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Apr 4

Nobody else but us

Story Masterlist 🖋️ read on ao3 🖋️

Summary:

The story goes back and forth into their past and their present.

10 years after the nightmare, they met again for the same reason they had escaped from. A disease with no cure. It was years before the 6 survivors were reported dead, and before the illness has a name—Raccoon City Syndrome. All ends lead to them meeting again... for the last time.

Chapter 1: Opening.

Leon stared at the black liquid pouring out from the machine, muddy it seemed. Long and stern, he gazed into the flow of unconsciousness. Faint blue hospital lights flickered above his head. He drowned himself in a sea of thoughts. Sinking under his boots, the floor was old and untended for days. Long hallway engulfed in cold sweat, and smelled like death.

He thought this place was rigged, he had this same hunch before.

Knocking it was—the only sound echoing in an empty lobby. Unfortunately, the machine struggled to pour out a proper cup of coffee. It stopped its track, then continued in droplets.

Unlike what he'd been skeptical about, Hunnigan and "the authority" kept reassuring him to put his mind at ease and go home. The usual antiseptic smells one would encounter in healthcare facilities were completely absent; Only there was something's dying and rotten inside those doors. Like hell he would trust this damned place. The area which was supposed to be called 'the ICU' by what he's been told, hardly had a shadow of a human with capabilities passing by, not even mentioning pulling out lives from a patient in a critical state. Rarely a doctor, or faintly an amount of nurses.

A sudden sight of a white lab coat in the hall immediately caught his eye, opening doors to a room. He followed the man and silently observed from outside. The supposed doctor approached a patient's bed without eagerness, clearly by how he stood next to the bed. Their face was hidden behind big machines and a wide blue curtain, but through the door slit, Leon could clearly see the lower arm lying on bed cover; black and navy veins crept across their skin. Their lifeless colors turned all gray, and terribly bruised. Body lay in absolute stillness. The monitor had no sign of life, anymore.

A long, long beep. And Leon sighed.

But the doctor seemed to not care that much.

The man in a white lab coat stood 5 feet away, not touching, nor checking for the pulse of his patient. He coldly scrapped a line in the patient's file with red ink, then hung it to the bed end again. Later, he pulled all the plugs off quickly, and dialed on the hospital's phone, whispering into the speaker in strange calmness,

"Bed 26, object has failed, confirm for termination."

Termination, for a human who had just passed away in bed alone—Leon winced at the thought, though he had heard the word many times before. Termination. As if damaged goods, now have no use.

They won't bear with the baggage, said "the authority". The words rang in his ears.

The doctor looked up to find out he had been watching—Leon's sharp eyes were practically glued to the dead person in bed, searching for clues and clarity, so the man hushed to close the door shut in seconds after he found out. Another door slammed. Right in front of his face.

The hallway sank back to its long desolate state. Time had stopped again.

"Looks like we're on our own now."

His sight dropped to the soiled checkered tiles underneath the vending machine—coffee overflowed, yet cold, with his hand still holding the cheap paper cup, deciding if what just happened could pass all his wearies and doubts,

about everything.

His gaze shot to the room at the end of the hall, where the monotonous beeping sounds still continued, but were gradually, who would know, dying.

Biting the bullets.

The ground was wet and drenched.

Not just because it was starting to rain, heavier each minutes...

The smell surrounding her. Terrible.

Laying flat on the ground, her body was so sore from the pressure that came from the collision. She tried to push herself up. Eyes blurry. But she could see the color. It wasn't just black and white anymore.

It was red.

All red before her eyes, the road painted it was. She gasped, took in both her lungs a full sharp breath of terror. Her palms felt a kind of gooey, sticky substance under, which turned out to be blood. Everywhere. She almost screamed, but it was slowly becoming more like a muffled cry, as she looked up and saw what she shouldn't have.

In the death of that night, she saw everything painted in red.

She thought it was the last time she would see, because soon, there wouldn’t be peace. Silence would haunt her, for she could only hear the blood vessels pumping with trepidation in her ears—fear consumed her entire being. With zero rhythm, her pulse went into chaos under the thin skin. This was probably not a way of living.

She was scared, and desperate. Running and hiding got the best of her.

Her own life got tied up on the string, and dangling before her like a cat and mouse game. Her legs' muscles started to give up after a long stretch of running section. Oxigen in both lungs ran out.

Will I ever escape this?

