Reanimated Humanity

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Author: RaveEchidna

Resident Evil 5- Reanimated Humanity

Chapter: 1

Light and color swam together, a stomach tango that the made the dark haired man’s eyes water. His mirrored shades might as well have been clear glass. His nostrils flared, his hands kneaded the carved up steering wheel of the BSAA jeep. The air was, well Chris wasn’t even sure he was breathing air it was so hot and saturated with moisture and dust, he felt like he was driving through a muddy swimming pool riddled with heated pockets of urine. He pulled one hand off the wheel long enough to light a cigarette, he’d been so close to quitting a year ago. –I should have seen this shit coming, Umbrella’s little pet weapons falling into the hands of whoever’s bat shit enough to use them.- He took a long drag and cranked the wheel hard enough to kick up a heavy cloud of dust.



He killed the engine and yanked the keys free. They jingled and chimed almost merrily in his large hand. He removed his sunglasses locking them in the glove compartment, they would have just been one more small detail he’d have to worry about. Even with the burning chemical plant nestled in his lips the smell of the shanty town struck him like a brick to the back of his head. It was strong enough to make his vision turn gray around the edges. Sweat, shit, piss, rancid oil, the heavy funk of unwashed bodies, rotting meat, and plant life left to decay and molder in the unforgiving sun mixed together in an unholy bouquet.



The only time he’d ever seen anything like the town he was standing in had been late at night when he couldn’t sleep and some woman was harping about sending money to some country that might not exist by the end of the week. *Only ten cents a day can help save the life of a child, it can provide clean water and clothing, and much needed medical treatment. Won’t you find it in your heart to save the life of a child?* He hated those commercials. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel bad for those kids, as he saw it they had been dealt a shit hand in life. What he hated about them was simple; those children were half the world away, and he knew for a fact that there were children in his own nation that were suffering. No other nation bothered with any kind of charity for them so why should his bend over backwards to help out countries that would only turn around and piss all over people that were only trying offer a helping hand?



Chris pulled another lungful of the smoke into his lungs trying to focus on the flavor of the Lucky Strike. –Mostly terrorists and radicals. Those fuckers take advantage of peoples’ fear, as they wave around shit that could trigger a biohazard that makes Raccoon look like a tiny isolated incident. The most fucked up part of it all is that some of these radicals once were funded by the good ol’ US of A.-



He lingered inside of the jeep taking time to center himself, dark gunmetal eyes drifted to the horizon. Clouds had started to gather. A storm was brewing holding the promise of something, what that something was Chris wasn’t sure, he only knew that he wanted none of it.



The gunman pulled himself free his back cracking. His expression was grim it made his face appear to be so much older, as he walked around the cooling jeep. Experienced fingers checked and gathered his gear. He caught his reflection in the mirror. –I look like shit warmed up.- In that moment he felt tired, and dully he wondered if the coming storm was an ill omen, after all it was storming the night that—No, don’t think about that!-

He slipped into his gun harness, a light tan safari jacket was added to cover the firearm.-Four hours into this mission and I want to go home, maybe Claire is right, maybe I’m too old for this shit.- Every fiber of his tightly wound body screamed and railed at him-All the natives sitting sippin’ beer they’re thinking, No we don’t belong here. No we don’t belong here. Never gonna mend never gonna break. Everybody fronts, everybody fakes. Never gonna stop, never gonna stay. Everybody watch everybody wave.- His severe expression darkened as his inner sound track played a song that he could never fully remember or place. The lyrics dug deep and twisted something inside of him. Chris shook his head trying to clear it, his mind was just playing cruel games with him, pay back for a long flight and the hellish blur of paper work, funerals and missions. –Not necessarily in that order.¬-



He could hear footsteps, a slow easy gait, long legged, graceful he didn’t have to turn around to know that the advancing figure was a woman; she had a light clean scent that was more civilized then the miasma of lingering death and madness that permeated the shanty. –Don’t never explain it that way or you’ll have a tolerance instructor buried balls deep in your ass. The fucker won’t even use lube.-He couldn’t quite place the perfume she had on, but it was something floral, earthy.-Just keep walking, ignore the large white man, he’s not all that interesting to look at, he’s just here to clean up a mess, he’s not going to do anything wrong, but feel free to hate him because he’s an outsider.- His mind sneered.



