Chill fog drifted over the worn streets of the sleepy French village of Loire. Ada rested her cheek on her knuckle, looking out to where asphalt met pavement, and the cracks that parted to reveal the century-old cobble and brick underneath.
The warmth of her breath obscured the glass, and revealed scratches along the surface, along with stubborn smudges that refused to go away with cleanings. The spy watched the silhouettes of people walking in the distance, going about daily lives. Paying for newspapers, idly chatting, or purchasing fresh flowers or fruits. Occasionally, an armored vehicle bearing the Umbrella logo would cross by- a firm reminder that this was, despite the placid nature of the locals, a stronghold for Umbrella Europe.
Her task today was personal. There wasn't any need to stir up conflict, meeting Umbrella's top agent, and comparing notes.
When the door opens to the bistro, she looks to her guest, sliding back her wooden chair across the cream-colored tile to stand, and greet him.
"Bonjour, mon ami," she smiles, taking his hands in hers and rising to her toes to give polite kisses on either cheek, in accordance with local customs.
"I'm glad to see you could make it. Thank you for joining me."
Delta’s dead. The restructuring of orders comes from a close door conference room the size of a closet and hardly a second mention outside of a paper brief they were to hand back after reading. It’d be shredded. The States East USS commander had flown down and started the conversation with, “In light of the deaths of Delta East-”
New objective’s got him shipped out in the morning a week off a hospital stint. Small victories that they got shuffled- Hawk’s been reassigned to Alpha. It’s just him. They didn’t want anyone else on the transportation part of it- less disclosure agreements and less to keep track of. Besides? He survived.
By some miracle.
He ended up back in his company purchased room with a reason to drink and commitment to sobriety. Bad bedfellows.
Hunk tapped his hotel keycard on the desk with the four seperate prescription bottles lined against the wall. His jacket still sticky with October rain from a convenience run to get a couple things he could actually eat without feeling like his throat’s seizing up.
Sitting alone in a dark room, watching the video feeds over and over again.
Hawk rubbed at his eyes as he cradled his legal-pad and pen. The video feed was from his own helmet camera, the night of the unauthorized extraction. This information was of particular interest to Command- one of the only surviving footage, or any record of a number of new B.O.W.s and mutations that had not been witnessed before.
Some of the rest of the USS that had seen the footage noted in particular the brainy-things-with-frog-tongues... “Lickers“ was a name that seemed to be tossed around to refer to those things. The name stuck.
And now they knew exactly what they were. When the technicians collected samples from the MEDEVAC chopper, there happened to be enough left of the Licker on the underside of the chopper to get a clean sample of genetic material.
The Licker was a V-ACT. Specifically, a modification of the T-epsilon strain.
Hawk shook his head, thinking about it. The V-ACTs he was familiar with were the “Crimson Heads“ that only were discovered a few months ago. And their “discovery“ was a result of zombies re-reanimating and slaughtering Umbrella techs wholesale at the Arklay lab.
USS had to clean that up to. That incident led to the rule: “Destroy all corpses after study, no exceptions.“
He paused over the footage, and looked at its subjects... Hunk and the B.O.W.s and mutants. There were so many of them... and a lot of them weren’t even t-infected. There were plant things... he had taken to calling them Ivys. G-creatures (Hunk had confirmed to him that the giant eyeball was a hallmark of the G-virus, as evident by Birkin’s transformation)... Lickers, and the Tyrant.
He scribbled in his legal-pad as he resumed the footage. Watching Hunk pace through and clear out zombies and other infected with his grenades... It was hard to believe that this man had just waken up from a week-long coma.
Guess there really is no keeping down the Grim Reaper, huh?
His own words echoed in his mind. He took a moment to stew over it, and rolled back the audio to just moments before.
“Go Nighthawk, get out.“
“I’m not going to just leave you-“
“This is war. Survival is your responsibility.“
-pause-
He sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. They almost didn’t make it. But he wasn’t going to leave a man behind. No man gets left behind.
