Resident Evil: Resurrection

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“Father!” Hung sprang up off the couch, looking around in a panic, but collapsed back into the cushions after a few seconds and realizing where he was. He lifted a hand and wiped his sleeve across his face wearily, smearing the cold sweat from his forehead and neck. Another night, another nightmare; it was nothing new any more. His eyes scanned through the darkness of the house, and he listened to the building as the cold outside caused it to shift and groan now and again. Were he the Hung of five years ago, he would have laughed at the thought of monsters walking those floorboards and making them creak, but this was a very different time now. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to calm his breathing, listening intently, but he could hear no footsteps, not a shuffle, not a groan or snarl. The house was shifting from the cold alone, nothing more.



Standing again, he wiped down his neck one more time before looking at his ratty shirt sleeve. It was a grimy brownish colour now from all kinds of filthy and disgusting events that had happened in his life since he’d pulled it out of the broken window of a store back in the last big city he went to. Now, though, he didn’t have the luxury of throwing out or even washing clothes that were soiled beyond recognition, he had the choices between whether or not he should keep on risking wearing this soiled shirt and what might be on it, or not keeping the soiled shirt and freezing to death while stuck outside in the cold some night. For now, he would keep the shirt.



“Shit,” he said quietly in the dark as someplace distant in the cabin creaked quietly. He didn’t want to leave the false security of his couch, but there was one decision he couldn’t put off for long. Hung headed for the stairs, reaching out in the darkness until he found the railing. He hadn’t seen much of this place since arriving, and the only bathroom he was aware of was the one upstairs in the same hall as the kitchen. Hung was honest with himself; he could have told himself that he didn’t want to go hunting through the house for a bathroom closer to his sleeping area because he didn’t want to make noise and wake his hosts, but really he didn’t want to hunt through the house because you really didn’t know just what the fuck you would find while doing such a stupid thing – or what would find you.



Upon arrival at the bathroom, he pushed the door open slowly, thankful that at least this didn’t creak loudly. One of the two candles on the ledge of the mirror was long expired, but the second had a dim, small flame as the last efforts of the end of its wick burnt softly in a pool of melted wax. As he lifted the toilet seat and unzipped, his eyes wandered around the bathroom and what he could see in the bleak lighting. A shiver ran up his spine and his shoulders relaxed just a little as he emptied his bladder, the relief a small pleasure in this crappy existence he now called a life, but as he was zipping back up and taking one last look around, something glinted in the corner of his eye and he turned his head.



“Well fuck me sideways,” he mumbled as he finished fastening his pants and turned his whole body to face what was propped on the laundry basket. Hung reached out and skimmed his fingers across the sleek metal finish of the super-secret briefcase the army man had brought into the cabin while looking like a ghoul. Whatever was in here, he’d gone out into the freezing cold to get, and then spent a lot of time in the bathroom with. His thumbs graced the clasps at the front of the case as the light of the candle behind him flickered and sputtered, struggling to live. Hung flipped the clasps open as quickly and quietly as he could, and opened the case slowly while taking in a breath of anticipation. The light of the candle hissed and went out, but not before he’d seen what was in the case.











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