Trembling in the night, she hid under tables like a kid. Tears dried on her left cheekbone, blended with fresh and old wounds, black and bruise, and she didn't have an answer. Her body betrayed her in any way she could've imagined.

She doesn't know the answer.

"You won't get away from me, fool."

The voice growling from the other side of the door.

"Come out and see me!"

Every speck of dust emerged on the carpet she knelt on, and there was a faint feeling of stickiness it had. She saw through the black shadow, a yellow wooden block toy. Alone and frivolous. Her mind froze at the thought of a lost child who had to stay in this mental playpen thing, praying for hope and shelter, while footsteps drew closer and closer in each second.

Suddenly, there came a hard grip on her right ankle as she squealed in terror, and got pulled into the darkness.

The time hit,

3rd of November 2008,

3:20 AM.

It wasn't the first time she had been in this situation.

The brain woke her up from the nightmare once more like it finally hit the toll. It came back, not by the cacophony of noises and lousy crowds, nor by all the shots she had had that were lying empty on the table like rolling dices—peace or none, sleep or pain, something along those lines... It resurfaced in moments of silence. The silence that screamed the loudest in the room, banging in her ears like a drum, causing her to suffer. She had not managed to have one restful night since, and it made her fretful, especially to anyone who needed to approach her.

Only then was she reminded by the ticking of her watch on the wrist, telling her that her chauffeur had been waiting outside for far too long. He wouldn't dare to tell her directly that he liked to end his shift soon. She'd stare and glare, as always, and he would've been out of job.

Under neon lights and all,

The clinking of bottles and glass, unceremonious disco pop, and fourteen-cent jazz by an out-of-tune upright piano filled the stifling air, as people excitedly chatter above all the mess of variable tunes... This slumber bar downtown simply had it all. Pushing herself up from the burgundy banquette her body had made accustomed to, a hiss came out through her grunted teeth. Joints stiff. A quick flash striking through her mind, made eyes went blurry. Lucky she made the whole booth private, or she would be damned by the owls and eagles. Grabbing the coat with her Koss headphones lying next to her, she left the place.

Her apartment wasn't far from here, but after midnight, she preferred to spend the leisure time after gigs taking strolls around the block. She would usually have a chaperone to accompany on such missions—actually, a couple ones already, because who would like to put up with her, all the constant judgement?

Her car usually parked just two buildings away, and she always found her chauffeur sneaking a crossword column from the nearby newsstand. The central city was exceptionally chilly at night, with the winds bashed between tall buildings. He would rather stay in a feeble cabin than sit two booths away from her with a nice glass of lime soda.

And now where is he?

The chaotic sounds broke off abruptly the moment she stepped out onto the street. Bar's door had closed behind. A wasted last-week newspaper flying across by the urban breeze, prompted her to eagerly put on her headphones again. She wrapped it around her neck like a little scarf, concealing scars. It was moments before she resolved to turn on some of her own tunes that she heard several faint noises from other side of the street, a little further away from her usual parking spot. There it was, the silhouette of an old 90's Jaguar sedan, as she passed through the mist of steam and a crossroad, slowly reached the vehicle. The voices were so prominent in the middle of car horns and screeching tires, for she really felt the heat of them.

She saw the car was already occupied by two strange men and her chauffeur inside. One person sat in the backseat, behind the driver, while the other was frantically pointing a gun at her men’s right temple.

They were so invested in the conversation that they never saw her. Nonetheless, the rude guests could wait longer.

Luther was the name of the chauffeur.

He was an extremely tall man with thick eyebrows—at anytime he needed, they lifted like curtains.

He had a wife once, but she left him due to complicated circumstances, as he wrote in the CV. He had young boy in custody, which made him terrified of being in the money's tight end, and not being able to take care of his kid. Luther worked here and there in the city. Taxi driver at first, then the long hours were keeping him from his son, so he turned to working midnight shifts in bars, clubs, and hotels. Tips were generous, but the paycheck wasn't much.

Signing up for this job seemed a bit strange comparing to the previous one he had, not that he hadn't met with weirder things before, but still. At first, he didn't really understand why, why does being an escort pay him this much? He even took a risk and asked for a higher check, and it turned out even better than what he had expected. Though the agency hiring him seemed to say that he would be working for just a normal typecast of a musician—a pianist they added, who will be doing private shows at night. The amount of money still baffled him. He presumed she must be a very good one, or they were simply burning money for the shakes of entertainment. Sure she was demanding and sometimes 'quite' unreasonable, everything was predictable for a mad musician, of course, with a right number in the check. All was well until he got into a situation. This was it.