“They say there is no such thing as an ex-marine,“ Lupo chided from his memories.
Goddamn, maybe she was right. It was something that was going to die hard, and probably with him. At this point he had been with Umbrella longer than he had ever been a marine- but in official capacity he had never been a marine to begin with.
A trade-off... no records of his service or crime, and a life time of servitude to the company. It wasn’t a good deal. But it was the only way out, and he took it.
Umbrella never fostered things like teamwork and camaraderie- in fact they actively discouraged it- hostile even, if it emerged. Most people ended up distrusting or self-isolated because of it, but Hawk had figured out that if he treated everyone with the same irreverent friendliness... well, Command didn’t care one way or another.
Being a pilot was another thing he had going for him. Skills like his were hard to train... he was even at one point commended by Command as being a “valued member of the USS,“ and referred to his helicopter skills as “legendary“ after a few close calls with the Wolfpack.
It wasn’t anything to be proud of.
Nighthawk only suspected that it was too expensive to train another pilot like him. It was the only reason he had any choice between transferring from UBCS to either USS. No one was that special.
“Survival is my responsibility...“ he murmured.
Hunk was definitely different than he expected. His time in the UBCS brought him uncomfortably close to Col. Vladimir’s favorite- the bastard Nikolai. Hunk’s “rival“.
“It’s every man for himself out there,“ Nikolai had sneered at the new recruits in the UBCS, enduring the anti-B.O.W and mutant training courses.
“Don’t rely on anything foolish. If you are dead weight, you are dead. Your survival comes first.“
Survival at the expense of others. It never sat right with Hawk, and it was a not-so-secret-secret that Nikolai killed and sacrificed his teammates to boost his own survival score and get that same ‘Grim Reaper’ reputation. At first, Hawk thought that Hunk over in the USS was no different- and from the way that Grin spoke of Hunk... Hunk may as well have killed his own teammates.
But... That wasn’t right either. Hawk doubted that Hunk would kill his own team, barring any of them going infected beyond the help of the antiviral sprays. It had happened to Hawk once before too, in UBCS. You always had to kill infected. But he was never going to leave anyone behind that he could save.
Survival is your responsibility. Nikolai used it as an excuse to abandon and kill. Hunk didn’t want anyone to die on account of him. There was a difference, after all.
He let the video play out- the blue tinted black and white flickering in the dark room, replaying Hunk’s pursuit, Hawk’s help... their escape, scraping the Licker off the skids. He wrote down his notes in his legal-pad. He’d type them up old-fashioned on a typewriter later. He was still getting used to typing up on the computers- and as far as he was concerned, after anyone read his report and analysis on combat data, they could have an underling type it out on a computer and put it on file.
He stood up and turned off the projector and reclaimed the footage. He’d have to log his hours and turn the footage back over to the Monitors that were waiting outside. It was a rough last couple of days, and the report would have to be completed soon.
“Umbrella West Medical Center Tower, this is Nighthawk, three mile final, Bravo.“
Hawk scanned below as the first rays of dawn twinged the sky from the black of night to the purplish-red hues of morning. The building had multiple stories, solid brick and steel reinforcements- there was almost no aesthetic touch to it, and no mistaking that this building was all business in nature. It was one of the few quarantine and isolation stations in the Midwestern area, and the only one sanctioned for Umbrella employees.
He saw his team of medical technicians at the ready- yellow hazmat suits, a gurney with a clear plastic barrier, emergency oxygen- ready to take Hunk into intensive care. And ready to escort him into quarantine.
He hated the thought of it- but it was a necessary precaution: the outbreak of t-virus at Raccoon City was uncontainable and he had been exposed to it- along with new viral infectants, probably the result of G-virus. The high powered shower would be the worst. Hunk wouldn’t be able to withstand it in his condition, so he’d at the very least get a bath.
