyes sensing each soldier’s determination through their posture.
First of that row is Mike; Chris knows Mike, he had worked with him personally and his performance had been outstanding. The next two members he had never met before; two Mexican men, one slightly taller than Chris himself with a sturdy build and the other shorter who smiles carelessly.
And last of them all, there stands Johnny, the new recruit. Shaking from head to toe, scrawnier than ever. This is one hell of a first assignment a soldier can get. But it’s out of Chris’ control. B.S.A.A. is often short-staffed.
“Special Operations Unit!” Chris bellows through the crowd, his roar rumbles through the woods, has everyone present perk their ears to hear the captain’s every word. “Our objective today is to recover the A-Virus sample! Keep a lookout for missing survivors, they go by the names of: Jill Valentine, Ada Wong, Carlos Oliveira, Leon Kennedy, and—”
“Wait!” From far away, a spunky voice calls out in urgence, followed by pitter-pattering footsteps getting closer.
Approaching the assembly is Rebecca, taking shape from the darkness. She clutches at something in her arms, heaving out heavy breaths from her sprint with the rifle behind almost toppling her over.
Chris tsks under his breath. “Agent Chambers, you’re late. Care to explain yourself?”
“And thanks for waiting.” Rebecca tosses Chris a side eye.
The animosity hangs heavy in the air. Since then, the only conversations they shared since their exchange was strictly professional – and only what’s necessary about the mission, the potential causes of the virus, and how much information they are planning to reveal to the operations unit. No more, no less.
“I got presents for the team.” Rebecca greets each soldier with amicable grace while allotting something on her hand to each one. And when it is Chris’ turns, she neither smiles nor nods, a simple “here” to suffice the awkwardness between the two.
Chris takes the item from her hand, indifferent and without a word. It’s a full-face respiratory mask.
“Arias might have booby-trapped the area with poisonous gas. Consider this a precaution.” Rebecca rigs the facepiece over her features with its weak straps, the left filter popping off after she struggles it on. Then as she picks the left, the right falls off too. The rubbery sound of plastic can be heard as Rebecca moves, and her features shielded with a tinted brown film held down by hollow plastic.
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll do! I found it at this 7/11 nearby. You guys should’ve been there to see the confusion on their faces when I bought seven masks at the dead of night.” chuckles Rebecca. A few people laugh, and the tension of lives lost is temporarily distracted. Rebecca has that effect on people.
Everyone glances over at their captain expectantly. Chris is aware there is an obligation for the captain to comment on the situation.
“Thank you, Agent Chambers.” says Chris reluctantly.
“You’re welcome, Captain Redfield.” smirks Rebecca, making sure Chris had a good look at her victory before joining the end of the row with her team.
With the entire team assembled, seven soldiers wait for instructions with their gazes forward, masks secured, bodies suited and weapons ready to draw. They march past stone pillars laid with cut stones, an overgrown garden of exotic plants that are hanging on at life’s end and a lavish stone fountain before the entrance.
The squad scatters diligently behind the dark red mahogany double door, so heavy it could crush all your bones if the hinges fail.
“Are we ready, team?” Chrisdeclares before looking over at Rebecca one last time. You can still back out now.
Rebecca only returns the look with equal amount of sincerity. Seemingly trying to tell him: Not a chance.
The other four soldiers nod as one, keeping their trails soft, and they burst into the house of horror. And they didn’t notice, eyes peering out behind the voids of the curtain, looking at none other than Chris Redfield himself.
holy shittt ! i remember watching the trailer for this series after reading the first few chapters. still as amazing as i remember <3
“Arias might have booby-trapped the area with poisonous gas. Consider this a precaution.” Rebecca rigs the facepiece over her features with its weak straps, the left filter popping off after she struggles it on. Then as she picks the left, the right falls off too. The rubbery sound of plastic can be heard as Rebecca moves, and her features shielded with a tinted brown film held down by hollow plastic.
no cuz she would do this ?? this made me smile lmao. the cliffhanger was evil asf but im patient 💪
i love this series and ur soso talented !!! much love 💕
omg it makes me so happy you've been following for so long and i'm glad you think its still up to standards ??? i haven't written for a while i felt like something is definitely off but this gave me the confidence and power to write aaahhhhh!!!
now i think about it... the cliffhanger is very cruel after not posting for literal months omg.... but the next one is in the works!!! i can't wait to post it :3
𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄
LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER
synopsis: With both squads going MIA, Rebecca is left with no choice but to call local B.O.W. expert: Chris Redfield for back-up. She joins Chris to fight zombies in the front lines as tension hangs high with disagreements about life and death.
content: NO SMUT. human experimentation, needles, zombies, weapons. featuring my beloved rebecca chambers and chris redfield to the rescue!
a/n: an update finally!! writers block kicked my ass hard, but i found my flow again! hopefully the next one will be the soon(?)
« 3.8 k words | general masterlist | reblogs appreciated!
CHICAGO, 10:18 PM
In the middle of the laboratory, the pot is stirring. Time is running out. Anxiety levels are through the roof.
White coats scurry across the room with fretful urgence, one arm cradling report stacks while the other cold calls manufacturers, suppliers, and government officials in direct contact with the virus. The ones in worse conditions have their heads plant into a screen, laboured bags shadowing their eyes as they examine the abundance of complex, crude data… Anything to give them a head start on the discovery of Glenn Arias’ top secret weapon.
Meanwhile, Rebecca Chambers, B.S.A.A’s lead advisers on all things bioweapons, is multitasking all of that at the same time. She had been working on this case for restlessly days and nights, filling the gaps between the bytes and grasping loose straws at the vast possibilities with minimal success and much brain scratching.