Luther was going through his second to last row of the crossword, with a cool off coffee shot in the other hand. He checked the time—almost 4 in the morning and he needed to get home before 7, until a cold gun muzzle pointed to his head, shouting "Shut up and drive." Luther paused. Mouth locked. When he intended to turn and look at their face, the gun shoved even closer to his jaw. A man in hood, with a fit of nerves.

"To where?"

"Anywhere. Just drive!"

Through the rearview mirror, he saw an another in the back seat. In contradiction, this man was not as self-possessed. His skin coated in layers of black veins and bruises. While trying to grasp onto the seat in front, he clutched his stomach like he was going to vomit. His mouth was soiled. Sweat all over him. If he threw up in here, Luther would probably be fired without a warning, but with a gun pointed at his head, he took the car out to the road anyway.

"Do you need doctors for him?" There were a few coughs until they got mostly intense. Luther then was concerned for the new carpet he had just taken to the laundromat.

"He has enough of them. Take the next left, we're driving to the hill," the man in hood said, taking the lead. When the car had passed the second intersection, he finally dropped his guard a little. The gun was then on his lap. "I see you hanging around places like these. Cold cases. Strange deaths. Bioterrorisms. DSO and stuff... You must be related to them?"

Seemed like something Luther had read on the newspaper while doing rounds of crossword, but he wouldn't take a wild guess.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The man laughed scornfully.

"They are very close to good bars. That's all I know" Luther added.

"That's what they all said."

He mumbled it like a mock, but it was no mock for Luther because he actually had no clue, so he assumed it was for the people—DSO or some politicians... Nothing else was talked about for the rest of the ride. Thankfully. It would've turned into some pathetic argument. The passenger in the back kept coughing, and Luther considered this to be simply a taxi ride with some drunk customers; he had experiences with taking them out before.

The car ride took a couple of minutes until amber lights filtered through the windshield, illuminating the control panel when the chauffeur turned the key. The engine was off.

They arrived at a deserted hillside, devoid of any human presence, except for the towering pine trees that stretched as far as the eye could see, for the man had demanded him to torn down the no-man’s-land fence, leaving them in this desolate area. The sun had perked up above the skyline.

Luther quickly got out to check on the bumper. He was sure his check would be less this week. He could go to this fixer guy he knew before the boss found out about the bump.

Checking his watch,

4:57 AM

Maybe not so soon.

"Go to the back and open the trunk." The man spoke again. He and his sick friend got out of the car too. This time Luther couldn't contain the discomfort he had been having. It was supposed to be one of his skillset in customer service.

"Hey man, I'm glad to help but I need to get back picking up my boss."

"Screw your boss. Get the trunk."

"It's all on you if she fired me—Woah!" Alright, pointing gun again, you're really going to shoot me. Fine. But I'll be complaining. "Trust me. They're good bucks for whatever it is. Feed me and my boy, get him to school,... You'd be surprised by how much money my boss get by only taking trips all around and gliding tunes on the damn black and white keys. But she is definitely some pain in the ass I must say, with all due respect."

They didn't seem to care though. The gun was aiming to his neck and all they watched was the hand of him to land on the trunk and open it.

"What the actual FU—!?"

The back of the Jaguar sedan stank, giving out an unpleasantly foul odour. A body got rolled up in there. It still bared a lab coat with DSO-the-agency emblem on the torn left chest. Blood was dripping through the carpet. That pungent smell then rushed into Luther’s nostrils, flared up the eyesockets, causing his eyes to water. He lowered himself to his knees, desperately trying to rid himself of the abhorrent smell.

"You guys killed a fucking doctor!?" His throat scorched.

"The deathbeat was useless anyway. Take him out of the trunk. We gotta dig a hole."

"You guys killed a fucking man and put his fucking body in my fucking boss' car?"

"Good observation. Now take him out if you don't want to join him."

Luther took a gulp. The severeness of the situation had been taken to another level; No more drunken bastards wanting a free ride, but a couple of hitmen who weren't hesitate to shoot him dead. What about his boy? He should've had his gun with him.

"I didn't plan to do the stiff disposal on a thursday night." He mumbled to himself. The body lay flat in the trunk, above a red blood pool. Stiff and still, exactly like the death.

It was raining,

cats and dogs,

She heard the thunderstorms above.

Her clothes soaked.

