Gemini Rising

Leon S. Kennedy frowned in his sleep. He was dreaming. Unfortunately, however, this dream was one he’d had before. In fact, it was the only dream he could ever remember having. And he’d been having it at least once a week for eight years.

He was walking down a dark corridor in this dream, a blank, empty hallway that could be a part of any building. He had a gun in his hands, a semi-automatic handgun, his best friend. There was a small light affixed to the gun, and it illuminated a small circle on the floor in front of him, creating a shadowy image of the halls ahead. All was silent, but it wasn’t as if there were no sounds. It was as if he’d gone deaf. He couldn’t hear even the sound of his own feet on the carpeted floor. There were doors placed evenly down the walls, but Leon knew they wouldn’t open. In his dreams, his nightmares, the doors were always locked.

His eyes and ears strained against that deaf darkness, but it just made him feel weak. He knew he should just stop, just turn around, and look for the way out. But he had little control over his dreams, and his feet trudged on, cautious, futile.

Suddenly, Leon realized it *wasn’t* quite silent. There was a sound, a sharp whine. It was faint, but it was slowly rising, it’s pitch fluctuating slightly. It occurred to him that he’d been hearing it for awhile, but it had started so quietly that he hadn’t noticed. The sound was grating, and his heart began to pound. Something about that incessant whine, and it’s inexorable climb, told him danger was coming.

His steps slowed, fear creeping up his spine. Leon was afraid of very little. In fact, the only thing that truly scared him was the unknown. That horrible feeling of knowing something was coming, and having no idea when, where, or even *what* it would be. As long as he could see it, he could fight it. But how do you fight the unknown?

The sound was loud now, filling his ears, making them pound, making them ache. He felt a warm trickle, and raised a hand to his right ear. There was something wet there. He shined the light onto his hand. Jesus God, his ears were *bleeding*. BLEEDING, for fuck’s sake. That had never happened before.

He began to move faster, almost running. He hated himself for it, but the sound was now a sharp pain in his ears, and he could swear that underneath it, he heard the song of the dead, that horrible sound that the victims of the T-virus made. The sound actually calmed him slightly. Zombies were nothing. Zombies he could handle. If only he could see them.

He came to a complete stop, shining his light around in front of him. The sound was so bad that he was shaking his head sporadically, like a dog with water in it’s ears. It was starting to make him nauseous. He tried to turn and check behind him, but his feet wouldn’t let him. He shined the light straight ahead, down that endless corridor - and there it was. His heart stopped, then started up against, frantic and painful. Far away, but close enough to make out all the disgusting details, was a man. An *infected* man. He looked right at Leon, with an intelligence that zombies simply didn’t have. Leon raised his gun, and aimed it squarely at the creature’s head. He braced himself, then pulled the trigger.

And heard the ‘click’ that meant the safety was still on. He switched the safety off, then leveled the gun again, pulled the trigger once more.

‘Click’.

-What?- Leon though frantically. He shook the gun, looked at it, hit the side. It looked fine. He looked back up at the zombie. And he could swear it was smiling.

And then, it hurtled itself at him, faster than anything in the real, waking world, and he raise his gun again, but it melted in his hands, so he pulled out his knife, but it crumpled into dust, and the sound grew louder and louder, and the thing caught him by the throat, and Leon’s feet froze, and oh God, he could feel it’s teeth at his neck, and the fear was so great he thought he might die, and just when it became too much -

Leon shot up in his bed, gasping for breath, covered in sweat. He was shaking like a leaf. He felt for his ears, but they weren’t bleeding. He felt his neck. Nothing but scars. Leon took a deep breath, burying his face in his hands. It was the worst dream he’d had in a long time. Years, even.

Several moments passed, and Leon’s head cleared. He realized then that his phone was ringing. In fact, the sound from his dream was probably his ring tone, and annoying, high-pitched ring that had come with the phone. As he reached for the cell he though, -I *have* to change that ring.- He flipped the phone open and held it to his ear. He tried to say, “Leon here,” but his voice broke. He cleared his throat.

“Leon?” came a tentative female voice.

“Hunnigan?” Leon asked, his voice rough.

“Are you okay?” Hunnigan asked.

“Fine, I just - you woke me up.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

“Finally. I’ve been calling you for over five minutes. Were you in a coma?”

Leon laughed. “Something like that. It must be important to try for that long.”

“It is.” Hunnigan’s voice got serious, so Leon sat up straighter and waited. His free hand drifted under the pillow, to where his gun rested. The cold, heavy metal calmed his nerves, helped him feel more like Leon again.