Nighthawk landed on the helipad. As soon as the blades of the chopper slowed to a halt, he opened the door and helped the technicians who were approaching take Hunk and strap him to the gurney- removing his mask to put him on oxygen.
He still had the G-virus sample on him, holding it in a vice-like grip, his dark eyes bleary and seemingly confused and uncomprehending of the world around him.
Hawk looked at Hunk’s face- he wasn’t sure what he expected. In all honesty the few times he had even seen Hunk had been in passing, had always been while he was in full gear. He wasn’t even sure there was a face behind the mask.
Well, there undoubtedly was. Paler than he expected, bearing the scars of intense battle and a particularly nasty bit of flesh cursive on his left cheek, where it looked like a chunk had been torn out and grown back wrong. Ashen hair clung to his head, drenched in sweat, and near-black eyes blankly stared under brooding eyebrows.
It wasn’t entirely un-handsome, Hawk decided. But, shit, what had this dude gone through?
The nurses strapped the clear plastic mask to his face, pumping the O2 in to keep him oxygenated. He seemed to have a little more clarity- but not by much- just enough to try and struggle a bit as they strapped him down.
The nurses briefly informed Hawk that they’d be separated to deal with the different care they required, but would have to remain quarantined together, and that USS Command was sending Monitors to collect the G-sample for storage.
Hawk nodded, there wasn’t much more he could do- it was out of his hands now.
They wheeled Hunk into the rooftop elevator, with Nighthawk following behind. A few floors down, the door opened and the team rushed Hunk away to get him clean and stable. They’d have to medically induce him to keep him from hurting himself. Hawk watched them run with the gurney before the doors closed and descended further down into the basement.
High powered showers. Here, he’d have to be blasted with cold water and then shower with a set amount of soap until it was gone to even be allowed to get in the general area of the nurses. And because he was still conscious, he had to put up with it. Umbrella wasn’t too kind in this regard. Or any regard, really.
After the stinging of the showers tore away any shred of dignity, and the isolated showering tickled his stings, he was given a patient gown to wear in the meantime. They’d have to give him a series of shots.
Great.
Making him walk back to the elevator behind a transparent plastic rolling screen, they took him back up to one of the top floors and put him in his room:
Hunk was there, being treated by a gaggle of nurses and doctors. He had been stripped, and also placed in a patient gown, and they were delivering his shots... through the gluteus.
Hawk sighed at what was in store for him as well. They only delivered shots that way for some large doses that needed to go through the body over an extended period of time. The nurse told him to brace himself, and he did- grimacing all the while at the uncomfortable feeling.
Then they let him get on his bed. He leaned on the side that hadn’t been stuck, and turned his attention back to Hunk as the nurses secured monitors to the both of them, and closed the plastic barrier around him.
Docs determined that Hunk had sepsis, and was already being treated with antibacterials. He had taken his antiviral shot through the glutes- but he would need a lot more treatment. He was starving, dehydrated, concussed, hypothermic, low blood pressure, severe blood loss, and a broken rib that they were unsure of if it had punctured the lung or not...
He was lucky to be alive, and many were surprised he made it as far as he did.
The doctors secured a patch to his head to monitor his brain activity, hopping him up on anesthetics to put him in a medical coma.
Hawk was quiet, listening to all the talk.
“He might not make it,“ one of them says flat out, “We may just have to let him go.“
“The director wants him alive,“ a woman counters, “He’s the only survivor of NESTWRECKER, and she wants a report.”
“We can try-” a defeated stance, “But it may be impossible.”
A resounding murmur of agreement from the staff. No one had high hopes, and from the way they were talking, it sounded like they viewed Hunk as a waste of resources.
Anger.
Hawk kept quiet, as they performed the first transfusions. They’d have to wait and see if his body rejected the blood before they did any more. Dead man on the bed- but they were appeasing the higher ups. It was only political.
The hours stretched out, and finally, there was consensus that there was no more they could do that day.