“Water supply working in conjunction with the gas…” Rebecca thinks aloud her last exchange with Leon, which he speculates that is how Arias had been spreading his infection to communities without getting his hands dirty. It’s all just a theory for now… but what if he is right? What if there isn’t just not one strain of virus, but multiple origins of the virus?
Rebecca still needs to investigate the reports that Leon had sent much more thoroughly. It made her job harder when most of the reports attached in the transmission had been corrupted. However, Rebecca can vaguely piece together the words on top of every document, marked by a name:
CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENT: ANIMALITY VIRUS (ABBREVIATED TO: A-VIRUS)
A sting reaches her head before she reaches her next thought. Rebecca pushes herself away from the desk, remembering her doctor recommended her five minutes away from the screen every fifteen minutes. And it had already been five hours of her grinding her head at her options. Words and numbers are bleeding into each other.
The symptoms of this so called ‘A-Virus’ are too unstable. While some have delayed symptoms of the infection, most would immediately mutate and go berserk. Yet there is also a small percentage of people who experience no reaction to the virus.
Arias is experimenting with this virus—he must be. But Rebecca needs more concrete evidence, her theories aren’t solid just yet. Fortunately, during the outbreaks, a B.O.W. impacted by the A-Virus had been detained and supplied to the laboratory for research endeavours.
Rebecca spins her armchair away from her screen. There lies a zombie in front of her, flat stone surface used as an impenetrable bed, all four limbs spread wide by cuffs bolted onto the structure itself. It barks, it growls, it snarls against its metal confines with futile resistance. There is no chance for escape.
A chain necklace jingles from its volatile motions, and amateur carving of the name ‘Elías’ can be seen on the wooden ornate at the end of the chain.
Rebecca curses under her breath, well aware she cannot make any meaningful promise in her heart to save him. The host was already too far into the lifecycle—blood cells rewritten, features indistinguishable between animal and monster. Far too late for Elías.
Once a civilian, overnight a monster. Elías didn’t deserve this, yet he is bound to a fate worse than death. A fate subjecting him to microscopical cuts of a scalpel and harsh white lights above him, hammering into his will over and over again, or whatever soul is left of it.
Rebecca isn’t innocent. She knows she isn’t. She was there in the operation room too. Doesn’t mean it feels good doing so. Sometimes, you must sacrifice one to save many. That is her conviction.
With a heavy hand, Rebecca snaps on a pair of rubber gloves. She reaches to the operation table, and the zombie winces due to muscle memory. Its piercing wails reach the ears of everyone present in the lab, like the cries of human desperation as the zombie bangs bloodied fists on the uncomfortable mattress. Nobody pays mind to it, not especially if it’s a daily occurrence.
“Sorry, Elías.” Rebecca prepares a disinfected syringe against his arm. “I really need your blood sample.”
And she presses the needle into his decaying skin, drawing barely one full ounce of blood into the barrel. This was nothing compared to what he had to go through during the week, but his body from retaliating before his senses.
“I’ll save your friends. For sure. It’s a promise.” Even if Elías can’t comprehend Rebecca’s words at his current state, she vows to him regardless, to do everything in her power to deploy a cure, so no more lives are affected.
“Professor Chambers, sorry to interrupt,” A figure taps Rebecca on the shoulder, and she relieves at the sight of his colleague Aaron holding out her usual caramel macchiato from the café next door. “I found a lead. Our specialist discovered a common denominator in the cities affected by the outbreak. A foreign element in the water supply that is also present in the subject’s body.”
“So Arias contaminated the water… He might have planned this for a while, and increase the contagion dosage in the supply gradually. That’s why not many reported the taste of water had changed… Or the virus might had been truly tasteless.” She takes a hearty gulp of her fourth coffee of the day. “And the symptoms, Aaron?”
“On the surface, there is none. We examined a few survivors living in those cities who have not turned, and no irregularity has been observed. But I suspect the virus to be dormant in the body.” Aaron picks out the examination results from his pile and hands it to Rebecca. She reads it intently.
“So there must be a trigger. It’s rather interesting how there is always a car accident moments before the outbreaks happen in every city. The story is the same: two trucks collided, cargo destroyed, causing a gas leak from the cannisters. And of course, no news coverage.”
Aaron nods as they feel their answer drawing near. “I noticed that too and did more digging. The trucks belong to a reputable logistic company, which is also a subsidiary to ARIAS Health Inc, founded by none other than Glenn Arias himself.”
“Of course it is.” She places the report down. “You’ve been helpful, Aaron. Keep finding out what you can.”
Aaron leaves and returns to his seat. All Rebecca needs to do now is to inform the agents of this new discovery so they wouldn’t fall into the trap that Arias planted, possibly in the mansion as well.
Rebecca glances over her screen for a live broadcast of a conference across the continent. And there sits Glenn Arias, listening intently at the keynote speaker, clapping and chuckling infrequently, oblivious of the hidden camera. There is still plenty of time to retrieve the sample. It would be an advantage for them to be cautious than brash.
Granted, Rebecca never had any concern about their wellbeing. This is B.S.A.A.’s five most elite agents after all, she has no doubt this assignment is child play’s to all of them.
Sure, most times the work is dangerous, often times she won’t hear from the team for a while. But one thing Rebecca knows for sure is that they always return victorious. Just like every other time… But this.
It had been two hours without a word from either groups. Rebecca dials each of the four devices, and each strike returns her a singular note of despair, foreboding something atrocious beneath the silence.
She swings around to clack frantically at her keyboard, and five dots lit up on the floor plan of the mansion. Flickering red like a faint pulse, flashing the words:
STATUS: OFFLINE.
The GPS signal is jammed. Someone must have known this. This whole disappearance is intricately calculated. Someone had plan for this to happen. Just like that day at Spencer Mansion. A zombie isn’t smart enough to do something like this.