“So, what’s happened now?” Leon asked.

“I have a call for you from the President.”

“What about?”

“No idea,” Hunnigan said. “All they told me was, ‘President Banks wishes to speak with Special Agent Leon Kennedy NOW.’ Emphasis on the NOW.”

Leon sighed. “Alright, patch me through.”

“Are you sure?” Leon could hear the smile in Hunnigan’s voice. “I could just tell them I couldn’t get a hold of you. I mean, you’re not the ONLY Special Agent the government has. Can’t the call someone else?”

“I’m fine, Hunnigan, really.” Leon said. “And if they’re calling me, it’s probably something only I can handle, anyway.”

“Alright,” she said, “but no complaining if you end up in some third-world country all by yourself.”

Leon almost smiled. There was a short buzz, and a gruff man’s voice said, “Leon Kennedy?”

“Yes sir,” Leon answered.

“Leon, this is President Banks. I’ve got a job for you, son.”

Leon grimaced. He hated being called “son”, or “chief”, or anything else so… patronizing. He’d gotten enough of it after Raccoon City.

“What is it, Mr. President, sir?”

“Son, we’ve got a problem on a small naval base off the coast of Maine. There’s an island there called the Verdant Shore.”

Leon couldn’t help it. “Is it really, you know, verdant?”

To his surprise, the President laughed. “Actually, it’s barren as a witch’s womb, and twice as cold.”

“So, what’s the problem? Sir?” Leon added quickly. He hated speaking to the President. He never knew how to act.

“Well, son, it’s the kind of problem with which you are very familiar.”

Leon sighed, and closed his eyes. “The T-virus?”

“Not exactly.” The President paused, then continued, “Son, what I’m about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy. Officially, this conversation isn’t taking place. Officially, everything I’m about to tell you is false. Officially, this island doesn’t even exist. You get my meaning, son?”

“Yes, Mr. President, I believe I do.” Leon knew exactly what was going on. He was about to find out about one of his government’s dirty little secrets. And if he so much as breathed wrong, he would be killed. But Leon wasn’t worried. He was great at keeping secrets. After all, he had no one to tell them to.

“Good. You’re a smart boy, Leon, and I am putting my trust in you. Now, listen carefully, because I will only tell you these things once. After that, you’re on your own.”

Leon sat back against the wall. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and lit one. He rarely smoked, but from the sound of the President’s voice, he may not get another chance to. He took a deep drag and said, “I’m ready.”

“Alright. On the Verdant Shore there is an abandoned military base that isn’t as abandoned as we’d like everyone to believe. For the past six months, it’s been inhabited by exactly eight people. Three scientists and five CIA Special Forces soldiers. These scientists are the best in their respective fields; prodigies, if you will. The head of the team is named Samuel Thatcher. He’s a British national, and works in the field of genetics. He’s twenty-seven, blonde hair, blue eyes, glasses. About five-ten, 170 pounds. Next, there’s Nadir Jhanda, Pakistani. Black hair and eyes, twenty-five, six-two, 180 pounds. Works in the field of endocrinology. Finally, there’s Lydia Maroni. She’s a United States citizen, and your primary objective. She’d got dark brown hair, is about five foot-six, and 120 pounds. One of her eyes is green. The other is grey.

“We got word about twelve hours ago that a project they were working on - well, it went wrong. We believe that all of the agents are dead. The three scientists are locked in a panic room in the center of the base. Now, son, I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t even know the specifics. I know what they were working on, but I can’t tell you that. I *can* tell you that it is well within your area of expertise. This is a search and rescue mission. Bring back the scientists. Lydia Maroni is your main objective. Save the others if you can, but bring her back at all costs.”

“Why her?” Leon asked. He knew he was being impertinent, but he didn’t care. He also didn’t miss the fact that the President had neglected to tell him what kind of scientist she was.

“She’s very important, son. That’s all I can say. There will be a car at your house in half an hour. Be ready.”

The phone clicked. Leon hung up and puffed on his cigarette, thinking. Why could people just leave well enough alone? The moment anyone started messing around with the T-virus, or anything like it, people got hurt. And Leon was usually the one who had to clean up the mess.

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Hey, just a little warning: I've only ever played the fourth game. I watched the first three be played by others, AND I've seen all the movies, including the newest CG one, Degeneration. So, if I get some details wrong, then let's just pretend I did it on purpose, artistic license and all that. Agreed? ;D