As the staff started to clear out and clean up, Hawk reached out to them-
“Hey, is it alright if I get a radio or something in here? Some music?“
There were no windows here. Just the two of them, medical equipment, hospital beds, medical supplies, and the analog clock ticking the time. Just after noon, assuming it was right. Six hours of work, of waiting, and Hawk was fully conscious.
He offered a small smile to the staff. One of them was nice enough to say, “Maybe.“
No guarantees.
Hawk sat, feeling bored. Waiting, aimlessly. He looked at the clock and it hit him-
Raccoon City was probably long gone by now. Anyone left there was dead.
Hunk was all that was left, and if HUNK, the fucking Grim Reaper, who always lived, always- was dying next to him?
He lost hope for the Wolfpack. And got angry at the callousness of the medical staff.
“Hey, Hunk...“ he starts, looking over at the unconscious man, “I wouldn’t listen to those guys if I were you. The nurses. They don’t know you-“
He paused, “Well, neither do I, but I do know this... You always survive, and you always complete your mission. Always. And guess what? Mission’s not over yet, man.“
It was silly, he realized, to be speaking like this when Hunk probably couldn’t hear him- but... what else could he do.
“You got the G-Virus sample,“ he continued, “But that was only part one. Grin and I are s’posed to take you to Europe with it for drop off. Mission’s still on, it’s just delayed a bit, ok? So pull through this one.“
Hunk was silent, in the medically induced sleep. But Hawk had hoped that somewhere, something had heard it. He hadn’t been religious in a long, long time. But when there’s nothing anyone can do, and nothing to turn to- even the faithless begin to pray.
----
Every day was a trial in the UWMC. The day started with shots, and pills, and disgusting food. Soups, gravies, cheap meats, and the worst of all things- hospital Jello. The antiseptics that they used to clean everything, and the smell that hung in the air clung to the gelatin like superglue... with a slight citrus taste (the orange flavor was the fucking worst) and it was enough to make Hawk jealous of not being put under like Hunk was.
Hunk next to him also had gotten shot after shot, cleaning, bedpan changing, and continued transfusions as his body wasn’t making enough blood. The staff were surprised that he wasn’t rejecting the blood, so it was a good bit of progress. Over the course of the days, he had gotten warmer, his heartbeats stronger, and his blood pressure back to almost an acceptable range.
Samples had been taken from both of them daily- their vitals monitored, their movements watched (One of the nurses gave Hawk a dirty, paranoid look through the hazmat suit when Hawk absently scratched at the edge of his sleeve), and all filters in the room changed daily.
So far it was looking like they were in the clear. Not infected with the t-virus, but they still had to wait the rest of the two weeks to be certain.
Hawk’s only entertainment was the Sony 3-band portable radio that Carol was kind enough to get for him.
Hawk made a habit of listening to the news, and then switching over to music. Every day was some report on Raccoon City, talking about the lead up to its destruction- the water treatment, the weird cannibal disease... the public was in outrage that the President had turned a missile strike against his own people. He was being pressured to resign.
Hawk wasn’t sure that he would.
But he had his fill of listening to misery and turned over to various stations. And he’d sing for himself, and his literal captive audience. It was good for morale, he thought. And most of the staff thought he was funny and lightening up to him, after he sang Spanish ballads dramatically alongside the radio. And laughter was good to hear.
The nurses decided they were going to wean Hunk off the anesthesia, and see if he would wake up on his own. A good sign.
On the radio that night, it was the year in review, top one hundred- and Madonna was playing. It was a ballad, and he just sat and listened, eating the decent bits on his plate and completely ignoring the Jello.
He heard motion next to him and saw Hunk coming to. He set his plate down and popped the radio off, watching the man slowly blink and observe his surroundings, fixing on Hawk next to him.
Hawk beamed, “Well good morning, princess! Been out a while.“
“Hm?“ The response from Hunk.