This… This must be the work of Glenn Arias. But isn’t he supposed to be on a plane across the globe right now? So how would he had known?
Rebecca dials into the campsite. Someone must have a clue what on earth is going on down there. The line connects, fortunately.
“Hey Mike. It’s Rebecca. Any word from the squad? I can’t seem to get in contact with them, over.”
“Rh- Re- b’cca. Hey! Nh-n-not a wor-” Distorted frequencies and blends into crisp gibberish. “I -an’t he- ar you, doc. O—ver.”
At least the transmission is not fully broken yet outside the perimeters of the mansion. That relieves Rebecca, but if this continues, it would be difficult for Rebecca to assist B.S.A.A remotely from her laboratory in Chicago. She needs to be there, right in the thick of it.
“Hang tight, Mike. I’m on my way. Stand down and wait for back up, Mike. I repeat: Stand down and wait for back up, over.” Rebecca’s voice drips with tremor and fear. Catching her surprise.
“R-R-Roge-r, m’ -am. Ove—” The line cuts, but her message is delivered. Now the rest is up to Rebecca to make her next move.
She has to organise a jet ASAP, and back-up, and supplies, and the paperwork… Things has turned sour too fast.
In any case, Rebecca will need a specialist for this type of work. Especially if whatever lurks in this hellhole can defeat B.S.A.A’s greatest agents, she will need someone stronger, sturdier, skilled with dealing the unexpected among the unexpected of this new variety of zombies. And there is only one person she knows who meets this description.
She punches the number into the dial. It clicks after two rings.
“We need your help. ASAP.” says Rebecca, no formalities needed for an old friend.
And he answers, a coarse smoker’s voice rumbles into Rebecca’ ear. “I’m on my way.”
~ ~ ~
QUERETARO, 02:18 PM
Beyond Arias’ mansion at the top of the hill, forest-green envelops the vicinity like a predator. The woodlands are solemn in silence underneath the moonless night. Despite its late hours, the hot humidity fuses with human skin—leaving a sticky stench and night full of uncomfortable rests for all the soldiers in the camp.
A distant vibration can be heard amidst the hills, till the rustle gradually crescendos into a mighty howl that rocks the sky. Surfacing from the darkness is a helicopter, aerial blades whirling above the campsite. The chopper approaches closer and closer to the empty spread of land, eventually landing on the broad green carpet.
Every member at the campsite starts to rise, positioning themselves a fair distance away from the landing zone. When the cabin door unlatches, a cold quiver stiffens their backs straight in anticipation of the man in the vehicle to disembark.
And the captain emerges: with his distinct green compression shirt and a vest adorned with an embroidered patch of the B.S.A.A. logo to match as he takes a firm step and plant the ground. Chris Redfield pinches his nose bridge disgruntledly and patted on the plane’s body so the pilot departs to the sky once again.
Word on the street says that he single-handedly punched a boulder in a mission before. And with that reason alone, nobody dares to approach, still frozen on the spot, until Chris makes eye contact to the closest soldier, barely twenty in age.
“You, kid.” Chris beckons him over. He jolts and sprints into Chris’ direction.
“C-Captain Redfield! A pleasure meeting you, sir!” The young soldier stutters, shaking all over his body then straightens himself once more. “My name is Johnny, new recruit for B.S.A.A. Th-This is my first assignment, sir!”
The sight of the recruit has Chris realise his own furrowed brows from jet lag exhaustion. Chris softens his tone, pats down the rookie’s shoulder, and tries for a weary smile. “Take it easy, Johnny boy. I won’t bite.”
“Thank you so much, sir!” Johnny raises his voice in confidence, relieved to find the captain kinder than his reputation. “Captain, may I escort you to your tent?”
“No need. Where’s Rebecca?” Chris didn’t need to overstay his welcome. He’s not one to worry about formalities after all.
“Right this way, sir.”
As Johnny escorts Chris, soldiers stop and stare, clearing the way for Chris. But he pays them no mind. When he heard five members of his Special Operations Units went missing, Chris practically jumped off his seat, wrapped up his last mission as fast as he could and got here without a moment of rest. Now, he has business to finish.
Rebecca’s tent is all the way in the back, secluded away from all the other tents behind the infirmary. Chris unzips the fly screen to enter.
Rows of weaponry and equipment are propped up against the storage units with plenty of back-up firearms, grenades, flashbangs, armour pads and all the supplies needed for any kind of operation. Right in the middle of it, Chris sees a familiar pixie cut brunette, playing tug of war with some shoelaces on a stool.
And why is there an assault rifle next to her?
Rebecca notices a presence behind her, and without turning, she sees the tall bulky man and speechlessly assessing the fireweapon.
“Oh Chris, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it?” Rebecca tugs at her laces once more and the fabric tightens. She does the same for the other shoe. “Hey- pass that over, would you?”
When Rebecca said ‘that’, Chris thinks it can’t be the rifle she was referring to, right? The rifle that is almost half her size? Or could it be something behind it that he can’t see or—
“What’re you dozing off for?” Rebecca grunts and gestures the rifle with her eyes impatiently. When Chris is still unresponsive after her right shoe is done, Rebecca rises herself and retrieves it herself with a sigh.
Chris sees clearly then, that over Rebecca’s shirt is a tactical chest rig, paired with some dusty elbow and knee guards that are a size too small on her. When she walks, her belt clinks with grenades and flashbangs. A sight Chris hasn’t seen Rebecca in for a very long time, not since the good old days of S.T.A.R.S.
“Why are you wearing that?” Chris widens his stance, arms crossed, not an ounce of amusement on his face as he looks down on Rebbeca.