The foot steps stopped dangerously close. The gunman did not turn fully to face the stranger. Instead he studied her reflection captured by the jeep’s mirror. The first thing he noticed was the distribution of her equipment; it was the reverse of his own, meaning she was left handed. A rifle hung with familiarity from her back and hanging from her hip comfortably was a knife. Nestled in a thigh holster was a well worn pistol. Fingerless gloves and leather bracing the type favored by archers covered each of her slender yet toned light mocha arms. Tribal looking jewelry hung around her thin neck and wrapped snugly around her left upper arm. The bright color of the armband drew his attention to the tattoo on her arm. Magenta ink stained her skin some odd pattern with the word ‘Shujaa’ written in text that was almost painful to try and read. He watched her shift and that made his eyes slide down the refection. Knee high brown leather boots embraced the lean legs of a sprinter, he would have approved of her foot gear but he noticed that they had heels. He shook his head, she had a large hoop glittering in her left ear begging to be ripped out in close combat and a pony tail bobbed as she shifted. Tight, broken in cargo pocket jeans slid over her like a second skin, a light lavender tank top with harsh white geometric patterns competed her attire.



Dark almond shaped eyes widened and her full lips twisted into a snarl, “They sent you?” her body shook long fingers hung brushing against the butt of the pistols grip. “How could they send you, butcher!” Her voice matched her scent, it was civilized somehow like it wasn’t part of this world of death and dust.



Chris pivoted and caught her as she rushed him he pressed her hard into the jeep. He wasn’t at all impressed with her hissing and spitting curses.



“Why did they have to send you of all people? I get it you’re some kind of bad ass killer, but we don’t need any more bloodshed.” She grew still.



Chris wasn’t taking any chances he made sure to keep her pinned. “I think you made a mistake lady so why don’t you cool off and we can try this again, like adults.”



She yelped when he pushed her away and turned to face her fully. The woman shifted her weight. “Oh bugger me,” she said under her breath. Her cheeks flushed darkly and she smoothed out her shirt. “I really thought you were someone else.” –It doesn’t help that they all look so much alike!-



He shook his head scratching the back of his neck. “I’d hate to be that other guy,” he said with a bit of a chuckle, “I’m Chris, Chris Redfield.” The gun man offered out his hand.



The woman looked like her knees were about to give out and her embarrassed flush darkened with shame. “Sorry, I…well.” The woman took a deep breath before she looked up into the deep blue black eyes of monolith of a man that stood in front of her. She took his hand in a somewhat firm grip. “Welcome to Africa. My name is Sheva Alomar.” She swallowed once. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Redfield. It’s an honor to be working with you.”



Chris shook his head. “Just call me Chris, Mr. Redfield was my father.” He released her hand and rolled his shoulders. At least the second attempt at a greeting had gone better then the first. –Who the hell did she think I was?- “So you’re going to be walking with me to designated location?”



Sheva brushed one of her bangs out of her eyes. “Yes. Things have gotten a little tense ever since the change.”



One dark eyebrow arched. “Intel says it’s a haven for terrorists now.” Normally Chris took everything Intelligence offered with a grain of salt, but his instincts told that maybe he ought to put a little faith in the departments hushed whispers of warning.



“You can bet the last thing anyone wants to see is an American.” She placed a hand on her hip. “They won’t care if your part of the BSAA or UN, that’s why I’m your partner; hopefully I can put them at ease.”



Chris flicked his cigarette butt into the dusty street. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” he said his tone held warmth and comfort that was as hollow as his smile. He watched her turn with something like a dancer’s grace. –Partner?- An image flashed before his mind’s eye, a cold and unforgiving stone. Rain washed over the smoothly etched surface darkening the crows and the name carved with loving care.-Jill¬.-



Sheva stopped and risked glancing over her shoulder. A small frown tugged at the corners of her lips. –He’s just standing still like some kind of pole-axed ox! What the hell is he thinking?- She once again took a deep breath and centered herself, the female agent shifted her hips rolled as she looked up and into the distant dark eyes of her ‘partner.’ –He’s not dazed he’s…oh shit.- Sheva had seen men and women lost within the world of their mind before, she had seen them holler at people and things that weren’t real anymore. The elders of her village had called it cursed memories, later she had found out that science had diagnosed the condition as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She cleared her throat and did her best to not make any sudden movements. “Chris, are you okay?”



The gunman blinked shattering the hazy glass that had blurred his vision. “Yeah, sorry…it’s nothing.”-I call bullshit on that play!-



Chris had heard of oppressive weather but he had never appreciated the truth of the phrase. The day had only just started and all ready the heat was grinding against him like a drunken fat man in a club. And no matter how positive he tried to be he knew that the heat was only going to become more crushing as the sun beat down on them. –Hopefully I can ditch this fucking jacket, it doesn’t breathe for shit.-



A low whistle left his dry and cracking lips as the shadow of the gate fell over them. It seemed a little much for a shanty town, making Chris wonder if the gate wasn’t for keeping people out so much as it was meant to keep people in. He’d seen things like this before in other places, a radical group taking over using fear and paranoia as tools to remain in power. He tipped his head back to look up the impressive height of metal and concrete, he was positive that if any structure in the town was sound it would be the monstrosity of a gate. Sunlight danced off the razor wire that wrapped around the thick wall like sadistic ribbon. He narrowed his eyes and quickly took count of the armed guards, a full handful patrolled about almost lazily. Each one with an assault rifle, Russian surplus.-Loony militant savings club members are we?- He couldn’t place what faction the uniform belonged to, he figured it wouldn’t matter chances were that the uniform would change by the end of the week, and it was a pity their jaunty little red berets were perfect low tech targeting beacons.- Things were so much more simple back when the only thing I had to worry about were zombies, now I have to be more worried about these highs strung ‘nationalists’ pegging me between the eyes. Bodies keep stacking up too many of them belong to good people and no end is really in sight. I gotta wonder if all this shit’s worth it.-



