Classified Information

Chapter II
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Main Street was still there. It was cracked and torn, chunks of asphalt completely missing in many places, but the road was still discernable. On either side was what remained of Raccoon City’s downtown district. The skeletons of buildings, only the brick ones remaining at all, crumbled and desiccated; it gave the entire street a terrible look, like a mouth full of rotten, stumped teeth. The sky above was grey; not a natural, overcast skies grey, but a dull, poisonous shade, almost blocking the view of the sun completely, making the dead city look dark, even though it was noon.

Chris continued walking down the middle of the road, loathing the faint echo of his own footsteps. This was all straight out of a horror movie. The feeling was something he had thought he had gotten used to over the years, with so many perilous missions under his belt. But this city was different. This was where everything had started for him.

Well, he thought. The quicker I finish here, the faster I can get the hell out…

He pulled from his front pocket a PDA as he walked. Displayed on the screen was a layout of the city, with little red dots sprinkled in a few places. They marked where he was supposed to plant the charges. Most were underground locations, in the subway tunnels. He wasn’t looking forward to that…

There was one above ground location marked, though. The police station. His first order of business was to clear the place, looking for any survivors from the scan team. After that, it was time for the fireworks.

The Raccoon City Police station was at the very end of the main street, still standing in the smoldering aftermath of the city. It had been built in the 1800’s, when the city had been founded, and the sturdy foundation had seen it even through a bombing. It was charred, crumbling, pieces of debris littering the surrounding area, but it was still there, one of the only buildings left in tact.

Chris shuddered as he ascended the ruined granite steps. Looking at the building was like having some sort of morbid surreal experience, a bad nostalgia trip. This was a place he had pushed from his memory, a place he only remembered in his bad dreams. The silence didn’t help. There was the sound of wind, a light breeze that gusted ominously every so often, and the reverberations of his lonely, solitary footsteps. Other than that, there wasn’t much else. At one point, far in the distance, he had thought he had heard the whir of helicopter blades. A while after that, equally distant, the barking and wailing of dogs. He tried not think about that one.

It can’t be… he thought. They’re all dead…

It didn’t do much to reassure him, though. If Raccoon City was as dead as it seemed to be, he wouldn’t be there, would he?

He stopped himself. None of this was helping. He reached the top of the steps, where the doorway waited for him, gaping wide open, the heavy double doors long gone. It was dark inside. Chris shook his head as he approached it. There were no survivors. He would be foolish to think so. He felt his hand slip unconsciously to his hip as he neared the doorway. His fingers curled comfortingly around the butt of his Beretta. He pulled it out, knowing he was fooling only himself if he thought he didn’t need it. He pressed a button that turned on the flashlight perched on his shoulder, and then, taking a deep breath, stepped into the building.

…

Leon watched him go in, keeping a safe distance behind. He noted his target readying his weapon as he entered the building. Leon couldn’t pretend he wouldn’t do the same thing. Hell, he didn’t even want to go in there after the guy. But he had a job to do.

He stepped out from behind the ruins of some other building, crossing the street towards the station. He tried not to look around, but his eyes wandered. The last time he had been here, there had been fires everywhere, burning on fuel spilled from dozens of smashed, collided vehicles, the acrid smoke blocking out the night sky. Many of the dead people in the cars were moving around, totally oblivious to the flames burning their skin, oblivious to everything around them except him, Leon, very much alive, his pulse beating madly and his body temperature a delicious ninety-eight degrees. All their blank, dead stares were on him, crawling all over his body, deciding which parts of him they wanted to devour. He was almost completely paralyzed with fear, firing madly at anything that got too close, rooted to the spot. Far away, he could hear Claire’s voice, calling to him, telling him to follow her, to get inside the police station, that they’d be safe in there. Come on, Leon, hurry, they’re everywhere…

A gust of wind blew, past him, tickling his neck, and his gun was in his hands within a second, his finger on the trigger as he spun around, his eyes wide with panic, heart beating a mile a minute.

But there was nobody there. It was just him and the wind, at the top of the police station steps. He didn’t even remember reaching them, he had been so lost in his memories. He turned back towards the doorway, trying to calm himself. He was past these kinds of jitters, he told himself. He lowered his guard, loosening up. Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to put his gun away.

He activated the field light on his waist, taking a preliminary deep breath before stepping inside.

…

It wasn’t hard to find the scan team, Chris soon discovered. All he had to do was follow the trail of blood. It started in the main lobby. There was blood all over the place, most of it old and dry, visible only where the surface hadn’t been charred for some reason. One particularly gruesome streak, however, covered the soot and blackened marble in crude, irregular streaks, relatively fresh. One body lie close, in a tacky pool of dark, dark red, lying on his or her back next to the lobby fountain. They were split down the front at a vertical angle, from face to crotch, showing their insides. Chris could tell who it was only by their uniform.