“Yeah, had everyone here worried for a hot second, man,” he states, “You were almost a goner- they had to do so much to you.“
Hunk only gave him a quiet, questioning look.
Hawk elaborated, “They shot us up the ass, literally and metaphorically,“ he joked, trying to be light, “Then they had to put you under, give you antivirals, antibacterials, transfusions, IV, small surgeries, feeding tubes, O2- they pumped you so full of stuff that you might be the new Six Million Dollar Man, my friend.“
Hunk looked away from him and seemed to examine his own body. Internalizing everything that Hawk had told him. He flexed his hands, seemingly agitated. He didn’t want to be here.
“We’ve got a few days left of quarantine,” Hawk stated, “Just to be sure. You were lucky to be put under most of it, because now you are up, they’re going to make you eat.“
He pointed at the gelatin. Hunk frowned. Agitation increased.
Hunk was a very quiet man. Hawk took no offense. He did almost literally die. He was likely in shock at everything. He needed time to process.
“... But hey, man. You’re alive. Almost weren’t but you are, so... yeah, thanks,” Hawk kept his voice low, and calm, trying to be encouraging. He had no idea what kinds of things Hunk had seen down there. And he was the sole survivor of two teams that had gone there.
Not shortly after, a few nurses came in- surprisingly not wearing their hazmat suits. Hawk tilted his head, questioningly. Hunk tensed at the new presence.
“Good to see you are up, sir,“ one of the male nurses spoke, “We have good news- neither of you are infected. You’ll be cleared to leave soon, but we will be holding you for a few more days. The VP is going to be seeing you.“
The VP? Of the US branch? Hawk felt uneasy about this. Hunk said nothing to acknowledge it.
“I need to start physical therapy immediately,“ he twitched at the IV still attached to him.
Shock, and protests from the nurses, but Hunk was adamant. Eventually, they resigned, getting Hunk set up with a walker to go pace around the facility. They seemed impressed when he didn’t need to lean on the walker to move it around- and there was an agreement that they’d take the IV out of him and let him use the hospital room freely.
Hawk was relieved that he seemed to jump back to just fine. But still...
He poked at his Jello, wondering what was in store.
----
They were now allowed to dress in real clothes, so they were issued some black sweats and t-shirts, something they could be comfortable in, and exercise freely.
Hunk was a quiet roommate, and had a strict routine that he seemed to follow of stretches and exercises. He was still in quite a bit of pain, and not liking the medication he had been given. He seemed to have bad reactions to the pain meds in particular- but he pushed through- though still being careful of his rib. He was limited in what he could do.
Hawk continued to play some music for them. Hunk didn’t seem to mind too much and it did help provide some good pacing. And Hunk didn’t seem to mind his singing and various bits of conversation- more talking at Hunk than with him.
Hawk noted that he was private, and tried not to pry too much into anything- though it was impossible not to note the various wounds he had- all of them well before Raccoon City too. One that stood out in particular was a nasty bite mark on his left forearm. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten it- but one thing was certain: he had seen Hell and come back time and time again.
They got the announcement that the VP was coming in.
Hunk and Hawk stood at attention, old soldier habits.
The US Umbrella VP, Joel Allman, walked in with all the authority that had come with the title. He was a tall man with a medium build, dark brown hair gelled backward and angled brows over dark brown eyes. He wore a perfectly tailored silk suit, the navy hues catching the sterile white of the hospital lights. He was accompanied by a female secretary and a bald executive.
“Sir,“ Hunk stated.
“Agent Hunk,“ Allman purred, “I was here to talk to you about your mission, Operation NESTWRECKER, in Raccoon City. I understand that you were the only survivor.“
Nighthawk simply stood and listened as Hunk relayed the events matter of fact.
Alpha team and Delta team were deployed into the facility, Delta would cover Alpha from US Military interference as Hunk and his team infiltrated NEST. William Birkin was prepared for them, and was already making plans to escape and seek asylum with military, taking the G-Virus with him.