What the hell is going on?!

Her back had already hit a dead end, cars bundled up and engulfed in flames despite the rain trying to extinguish them. She writhed. Agony made her legs paralyzed.

It was the 29th night of September,

Near the end of the outbreak.

Raccoon city. 1998.

That was where and when her nightmares started.

As the lightning struck, it unveiled a gruesome sight at her feet—a bloody human head with its mouth wide open, agape. Lower jaw already missing, revealing the sharp upper teeth. Like the most contorted shape of a skull any human wouldn't imagine. The nose and mouth were likely ripped off by a wild animal’s force. Eyes were white, stark contrast to the skinned meat. Death. Rottenness.

She immediately pulled herself back. Fast like a kid crying out their lungs for mom. An inaudible sound escaped her mouth, only for it to be repressed by another bigger horror that was before her. A figure was clawing onto the torn half-body. Pulling organs out with its foul mouth.

The dead man alive ran up to her. The thing had its jaws like an alligator’s. Pieces of meat clung to the bloody fangs.

There went a loud sound. All of a sudden.

Bam!

Luther fell into a shallow swamp. Blood splashed across his white shirt as he wiped it away to check on the wounds. He realized, fortunately, he had none. In contrast, the two other men faced the polar opposites to his fate. Their necks were torn. Halves of their faces were eaten. Even into the bones.

He didn't even have enough time to specify what had happened seconds ago.

He heard two loud bangs. Gun shots. Stirred his dizziness. The moment he could lift himself back up from the earth mound, and cleared his blurry vision, another two emitted. A strange sight came into view.

This is the situation he talked about.

She stood there in the middle of a scene that looked like a mine field. His boss. Checking on her pistol like it was another thursday night.

"You lied in your resume."

She reloaded the gun. And stepping on stones, as if the place was actually a mine field. Difference was, it scattered with disintergrating body parts. She fancily swiped her shoe’s sole across the ground, meticulously cleaning away the residue of blood and debris, off of her Saint Laurent. Just to be extravagant.

"I don't buy useless gear to be my company."

He saw her, strange and all, so he started to stutter out meaningless words, "Wh--Who are you?"

She heard him, her eyes squinted. "Pardon me?"

"Who are you doing all these---shits!? You ain't a twig. You're a whole fucking branch. They told me I would be escorting a pianist. Not an assassin!"

"I am a renowned pianist." She scowled in displeased, ticking her tongue, but didn't bother to raise her voice. "Mind your language, Luther. I know how to protect myself. I didn't kill anybody. What do you think I hired you for? Picking up flowers?"

"I guess... Ma'am, I'm sorry. It's a new event for me. I've never seen-"

His sight was then clear and sharp as day. Three bodies spattered all over. Blown up. The dead body he was supposed to take dispose of, had sprungled all four of its limbs. Its head brutally decapitated. He remembered vaguely, the death suddenly woke up from its sleep like the horror tales, and lunged at him when he quickly hit the trunk close. That was all he could see before he hit the ground. After that, there were only screams.

"Am I fired?"

She didn't respond anything but darting an eye. The silence was understood.

"Of course,... For obvious reason." He stumbled to push himself up from the ground. Guessed it himself. "It's only fair."

Luther stood up from the swamp, soaking wet and covered in mud blood. All miserable. He was nearly beaten to death, torn apart, and then probably be sucked dry from his two empty pockets in the upcoming months. The crossword puzzles in the magazine would be the last pleasant memory he had on the job.

She spot a red patch on his palm. A pang inside her chest. It stung. And she felt a wave of concern. "Were you bitten?"

"No, I'm fine..." Then he saw it too, brushed the hand off a little as if it would remove the patch, and held it up for both of them to see. It wasn't a bit mark, but still, it was bleeding. "Just a small scratch. That's all. I must've slipped-"

"Stop with your long stories. Do you have insurance for it?"

"Uh... N-no, ma'am? Do we need it?"

"There was no health insurance in your contract and you still agreed to sign it?"

"I signed it. It was already good paycheck."

She took a sharp breath in and he cramped.

“Look at those men. You’re bleeding and exposed. Medical checkups are mandatory, and there will be prevention protocols in place. Without insurance, you are going broke.”

"I don't need checkups-"

"You'll die. Like them."

The three bodies laid on the ground, with heads blew off. He remembered how their brain bursted in a pop. Crispy and viscous. Now they're only broken hollow skulls. He finally realized the grave condition he's in.