“What does it look like, Captain Obvious. I’m joining you.” The soldiers standing on guard tenses ever so slightly. Such audacity to the captain would get you kicked out and sentenced back to the ruthless training grounds. Yet Chris falls silent, recalling the dynamic between the old squad, then cracks into a scoff of nostalgia.
“Long time no see too, Rebecca. It’s been what- five years? Since you’ve been out of field? Give me your arm.” Rebecca accepts Chris’ offer to fix her guard, moving the padded surface a few inches to the right and pulled on the strap until it’s snug on her elbow. “You don’t even remember how to put this on anymore.”
“Hey, my memory is a little rusty on the equipment. But I haven’t forgot how to use a gun.” Rebecca reassures as she shifts around her left elbow pad too. But Chris doesn’t buy that for even a second.
“Are you sure?” He says, eyebrow quirking in incredulity. Perhaps he shouldn’t—that would just encourage her more. “This isn’t just any assignment, Rebecca. It killed five of our men.”
“More reason for me to be there. I got the brains, you got the brawns. It’ll be perfect.”
“This isn’t a TV show, you should know this already.” Chris comments, feeling the impatience cutting into his throat. He composes himself. “Maybe you should rethink about putting your life in danger.”
“I won’t be in danger. I’ve got the great Captain Chris Redfield protecting me, right?” Rebecca winks playfully. Chris frowns.
“I can’t protect you always. Who knows what shit Arias got the other five with their pants down.” He rubs against his temples, and thinks: So I’m not just worrying about my survival, but Rebecca’s too? Chris can’t be babysitting and taking down Arias at the same time.
“Well, I won’t watch my friends die while I do nothing. If there’s a chance they might survive, I need to save them.” Rebecca says through one quaking breath, before breathing in deep and adds: “We don’t know how deadly this virus is. If I’m there, I’ll be able to help them. And you too.”
“Your current state is not fit for military combat. B.S.A.A cannot lose our lead researcher. There is no replacement for you.” Says Chris.
That seems to grind against Rebecca’s gears, enough to dish back the same attitude to him. “I’m not just a tool, Chris. I want to help.”
“As your captain, I will command you to stay here and monitor the current survivors.” Chris doesn’t mean to sound like a parent, but how could he not realise this is all for Rebecca’s good?
“With all respect, Chris, you can’t play the Captain card on me anymore.” Rebecca says, eyes defiant and direct.
The lines all over Chris’ face sets deeper. Rebecca is right. He knows that. Chris is well aware that Rebecca had been keeping up with her practice, and without her, the team could be missing crucial information that is imperative to the mission’s success or failure.
Yet the thought of another dead friend lingers over Chris’ mind, possessing his very being. Him in a wasteland of debris, the sole survivor. There is only a certain amount of times a man can go through grief without going insane.
“I’m asking you a favour on behalf of a friend.” Chris says—begs. At least, that’s the closest you will get for Chris to beg.
But Rebecca isn’t going to budge her decision. She can’t let Chris face it all alone again. She snatches the rifle off the table, and secures it into the back of her vest. Rebecca is going, regardless if the captain allows her.
“Come or not, you can choose.” Chris is out the tent before Rebecca even realises it. Only the hard thumps of footsteps to signal the finality of his choice. “But you know where I stand about this.”
Not one farewell uttered, Chris leaves Rebecca behind. The perils of their journey awaits them, in Rebecca’s head, it fills with nothing but thoughts.
~ ~ ~
QUERETARO, 2:37 AM
Small teams are the most competent in scenarios like these, which Chris took in consideration and decides on a team of five to embark on this assignment. Correction—Six, including Rebecca Chambers.
But right now, the medic is nowhere to be seen when Chris commands the selected soldiers to rise from their positions in the assembly and stand in an orderly line before Chris.
He’s relieved at Rebecca’s absence. Perhaps she has changed her mind; decided against the foolish gamble of her own life. Rebecca’s stubborn nature may refuse to admit this, but it was for the best that she assists from the backlines where she performs the best as the medic.
Chris faces the four soldiers once more, his deep set eyes sensing each soldier’s determination through their posture.
First of that row is Mike; Chris knows Mike, he had worked with him personally and his performance had been outstanding. The next two members he had never met before; two Mexican men, one slightly taller than Chris himself with a sturdy build and the other shorter who smiles carelessly.
And last of them all, there stands Johnny, the new recruit. Shaking from head to toe, scrawnier than ever. This is one hell of a first assignment a soldier can get. But it’s out of Chris’ control. B.S.A.A. is often short-staffed.
“Special Operations Unit!” Chris bellows through the crowd, his roar rumbles through the woods, has everyone present perk their ears to hear the captain’s every word. “Our objective today is to recover the A-Virus sample! Keep a lookout for missing survivors, they go by the names of: Jill Valentine, Ada Wong, Carlos Oliveira, Leon Kennedy, and—”
“Wait!” From far away, a spunky voice calls out in urgence, followed by pitter-pattering footsteps getting closer.
Approaching the assembly is Rebecca, taking shape from the darkness. She clutches at something in her arms, heaving out heavy breaths from her sprint with the rifle behind almost toppling her over.
Chris tsks under his breath. “Agent Chambers, you’re late. Care to explain yourself?”
“And thanks for waiting.” Rebecca tosses Chris a side eye.
The animosity hangs heavy in the air. Since then, the only conversations they shared since their exchange was strictly professional – and only what’s necessary about the mission, the potential causes of the virus, and how much information they are planning to reveal to the operations unit. No more, no less.
“I got presents for the team.” Rebecca greets each soldier with amicable grace while allotting something on her hand to each one. And when it is Chris’ turns, she neither smiles nor nods, a simple “here” to suffice the awkwardness between the two.
Chris takes the item from her hand, indifferent and without a word. It’s a full-face respiratory mask.