But Alpha had a snafu when Birkin pulled a gun. Birkin was shot dead, presumeably- but he must have injected himself with the G-Virus, because they had encountered Birkin, grossly mutated later. Hunk watched his men die, before being knocked unconscious. He had no idea what became of Delta team.
“There was still one sample of the G-virus-“ Hunk continued.
“Yes, and that sample is currently under the watch of Command’s Monitors,“ Allman interrupted, “Perhaps you misunderstood your mission,“ he continued, coldly.
“We wanted William,“ Allman emphasized, “What is the use of an incomplete G-sample without its creator?“
Hawk felt his blood run cold. Hunk was absolutely silent.
“The G-virus has a deep connection with William and his bloodline,“ the Vice President continued, “Every other host will simply be rejected.“
Both Hawk and Hunk were at a loss for words. Hawk stared at Hunk: What was next? What was planned? Everyone was dead- and Umbrella was not kind. Hunk conveyed no emotion across the way from the Vice President. No rebuttal, no words. Just pure acceptance.
VP Allman approached Hunk, and the bald executive backed away. Allman put his hand on Hunk’s right shoulder. He was smirking.
“Relax,“ he commanded, “These are still good results... and you did a fine job in Raccoon City.“
A fine job?! Hawk screamed in his head, The damn place is gone and he’s the only fucking survivor! What’s his game?
Even the bald executive and the secretary balked that Hunk wouldn’t be receiving any punishment for not completing the mission as planned.
Allman retrieved his hand from Hunk’s shoulder, leaving the man as a statue. He turned his attention to Nighthawk, “And you- even though you flew with no clearance, you still managed to perform extraction. I also heard that you used one of the experimental pheromone canisters? Be sure to report the combat data- it’s important for development.“
“Yes, sir,“ Hawk replied.
Allman clasped his hands together, flashing a biohazard tattoo on the back of his left hand, “Excellent- now, I want to personally inform you that there will be a company-sponsored retreat for you USS personnel, we’re sending the both of you to the Gulf- clear up your heads and relax- enjoy your vacation, while we sort through this mess.“
Allman smiled insincerely, and gestured for his staff to follow him out.
Hawk and Hunk just stood there, at attention a full minute after he left.
After, Hawk sighed, “Well... we’re in it now.“
Hunk nodded, “Mhm.“
They were both under the thumb now. And both of them forced to go wherever the company directed- and this “vacation“ didn’t seem like it was anything more than to get troublesome people out of the way while they dealt with witnesses and PR. Oh well.
Hunk was quiet, but a little more open with him now, as they prepared for their next trip- to the Gulf.
Memories || September 30, 1998 || The Fourth Survivor
Slipping by the USS air traffic before they knew he’d gotten the better of them, Nighthawk flew the MEDEVAC helicopter to Raccoon City.
A no-fly zone had been declared over the city- but the US Military forces that were there were pulling out. They couldn’t risk being caught in the city when the missile strike was ordered.
Which also meant that there was no one there to enforce the order.
He flew low, and under the cover of darkness, scanning the last known channels of Alpha team and Delta team, going by each zone that had been determined at drop off.
“Delta team. This is Nighthawk. Come in, Delta. Delta do you read?”
Silence.
He flipped over to Alpha’s frequency: “Alpha team, this is Nighthawk. Come in, Alpha. Alpha do you read?“
Silence again.
Hovering, he changed position, quickly heading over to a different zone within the city. He had to be mindful of his position- the t-infected were absolutely swarming down below, and they were super aggressive, piling and clawing over each other trying to get up to him... albeit, futile.
He rose again, holding a pheromone canister close. If he found any survivors, that canister would give them a small reprieve getting in- it was designed to draw the zombies’ attention to a particular area. Crowd control.
Nighthawk continued his sweep over the city. His stomach churned at the burning buildings and destruction that had swept across the town. Umbrella had no contingency management for this, and it was coming to bite them.