His line of sight shifted as one of the guards came over promptly blocking their path. The guard didn’t so much walk as he did swagger, the kind of swagger that developed when a man grew used to having power over people weaker than themselves. Chris figured he was probably the kind of asshole that wouldn’t have a problem wining or out right killing a woman with children to get a few kicks. His eyes caught the guard’s for only a moment, but that moment was all it took for Chris to read the pure hate and distrust that blazed in the almost black eyes of the man.-Shit you’d think that I’d been caught eating his mother and fucking his cow.-



“Hey! Hey!” the man snarled, the only part of the slur of words that Chris could understand the rest was a jumble of syllables that might as well have been a seizure of the tongue.

Chris almost opened his mouth but kept it closed when Sheva held up one hand. She smiled, speaking to the man in a smooth and measured tone. She could have been reciting Tennyson offering over classified information and Chris wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. –Why don’t they ever send someone that’s fully trained in the language that’s spoken into these places?-



Sheva yelped as the guard’s hands feathered over her body doing their best to trace every line and supple curve. She growled and pushed the hands away when they did more then just ghost over her ass. “You don’t have to get touchy!” A fold of whatever currency was used in the town appeared in her hand and once more she spoke in the almost jarring langue of this region of Africa.



The guard stepped aside with a rather large and almost frighteningly white smile.



-Good to know money and sex talks in every language.¬- Chris didn’t have to be told to get moving he brushed past the guard that was still counting his ill gotten bribe. –It doesn’t matter if its all worth it or not, right now I have a job to do and no matter what happens I will see it through to the end.-



Bloodshot eyes watched the pair from the shadow of the wall. The man twitched and convulsed muttering darkly under his breath. The interloping scum would never leave this place.



Chris was starting to regret leaving his sunglasses in the glove compartment of the jeep. The sun was beyond remorse for casting down its brutal rays of death. Each step kicked up dust. The space between his shoulders itched and he could feel people’s eyes on him taking him apart with such malice it was suffocating. He nearly pissed himself when his radio crackled and came to life.



“Yo, this is Kirk, Red, Sheva, can you read me?” The voice on the other end was warm and friendly. “Careful Sheva this guy’s a real Ro-me-oh.”



Chris chuckled he couldn’t help it, Kirk had a way with people, “Yeah I hear you loud and clear, Kirk, it’s good to hear a familiar voice, even yours you fuckin’ douche.”



Sheva almost tripped over her own feet and she tapped the small radio perched in her right ear. “Yes, we read you.” She shot Chris a look would have made lesser men utter an apology.



“Suck it Red, look Intel says there’s a mother of a black market deal going down in Kijuju, swear to god it’s like a dictators wet dream. Any0way everyone’s fa-vo-rite man with ‘Staaan-dards’ Irving’s supposed to be making an appearance. Alpha Team’s already infiltrated the area, you’re supposed to be going in as back up. Sorry about sticking you with sloppy seconds man. Rendezvous with the contact he’s stationed at the butcher’s shop, he’ll have the rest of the info for you. Oh and one more thing watch your damn ass Red you still owe me fifty.” Kirk did his best to mock the trade mark New Jersey whine of Irving.



“Jesus I hate that guy.” Chris kept walking the sooner this mission the ended the better off every one would be. –I thought Leon was their go to guy for this cock bite. Holy fuck!-



As they rounded a corner an image of inhuman cruelty spread out before them; a figure made genderless by the burlap sack it was bound in writhed on the ground moaning, ruddy spots had broken out on the dull colored cloth were skin had split and bones had fragmented. Chris’s mind tried to reason with him it could have been some kind of animal in the bag that twitched and sounded so lost in pain, but he knew better, whoever was in that sack was not having a good day. He felt himself break into a run. The five people taking turns pounding and clubbing the sack stopped and looked up. Their eyes were wild, it was hard to believe that eyes like that could belong on human faces.



Sheva felt a spike of fear drive into her spine. “Roger that, we will do our best. Copy. Over and out.” She reached out and took hold of Chris’s arm to pull him away. “It’s not our place to get involved.”



“Yeah.” The word came out hollow as he was pulled along by Sheva he couldn’t take his eyes off the bleeding bundle of cloth. He wondered if that bundle would be missed or would it just be forgotten because it wasn’t any one’s place to get involved.