"I don't have any money."

She took another sharp breath in as to express exasperation. Then dial on her phone. Messaging. Her eyes glued on the blue screen as she quickly commanded him; faint sirens blew from behind the hills, cops heard the gunshots.

"We need to go first. DSO may come. I don't want to meet with them. Extremely annoying."

Luther sighed, "Yes ma'am."

"You, I'll deal with later."

Luther then glanced at the bodies on the ground while horns and sirens tore through the stillness of the new dawn from afar.

"Hunnigan. Saw someone died. Is that supposed to be a good sign to you?"

Lights from the ceiling flickered again. Still, the freeze breathed through the neck. Hospital? More like a morgue.

After 10 full minutes of going back and forth, he picked up the phone and called on his coordinator's private number. He'd been roaming around this area more than the people who actually work here. Apparently, they didn't call the patients patients; they referred to them as subjects for research. And it's finally the last straw for him as an investigator of the States.

"Why did they transfer her to this division? These aren't doctors, they are scientists."

It was 2am in the morning, it's normal for people to be pissed by a work phone call, which could be said for both ends.

"One, do not call me on private if it's outside of office hours. Two, do not even call me on private. At all. I have enough of you for today, Leon."

It didn't go well. He gave her the cold hard silence transiting through space and distance.

"Talk." He demanded, curt and plain. A federal guard in suits standing near the entrance of this specific room glared at him in disturbance when the word travelled through the hollow hall. Leon gave him back the look, but brief, like his actual meaning. They kept their distance in the long, empty hallway, as if a single move of a finger could start a fight.

Hunnigan had to lower her voice down as a result, "I told you for the hundredth time. This is not like any other medical issues, the higher up won't deal with this in a normal way, you know that. Not like any ordinary doctors could help."

"Then send someone who can!" He didn't shout, but the sound of his voice rumbled the cracked walls and dusty old pipes. The guard saw it as a sign and turned to his standing position.

Leon heard Hunnigan taking a long sigh on the other side. She kept quiet for a moment, he bet it was for thinking. There's no need to think. Why would you be thinking? You must be damn mad—Thinking? Someone needs help. She, needs help.

"Leon, I’m afraid I don’t have the qualifications to do that. I don’t have access to my sources and devices at home, and I don’t know anyone who can help." Hunnigan poised. Sounding like she's not trying her best at all.

Alright, fine. Nevertheless—He waited politely for a reason, or a proper answer. At least there could be a decent one, more than just dead silence, he had hoped. What is happening to her?

"It is the only thing I can tell you right now. It's classified."

He inhaled his patience in as he heard it once more. It's worst.

"We did the best we could."

"What's the meaning of classified when a human, is laying there and waiting to die, without the help she supposed to get?" Leon protested, "There are none of these people, in this fake hospital, would even care if she still breathes or not, Hunnigan. And they are doing nothing but watch. See how the situation goes? Goes where!? There were 4 patients here having the same disease, and 3 are already fucking dead!—You all need to sort out your priorities—"

"You need to listen to me. Leon. Listen! Out of all people who works for the government, you understand it very well, that this is not some typical maladies. This needs to be kept under confidential files. She's carrying a bio-weapon inside her body."

"She's a survivor of Raccoon city!"

"And the evidence to one of the most classified incident."

"She's a human."

"That's not a reason to quarrel, Leon. They won't bear with the baggage."

"Baggage?"

He broke in sourness, like the taste of his regrets and sins. He hadn't needed anyone to remind him that after all this time, he knew it very well indeed, loud and clear,

"So this is what we are to them."

Paused and silence. Of course.

Of course.

When he was forced to walk through that door into The Oval Office, they called him with many many names, but only these ones stay with him the most—Disposable. Damage goods. Weak in the head... Baggage to bear.

Behind his back, behind every pats on the shoulders, or the welcome handshakes they told as the symbol of honor and contribution, he was referred to as baggage. He were only there because of planned intentions and for the sole purpose of so-called 'Justice'.

None of the handshakes were there for free.

Baggage—that is the name you're given, when you are left with just a shell of your past.

...

"That's all we could do. You hear me? Leon? You must accept it. We don't have the authority to ask for other corporations' help. Don't do anything st—"

Authorise this, authorise that. Goddamn bureaucracy.

He hung off the call abruptly. Cut it to the chase.

Eyes steel blue shot daggers to the guard's plain sight.

Chapter 2 >

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