He called for Delta, he called for Alpha. And every time it was met with silence.
They... aren’t really dead, are they?
“Goddammit,“ he muttered, “Someone please, just... pick up, will ya?“
He took the mic, and dialed again, heading over to Section K.
“This is Nighthawk. Delta team, come in. Delta team, do you read?“
Gut-clenching silence.
He looked at the readings on his fuel. The chopper was going through a gallon a minute. If someone didn’t get to him in the next ten, there was no guarantee that they’d be able to make it in time- to get out of the range of the missile.
One more try...
"This is Nighthawk. Come in, Alpha. Alpha, do you read?"
Click.
"Nighthawk, this is Hunk from Alpha Team."
Relief washed over Nighthawk, "Man, I thought you were all wiped out. I've been trying to—"
"I'm at Point K12. Need info on my extraction."
K12- the sewers underneath the Police Department, and above the entrance to the Umbrella Facility- NEST...
Hawk couldn’t help but notice that Hunk had said, ‘my’, though. Him. No one else.
He’d take it.
"Guess there's no keeping down the Grim Reaper, huh?"
"My extraction point!"
He could hear the noises of something in the background... moaning? Hunk had pursuers- infected.
"Relax, Mr. Reaper,” he said, flying upward and getting sight on the zone, “ I'm headed towards the front gate of R.P.D. Pick you up there."
“Got it.“
Nighthawk nodded to himself and flew up to the Raccoon City Police Station.
Holy shit.
If he thought the rest of the city was bad, it was peaceful compared to this place. He got sight on creatures he hadn’t seen before. He was familiar with the t-infected. Things they called zombies, but these were some creatures he had no experience with.
Mutated masses with reptilian features and bulging eyeballs in weird places.
Is that the result of G?
He wasn’t so sure the canister would be effective, but he had it on the ready.
He kept track of his time. They had maybe eight minutes before they needed to scram. It should only take Hunk five of those minutes to get to front gate...
Something skittered up the side of the R.P.D with a hiss, flashing its flayed appendages, and sporting a large brain resting atop a jaw full of fanged teeth.
The hell?
It lashed out with a long tongue like a frog and latched on to the landing skids of his chopper.
“Fuck off!” Hawk drew his gun and shot the tongue squarely. It let go and bellowed a raspy scream... and then more of them crawled out the windows, flashing their tongues. Hawk pulled up suddenly, maneuvering away from the creatures.
Five minutes. Hunk wasn’t at the gate.
He reached for the mic in frustration, "What the hell, Hunk? You're late for extraction."
Gunfire and Hunk’s voice came through, "Front door's blocked. Gotta find another way out."
"Heads up,” Nighhtawk stated bluntly, “guys at the top just ordered a full clean up on Raccoon City. So move fast, or you can kiss your ass goodbye."
“Got it.“
He looked at his fuel. Half a tank... they’d be pushing it. Three more minutes. Three more minutes.
More hissing. Goddammit. No choice but to circle back around and get the licky-things away from him.
Buildings crumbled around him. Small explosions popped off in the distance. So many, many monsters... he wasn’t certain there were many survivors here. And there wouldn’t be any once morning came.
What happened to Delta?
Small beeps alerted him to his time. He circled back around-
Hunk still wasn’t there.
"Hunk!” he called, “Time's up!"
"Go, Nighthawk. Get out."
Hunk sounded almost resigned. Gunfire and groans fed through the background of the comm.
He’s crazy.
"I'm not gonna just leave you—" he cried indignantly.
"This is war...survival's your responsibility. "
“Goddammit...“
Heart racing, Nighthawk had to make a decision. Leave behind the only survivor- or save his own ass? It didn’t sit right with him.
Making quick calculations, he sighed. He’d give three more minutes. Hover above, and keep eyes below. He could push three more minutes but they would absolutely have to land to refuel. He could hopefully get outside of the blast range by then.
Hopefully.