“Arias might have booby-trapped the area with poisonous gas. Consider this a precaution.” Rebecca rigs the facepiece over her features with its weak straps, the left filter popping off after she struggles it on. Then as she picks the left, the right falls off too. The rubbery sound of plastic can be heard as Rebecca moves, and her features shielded with a tinted brown film held down by hollow plastic.
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll do! I found it at this 7/11 nearby. You guys should’ve been there to see the confusion on their faces when I bought seven masks at the dead of night.” chuckles Rebecca. A few people laugh, and the tension of lives lost is temporarily distracted. Rebecca has that effect on people.
Everyone glances over at their captain expectantly. Chris is aware there is an obligation for the captain to comment on the situation.
“Thank you, Agent Chambers.” says Chris reluctantly.
“You’re welcome, Captain Redfield.” smirks Rebecca, making sure Chris had a good look at her victory before joining the end of the row with her team.
With the entire team assembled, seven soldiers wait for instructions with their gazes forward, masks secured, bodies suited and weapons ready to draw. They march past stone pillars laid with cut stones, an overgrown garden of exotic plants that are hanging on at life’s end and a lavish stone fountain before the entrance.
The squad scatters diligently behind the dark red mahogany double door, so heavy it could crush all your bones if the hinges fail.
“Are we ready, team?” Chrisdeclares before looking over at Rebecca one last time. You can still back out now.
Rebecca only returns the look with equal amount of sincerity. Seemingly trying to tell him: Not a chance.
The other four soldiers nod as one, keeping their trails soft, and they burst into the house of horror. And they didn’t notice, eyes peering out behind the voids of the curtain, looking at none other than Chris Redfield himself.
Oh…oh you edged me for months and let me lick the crumbs off like a starving dog, only to end this chapter with a cliffhanger?! 😡🤬 Im outside your door. Open up.
(Jk I love this chapter especially Chris and Rebecca’s sibling dynamic <3)
Some of my fave lines:
“Give me your arm.”
“You don’t even remember how to put this on anymore.”
UGH HE’S SO BIG BROTHER CODED
“Agents Chambers, you’re late. Care to explain yourself?”
teehee xd my doors are always open for you baby girl :3c
CHRIS AND REBECCA !!!!! THEYRE SO CUTE FOR WHATTTT i'm just kicking my feet all the time because chris is just so chris.... FUCK I LOVE HIM.
and rebecca, ughhh my love. i just need her energy in my life !!! i can't help but up to sassiness for her... thanks jelly for the rb i love you so so so so much !
➠ series masterlist | ⏪ girl's route (part 3) | ⏪ boy's route (part 3) | ⏩ part 5
𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄
LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER
synopsis: With both squads going MIA, Rebecca is left with no choice but to call local B.O.W. expert: Chris Redfield for back-up. She joins Chris to fight zombies in the front lines as tension hangs high with disagreements about life and death.
content: NO SMUT. human experimentation, needles, zombies, weapons. featuring my beloved rebecca chambers and chris redfield to the rescue!
a/n: an update finally!! writers block kicked my ass hard, but i found my flow again! hopefully the next one will be the soon(?)
« 3.8 k words | general masterlist | reblogs appreciated!
CHICAGO, 10:18 PM
In the middle of the laboratory, the pot is stirring. Time is running out. Anxiety levels are through the roof.
White coats scurry across the room with fretful urgence, one arm cradling report stacks while the other cold calls manufacturers, suppliers, and government officials in direct contact with the virus. The ones in worse conditions have their heads plant into a screen, laboured bags shadowing their eyes as they examine the abundance of complex, crude data… Anything to give them a head start on the discovery of Glenn Arias’ top secret weapon.
Meanwhile, Rebecca Chambers, B.S.A.A’s lead advisers on all things bioweapons, is multitasking all of that at the same time. She had been working on this case for restlessly days and nights, filling the gaps between the bytes and grasping loose straws at the vast possibilities with minimal success and much brain scratching.
“Water supply working in conjunction with the gas…” Rebecca thinks aloud her last exchange with Leon, which he speculates that is how Arias had been spreading his infection to communities without getting his hands dirty. It’s all just a theory for now… but what if he is right? What if there isn’t just not one strain of virus, but multiple origins of the virus?
Rebecca still needs to investigate the reports that Leon had sent much more thoroughly. It made her job harder when most of the reports attached in the transmission had been corrupted. However, Rebecca can vaguely piece together the words on top of every document, marked by a name:
CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENT: ANIMALITY VIRUS (ABBREVIATED TO: A-VIRUS)
A sting reaches her head before she reaches her next thought. Rebecca pushes herself away from the desk, remembering her doctor recommended her five minutes away from the screen every fifteen minutes. And it had already been five hours of her grinding her head at her options. Words and numbers are bleeding into each other.
The symptoms of this so called ‘A-Virus’ are too unstable. While some have delayed symptoms of the infection, most would immediately mutate and go berserk. Yet there is also a small percentage of people who experience no reaction to the virus.
Arias is experimenting with this virus—he must be. But Rebecca needs more concrete evidence, her theories aren’t solid just yet. Fortunately, during the outbreaks, a B.O.W. impacted by the A-Virus had been detained and supplied to the laboratory for research endeavours.
Rebecca spins her armchair away from her screen. There lies a zombie in front of her, flat stone surface used as an impenetrable bed, all four limbs spread wide by cuffs bolted onto the structure itself. It barks, it growls, it snarls against its metal confines with futile resistance. There is no chance for escape.
A chain necklace jingles from its volatile motions, and amateur carving of the name ‘Elías’ can be seen on the wooden ornate at the end of the chain.
Rebecca curses under her breath, well aware she cannot make any meaningful promise in her heart to save him. The host was already too far into the lifecycle—blood cells rewritten, features indistinguishable between animal and monster. Far too late for Elías.