The trail of gore led away from the lobby and through a door to the left, into the actual offices. He followed hesitantly, the jumpy light cast by his flashlight revealing his trepidation.

It led him down halls, down flights of stairs, through empty doorframes, the actual doors usually splintered and bloody somewhere nearby. Periodically, he’d find another body, or pieces of them, littered about the hallways or the stairwells. Still he walked. Further down, further down. He followed the trail of the scout teams’ flesh and blood down to the very bottom floor of the Raccoon City Police Station.

The trail led him through the basement level. It was cold, the décor nonexistent, just cold, unspectacular concrete, mildew ridden and water stained. The blood showed up well on the floor, weaving through the stacks of storage and cleaning supplies. At one point, he stopped by a group of support pillars, rectangular and wider on each side than him with his arms outstretched.

It was hard to believe that such a little explosive would do the trick, he thought as he held the thing in his hands. Still, he trusted they would, and he attached it to the surface of the pillar before continuing to pursue his grim lead

It ended at a drain. It was large, about the size of a sewer opening in the street, and the circular grate was missing. He could see about a foot down, and from there it was too dark. He could see a tacky film of blood on the concrete lip of the drain, and the first two slimy, rusted iron rungs of a maintenance ladder.

He knelt down beside it, taking several deep breaths, bracing himself. Raccoon City was a live mission now. There were hostiles present. Well, at least one, technically, but he would do well not to kid himself. He took one more gulp of the cold basement air, his eyes closing momentarily. He felt he could taste the faint coppery remnants of the recently spilt blood. The thought made him nauseous. He pushed it away.

He heard a click, a familiar, hollow metallic noise. A gun. A split second later, he felt the nose of it at the back of his head.

“Sorry about this,” the voice said; husky, not too low pitched, but definitely male. “But I need those charges.”

…

Leon stood over the other operative, his gun on the man’s skull. He ignored the feeling of guilt in his stomach, watching as the operative slowly raised his hands up next to his ears.

“That’s right. Nice and slow, and we both walk aw-” Leon’s sentence was cut off as the operative spun nimbly around, belying his burly frame. In one fluid motion, he twisted Leon’s wrist, forcing him to drop his gun: a basic disarming technique.

Leon reversed it, stepping away, his combat knife already in hand to replace his firearm. The other agent stood opposite him, and Leon got his first good look at him. The guy was a bit taller than him, definitely stronger. He sported short, uncombed hair with matching stubble, with ruggedly handsome features underneath. He looked decidedly familiar. Leon held perfectly still under the man’s gaze, his gun trained right on Leon’s forehead.

“Drop the knife,” he said. Leon smirked at the command.

“Sorry, pal.” Leon spun on his heel, his other leg outstretched. He heard a shot squeeze off, filling the entire dank room with it’s cracking reverberation; he ignored it, following through with his kick, knocking the weapon out of the agent’s hands: Taekwondo.

He closed in, slashing with his knife. The other man was ready for him, though, grabbing his outstretched arm and flipping him over: Judo.

Leon felt the wind knocked out of him as he landed on his back with a thud. He ignored the pain, immediately reached out and grabbed the handgun lying next to him, unconcerned with whose it was. He pointed it upwards, aiming from the ground on his back, training the gun on the other operative just in time. He stared upward into the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun, aimed right at his face.

The two were as still as the dead, waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, Chris spoke.

“Identify yourself,” he ordered. The long haired guy beneath him made a disdainful face.

“Not a cha-” Chris stopped his sentence short by cocking his shotgun. His would-be assailant was silent for a moment, and then let out a long, defeated sigh. Moving slowly and deliberately, without taking the gun off of Chris, the guy reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a wallet and badge. It had a U.S. presidential seal on it. ‘Leon S. Kennedy,’ the name read. Chris knew that name.

“Do you know a Claire Redfield, Leon?” Leon’s eyes lit up, quickly followed by a wary glance.

“Who are you?”

Chris dropped his aim, outstretching his hand. He was still watching the guy, but considering the circumstances…

“I’m Chris,” he said. “Her brother.”

…

She watched them from the shadows, matching each other move for move, technique for technique. They spoke. One helped the other up. It would’ve made things easier if one would have killed the other, but she couldn’t help but smile.

After a few minutes of introductions and brushing off, the two men began their descent into the sewers. After a few more minutes, she slipped down from her hideaway and followed them into the darkness.

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Here's the next chapter; a little short, but it get's things rolling. Thank you all for the reviews. It's encouraging to see such a positive response after only the first chapter. I hope you'll all continue to read and review.

The next chapter will be up before too long. In the meantime, let me know what you think, and enjoy.