Circling back around- the sound of explosions were startlingly nearby-
Hunk. He saw that tell-tale helmet and red lenses even from his height. Hunk was tossing grenades to rush by swarms of zombies... and they were following him. Hawk dived down low, and popped off one of the pheromone canisters.
At the very least he could keep the mass of them off his tail for thirty seconds. A cloud of red spilled out from the canister as it fell on the ground, zombies pausing briefly as if confused by the smell of it. Good enough.
Nighthawk wheeled around to the front, lowering himself in front of the man who’d just breached the gate.
Hunk’s voice came over the comm as he paused.
"Why'd you come back?"
Hawk smiled underneath his helmet. “I wanted to meet the Grim Reaper.“
Heavy footsteps lingered not too far behind Hunk- and Hawk could see what it was-
A Tyrant.
“Shit! Get in, go, go, go!“
Hunk didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted and hopped over the skids into the interior of the chopper. Hawk pulled up sharply, pressing the control to close the sliding door.
“Buckle up back there!“
“Got it!“
He heard Hunk strap himself in, clinging to the safety rails- he was breathing hard. But they weren’t out of it yet. The lickers jumped off the side of the R.P. D.- one of them grabbed onto the landing skid. Pulling the weight unevenly. An alarm blared a warning.
“Hunk, I’m gonna shakem!“
He got only a grunt in response.
Pulling up hard and leaning to counterbalance, Hawk scanned- A billboard- advertising Umbrella’s own drug: Adravil.
A picture of a woman smiling, holding up the drug, captioned: Quick and easy relief.
“Quick and easy relief- I’ll take it,“ he mused, pulling up the chopper.
If I angle it this way, at this speed...
“Ok, heads up, gotta scrape this bug off- may be bumpy...“
“Mhm,“ another tired grunt.
Thwack.
There was a small scream and scraping as the chopper brushed the top of the billboard. The blaring stopped. And the chopper picked up speed. Once they cleared the skyscraper lines, Hawk sighed.
“Once again, only you survived Mr. Death...“ he breathed, hitting hard that they were leaving the rest of Raccoon to die.
“Always. Only you survive...“
Delta, the Wolfpack was gone. All of Alpha.
“Death cannot die...“ Hunk’s voice was barely a whisper.
Something bugged him- bothered him in the way Hunk was talking.
“Hey, man, you alright?“
No response.
“... Hunk?“
No response.
Shit. “Ok, hold on, buddy.“
Hawk flew a clear distance from the city, and landed in the open fields. He unbuckled, and hopped to the back. Hunk was shallow breathing underneath the mask... blood still seeping through the fatigues... holding on to a vial- radiating purple.
G.
Hawk took out first aid spray and folded up the fatigues to reach the bloody parts, spraying Umbrella’s own manufactured quick healing aerosol. It supposedly had some genetic coding from the t-virus, specifically, the regenerative properties.
Wounds stitched themselves, he wouldn’t lose anymore blood, but he was wet and cold... Hawk was reluctant to take off the stuff he was wearing in the brisk night... The shock could kill him.
He took a foil blanket and wrapped it around him instead. It’d have to do.
He hopped back up and went on the USS West Frequency.
“USS West, this is Nighthawk-“
A terse male voice answered, “Nighthawk, you better-“
“I’ve extracted Special Agent Hunk from Raccoon City. He has a sample of the G virus. He’s all that remains of Alpha Team.“
A beat of silence, then: “What’s the status?“
“In bad shape,“ Hawk admitted, “He needs immediate medical attention. I am refueling now. Have a team on standby at the Umbrella West Medical Center. I’ll be there within the hour.“
“Acknowledged. Nighthawk, prepare yourself for quarantine as well.“
Hawk sighed, “Affirmed.“
The operator cut out, and he hauled the extra fuel containers out, filling the chopper with half a tank.
“Alright, Mr. Reaper...“ he sighed, ready to start flying again, “We gotta job to do, let’s go.“