Once a civilian, overnight a monster. Elías didn’t deserve this, yet he is bound to a fate worse than death. A fate subjecting him to microscopical cuts of a scalpel and harsh white lights above him, hammering into his will over and over again, or whatever soul is left of it.
Rebecca isn’t innocent. She knows she isn’t. She was there in the operation room too. Doesn’t mean it feels good doing so. Sometimes, you must sacrifice one to save many. That is her conviction.
With a heavy hand, Rebecca snaps on a pair of rubber gloves. She reaches to the operation table, and the zombie winces due to muscle memory. Its piercing wails reach the ears of everyone present in the lab, like the cries of human desperation as the zombie bangs bloodied fists on the uncomfortable mattress. Nobody pays mind to it, not especially if it’s a daily occurrence.
“Sorry, Elías.” Rebecca prepares a disinfected syringe against his arm. “I really need your blood sample.”
And she presses the needle into his decaying skin, drawing barely one full ounce of blood into the barrel. This was nothing compared to what he had to go through during the week, but his body from retaliating before his senses.
“I’ll save your friends. For sure. It’s a promise.” Even if Elías can’t comprehend Rebecca’s words at his current state, she vows to him regardless, to do everything in her power to deploy a cure, so no more lives are affected.
“Professor Chambers, sorry to interrupt,” A figure taps Rebecca on the shoulder, and she relieves at the sight of his colleague Aaron holding out her usual caramel macchiato from the café next door. “I found a lead. Our specialist discovered a common denominator in the cities affected by the outbreak. A foreign element in the water supply that is also present in the subject’s body.”
“So Arias contaminated the water… He might have planned this for a while, and increase the contagion dosage in the supply gradually. That’s why not many reported the taste of water had changed… Or the virus might had been truly tasteless.” She takes a hearty gulp of her fourth coffee of the day. “And the symptoms, Aaron?”
“On the surface, there is none. We examined a few survivors living in those cities who have not turned, and no irregularity has been observed. But I suspect the virus to be dormant in the body.” Aaron picks out the examination results from his pile and hands it to Rebecca. She reads it intently.
“So there must be a trigger. It’s rather interesting how there is always a car accident moments before the outbreaks happen in every city. The story is the same: two trucks collided, cargo destroyed, causing a gas leak from the cannisters. And of course, no news coverage.”
Aaron nods as they feel their answer drawing near. “I noticed that too and did more digging. The trucks belong to a reputable logistic company, which is also a subsidiary to ARIAS Health Inc, founded by none other than Glenn Arias himself.”
“Of course it is.” She places the report down. “You’ve been helpful, Aaron. Keep finding out what you can.”
Aaron leaves and returns to his seat. All Rebecca needs to do now is to inform the agents of this new discovery so they wouldn’t fall into the trap that Arias planted, possibly in the mansion as well.
Rebecca glances over her screen for a live broadcast of a conference across the continent. And there sits Glenn Arias, listening intently at the keynote speaker, clapping and chuckling infrequently, oblivious of the hidden camera. There is still plenty of time to retrieve the sample. It would be an advantage for them to be cautious than brash.
Granted, Rebecca never had any concern about their wellbeing. This is B.S.A.A.’s five most elite agents after all, she has no doubt this assignment is child play’s to all of them.
Sure, most times the work is dangerous, often times she won’t hear from the team for a while. But one thing Rebecca knows for sure is that they always return victorious. Just like every other time… But this.
It had been two hours without a word from either groups. Rebecca dials each of the four devices, and each strike returns her a singular note of despair, foreboding something atrocious beneath the silence.
She swings around to clack frantically at her keyboard, and five dots lit up on the floor plan of the mansion. Flickering red like a faint pulse, flashing the words:
STATUS: OFFLINE.
The GPS signal is jammed. Someone must have known this. This whole disappearance is intricately calculated. Someone had plan for this to happen. Just like that day at Spencer Mansion. A zombie isn’t smart enough to do something like this.
This… This must be the work of Glenn Arias. But isn’t he supposed to be on a plane across the globe right now? So how would he had known?
Rebecca dials into the campsite. Someone must have a clue what on earth is going on down there. The line connects, fortunately.
“Hey Mike. It’s Rebecca. Any word from the squad? I can’t seem to get in contact with them, over.”
“Rh- Re- b’cca. Hey! Nh-n-not a wor-” Distorted frequencies and blends into crisp gibberish. “I -an’t he- ar you, doc. O—ver.”
At least the transmission is not fully broken yet outside the perimeters of the mansion. That relieves Rebecca, but if this continues, it would be difficult for Rebecca to assist B.S.A.A remotely from her laboratory in Chicago. She needs to be there, right in the thick of it.
“Hang tight, Mike. I’m on my way. Stand down and wait for back up, Mike. I repeat: Stand down and wait for back up, over.” Rebecca’s voice drips with tremor and fear. Catching her surprise.
“R-R-Roge-r, m’ -am. Ove—” The line cuts, but her message is delivered. Now the rest is up to Rebecca to make her next move.
She has to organise a jet ASAP, and back-up, and supplies, and the paperwork… Things has turned sour too fast.
In any case, Rebecca will need a specialist for this type of work. Especially if whatever lurks in this hellhole can defeat B.S.A.A’s greatest agents, she will need someone stronger, sturdier, skilled with dealing the unexpected among the unexpected of this new variety of zombies. And there is only one person she knows who meets this description.
She punches the number into the dial. It clicks after two rings.
“We need your help. ASAP.” says Rebecca, no formalities needed for an old friend.
And he answers, a coarse smoker’s voice rumbles into Rebecca’ ear. “I’m on my way.”
~ ~ ~
QUERETARO, 02:18 PM
Beyond Arias’ mansion at the top of the hill, forest-green envelops the vicinity like a predator. The woodlands are solemn in silence underneath the moonless night. Despite its late hours, the hot humidity fuses with human skin—leaving a sticky stench and night full of uncomfortable rests for all the soldiers in the camp.
A distant vibration can be heard amidst the hills, till the rustle gradually crescendos into a mighty howl that rocks the sky. Surfacing from the darkness is a helicopter, aerial blades whirling above the campsite. The chopper approaches closer and closer to the empty spread of land, eventually landing on the broad green carpet.
Every member at the campsite starts to rise, positioning themselves a fair distance away from the landing zone. When the cabin door unlatches, a cold quiver stiffens their backs straight in anticipation of the man in the vehicle to disembark.
And the captain emerges: with his distinct green compression shirt and a vest adorned with an embroidered patch of the B.S.A.A. logo to match as he takes a firm step and plant the ground. Chris Redfield pinches his nose bridge disgruntledly and patted on the plane’s body so the pilot departs to the sky once again.
Word on the street says that he single-handedly punched a boulder in a mission before. And with that reason alone, nobody dares to approach, still frozen on the spot, until Chris makes eye contact to the closest soldier, barely twenty in age.
“You, kid.” Chris beckons him over. He jolts and sprints into Chris’ direction.
“C-Captain Redfield! A pleasure meeting you, sir!” The young soldier stutters, shaking all over his body then straightens himself once more. “My name is Johnny, new recruit for B.S.A.A. Th-This is my first assignment, sir!”
The sight of the recruit has Chris realise his own furrowed brows from jet lag exhaustion. Chris softens his tone, pats down the rookie’s shoulder, and tries for a weary smile. “Take it easy, Johnny boy. I won’t bite.”
“Thank you so much, sir!” Johnny raises his voice in confidence, relieved to find the captain kinder than his reputation. “Captain, may I escort you to your tent?”
“No need. Where’s Rebecca?” Chris didn’t need to overstay his welcome. He’s not one to worry about formalities after all.
“Right this way, sir.”
As Johnny escorts Chris, soldiers stop and stare, clearing the way for Chris. But he pays them no mind. When he heard five members of his Special Operations Units went missing, Chris practically jumped off his seat, wrapped up his last mission as fast as he could and got here without a moment of rest. Now, he has business to finish.
Rebecca’s tent is all the way in the back, secluded away from all the other tents behind the infirmary. Chris unzips the fly screen to enter.
Rows of weaponry and equipment are propped up against the storage units with plenty of back-up firearms, grenades, flashbangs, armour pads and all the supplies needed for any kind of operation. Right in the middle of it, Chris sees a familiar pixie cut brunette, playing tug of war with some shoelaces on a stool.
And why is there an assault rifle next to her?
Rebecca notices a presence behind her, and without turning, she sees the tall bulky man and speechlessly assessing the fireweapon.
“Oh Chris, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it?” Rebecca tugs at her laces once more and the fabric tightens. She does the same for the other shoe. “Hey- pass that over, would you?”
When Rebecca said ‘that’, Chris thinks it can’t be the rifle she was referring to, right? The rifle that is almost half her size? Or could it be something behind it that he can’t see or—
“What’re you dozing off for?” Rebecca grunts and gestures the rifle with her eyes impatiently. When Chris is still unresponsive after her right shoe is done, Rebecca rises herself and retrieves it herself with a sigh.
Chris sees clearly then, that over Rebecca’s shirt is a tactical chest rig, paired with some dusty elbow and knee guards that are a size too small on her. When she walks, her belt clinks with grenades and flashbangs. A sight Chris hasn’t seen Rebecca in for a very long time, not since the good old days of S.T.A.R.S.
“Why are you wearing that?” Chris widens his stance, arms crossed, not an ounce of amusement on his face as he looks down on Rebbeca.
“What does it look like, Captain Obvious. I’m joining you.” The soldiers standing on guard tenses ever so slightly. Such audacity to the captain would get you kicked out and sentenced back to the ruthless training grounds. Yet Chris falls silent, recalling the dynamic between the old squad, then cracks into a scoff of nostalgia.
“Long time no see too, Rebecca. It’s been what- five years? Since you’ve been out of field? Give me your arm.” Rebecca accepts Chris’ offer to fix her guard, moving the padded surface a few inches to the right and pulled on the strap until it’s snug on her elbow. “You don’t even remember how to put this on anymore.”
“Hey, my memory is a little rusty on the equipment. But I haven’t forgot how to use a gun.” Rebecca reassures as she shifts around her left elbow pad too. But Chris doesn’t buy that for even a second.
“Are you sure?” He says, eyebrow quirking in incredulity. Perhaps he shouldn’t—that would just encourage her more. “This isn’t just any assignment, Rebecca. It killed five of our men.”
“More reason for me to be there. I got the brains, you got the brawns. It’ll be perfect.”
“This isn’t a TV show, you should know this already.” Chris comments, feeling the impatience cutting into his throat. He composes himself. “Maybe you should rethink about putting your life in danger.”
“I won’t be in danger. I’ve got the great Captain Chris Redfield protecting me, right?” Rebecca winks playfully. Chris frowns.
“I can’t protect you always. Who knows what shit Arias got the other five with their pants down.” He rubs against his temples, and thinks: So I’m not just worrying about my survival, but Rebecca’s too? Chris can’t be babysitting and taking down Arias at the same time.
“Well, I won’t watch my friends die while I do nothing. If there’s a chance they might survive, I need to save them.” Rebecca says through one quaking breath, before breathing in deep and adds: “We don’t know how deadly this virus is. If I’m there, I’ll be able to help them. And you too.”
“Your current state is not fit for military combat. B.S.A.A cannot lose our lead researcher. There is no replacement for you.” Says Chris.
That seems to grind against Rebecca’s gears, enough to dish back the same attitude to him. “I’m not just a tool, Chris. I want to help.”
“As your captain, I will command you to stay here and monitor the current survivors.” Chris doesn’t mean to sound like a parent, but how could he not realise this is all for Rebecca’s good?
“With all respect, Chris, you can’t play the Captain card on me anymore.” Rebecca says, eyes defiant and direct.
The lines all over Chris’ face sets deeper. Rebecca is right. He knows that. Chris is well aware that Rebecca had been keeping up with her practice, and without her, the team could be missing crucial information that is imperative to the mission’s success or failure.
Yet the thought of another dead friend lingers over Chris’ mind, possessing his very being. Him in a wasteland of debris, the sole survivor. There is only a certain amount of times a man can go through grief without going insane.
“I’m asking you a favour on behalf of a friend.” Chris says—begs. At least, that’s the closest you will get for Chris to beg.
But Rebecca isn’t going to budge her decision. She can’t let Chris face it all alone again. She snatches the rifle off the table, and secures it into the back of her vest. Rebecca is going, regardless if the captain allows her.
“Come or not, you can choose.” Chris is out the tent before Rebecca even realises it. Only the hard thumps of footsteps to signal the finality of his choice. “But you know where I stand about this.”
Not one farewell uttered, Chris leaves Rebecca behind. The perils of their journey awaits them, in Rebecca’s head, it fills with nothing but thoughts.
~ ~ ~
QUERETARO, 2:37 AM
Small teams are the most competent in scenarios like these, which Chris took in consideration and decides on a team of five to embark on this assignment. Correction—Six, including Rebecca Chambers.
But right now, the medic is nowhere to be seen when Chris commands the selected soldiers to rise from their positions in the assembly and stand in an orderly line before Chris.
He’s relieved at Rebecca’s absence. Perhaps she has changed her mind; decided against the foolish gamble of her own life. Rebecca’s stubborn nature may refuse to admit this, but it was for the best that she assists from the backlines where she performs the best as the medic.
Chris faces the four soldiers once more, his deep set eyes sensing each soldier’s determination through their posture.
First of that row is Mike; Chris knows Mike, he had worked with him personally and his performance had been outstanding. The next two members he had never met before; two Mexican men, one slightly taller than Chris himself with a sturdy build and the other shorter who smiles carelessly.
And last of them all, there stands Johnny, the new recruit. Shaking from head to toe, scrawnier than ever. This is one hell of a first assignment a soldier can get. But it’s out of Chris’ control. B.S.A.A. is often short-staffed.
“Special Operations Unit!” Chris bellows through the crowd, his roar rumbles through the woods, has everyone present perk their ears to hear the captain’s every word. “Our objective today is to recover the A-Virus sample! Keep a lookout for missing survivors, they go by the names of: Jill Valentine, Ada Wong, Carlos Oliveira, Leon Kennedy, and—”
“Wait!” From far away, a spunky voice calls out in urgence, followed by pitter-pattering footsteps getting closer.
Approaching the assembly is Rebecca, taking shape from the darkness. She clutches at something in her arms, heaving out heavy breaths from her sprint with the rifle behind almost toppling her over.
Chris tsks under his breath. “Agent Chambers, you’re late. Care to explain yourself?”
“And thanks for waiting.” Rebecca tosses Chris a side eye.
The animosity hangs heavy in the air. Since then, the only conversations they shared since their exchange was strictly professional – and only what’s necessary about the mission, the potential causes of the virus, and how much information they are planning to reveal to the operations unit. No more, no less.
“I got presents for the team.” Rebecca greets each soldier with amicable grace while allotting something on her hand to each one. And when it is Chris’ turns, she neither smiles nor nods, a simple “here” to suffice the awkwardness between the two.
Chris takes the item from her hand, indifferent and without a word. It’s a full-face respiratory mask.
“Arias might have booby-trapped the area with poisonous gas. Consider this a precaution.” Rebecca rigs the facepiece over her features with its weak straps, the left filter popping off after she struggles it on. Then as she picks the left, the right falls off too. The rubbery sound of plastic can be heard as Rebecca moves, and her features shielded with a tinted brown film held down by hollow plastic.
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll do! I found it at this 7/11 nearby. You guys should’ve been there to see the confusion on their faces when I bought seven masks at the dead of night.” chuckles Rebecca. A few people laugh, and the tension of lives lost is temporarily distracted. Rebecca has that effect on people.
Everyone glances over at their captain expectantly. Chris is aware there is an obligation for the captain to comment on the situation.
“Thank you, Agent Chambers.” says Chris reluctantly.
“You’re welcome, Captain Redfield.” smirks Rebecca, making sure Chris had a good look at her victory before joining the end of the row with her team.
With the entire team assembled, seven soldiers wait for instructions with their gazes forward, masks secured, bodies suited and weapons ready to draw. They march past stone pillars laid with cut stones, an overgrown garden of exotic plants that are hanging on at life’s end and a lavish stone fountain before the entrance.
The squad scatters diligently behind the dark red mahogany double door, so heavy it could crush all your bones if the hinges fail.
“Are we ready, team?” Chrisdeclares before looking over at Rebecca one last time. You can still back out now.
Rebecca only returns the look with equal amount of sincerity. Seemingly trying to tell him: Not a chance.
The other four soldiers nod as one, keeping their trails soft, and they burst into the house of horror. And they didn’t notice, eyes peering out behind the voids of the curtain, looking at none other than Chris Redfield himself.
series masterlist - general masterlist
thank you @scar-crossedlvrs for beta reading this, ilysm bb!
