The Sound of Music: Plagas orchestra

WORDS: 2,329

NO PAIRINGS in this chapter. Sorry. Next one will have it and that’s Crimson Belladonna’s job. I'll do the future YAOI/slash ones. She'll do the YURI/femmslash ones. She does kick ass female/female stuff.

Disclaimer: Of course we don’t own Resident Evil, although, we would love to write for them like S.D. Perry did R rating style without the sex.

EDITED: 10/14/06 for IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES:


Thank you for all the reviews so far! The defense posts, *without* attacking anyone were all very nice and well meaning towards us. It's wonderful that people can defend without maligning others, or making comparisons. However, we do NOT condone flaming authors, or hurting their feelings in anyway. Because of that, I have deleted several reviews that appear to incite a flame, by making comparisons, or any nonsense shit like that. However, I will keep the flame from the 'anon' to show the Administrator of this site HOW it started. It's getting out of hand, and then I was told the stupidity of a flame war now extended towards the author who had given criticism who wanted to help move our story along for better reading. Again, not everyone agrees with that author, but we can try to respect the comment and move on. Does anyone know how to respect anymore???

Honestly, I liked that this certain author took the time to read our story and give criticism AND also gave some nice words liking parts of the story; but, because there are those here that disagree with her, it just comes down to this: WE CANNOT PLEASE EVERYONE! But we can take every criticism in consideration and yes, with heartfelt thanks, because it will be useful for future chapters. No one is perfect and for god's sake, I don't want anyone going over there to flame anyone. If you have a problem, kindly leave the comment here, without maligning the authors, or any author! Better yet, email! That is one thing I will not tolerate. I've already emailed any authors in question personally. If I disagree with an author, we will agree to disagree.

Opinions always vary, but one thing is for certain: RESPECT.


There are some really great people on this site, with awesome talent, and we all know no one is perfect. Like any other artist/writer/musician/actor/etc, we all have different styles, and unique ways of expression. I cannot stress the fact that that is very important. I should have reported this when we first got the first 'anon' flamer. But, I didn't realize that it would go all the way to another author's board!!

THIS ENDS NOW! I won't put up with anymore bullshit!

I repeat: Thank you again for the encouragement, the cheers, and the defense. You guys are much loved. I dont want anyone to lower themselves to hurt others, make awful comparisons to deliberately HURT people, and malign anyone.

We want to write without the hassles! Without people inciting a flame war. As of today's date, If anyone other than us are going to comment and make a reply to the authors or any other authors on this review board, I'm not going to delete it anymore, because I've already stated my LONG ass authors notes here.

Seriously, I don't know why this story got targeted so badly in the first place. People have ideas why, but this is supposed to be an adult site, not a children's site. Nor a site to start slandering other people's works, and telling them they suck, or need to go crawl into a hole. That is just plain NASTY and CRUEL!!!!!!!! It's like NASTY envious bitch fest. Give it a rest!

In conclusion: those who really like the story so far, please continue to enjoy the Parody-style Separate Ways version with sex included.


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CHAPTER 5: Leon's POV; 3rd person limited perspective in the first part, and then Mendez's POV; 3rd person, not written in 1st pov.


He could sure use a hot cup of java right about now. Or hot chocolate. In this cold atmosphere with the dampness clinging to his exposed skin, the stench attached to droplets of late dew; he figured a nice gulp of steaming chocolate going down his wet throat would cleanse him like a baptism. A deep inhalation of his surroundings didn't really relieve matters much, and the ache between his shoulder blades throbbed anew, pulsating white lights behind his blue eyes.

Yeah, he sure could use one, right about now, right after he had just slammed down a few Ganados into the end of his barrel. He figured he was so immune to these things by now, seeing as how his nostrils flared at the onslaught of rotting meat and shit coming out of their asses. Everything in this place made him insensitive. One had to be really. Good thing he was already hard core before venturing into this mission. Raccoon City and the six years training took care of that.

Humans turned into zombies, humans turned into cult loving zealouts with the promise of power in their lackluster veins, it was business as usual. That was the worst, really, when he was able to shoot a couple rounds into a half dead human being, blood and guts spilling all over the place. It was downright disgusting sure, but he didn’t give two shits out of their assholes.

His boots, combatable style, with those thick almost sturdy rawhide laces bound around the ankles of chunky leather; a pair of black ripple sole jungle boots that made a pretty design on some ugly mother fucker’s face. He had wiped out the entire so-called clan in this part of the village, or whatever it is they call this secret area with ammo supplies everywhere. Leon panted against the doorframe of the room he and Ashley were in, the entire place mussed up roughly by the evidence of gunshots everywhere; shot gun pellets lay everywhere and holes caused by the weapon haphazardly lined the walls, severed crates and barrels lay open. If this was a wild party, he was just glad he was the last one standing. Oh man, time to find Ashley. Leon's gloved fingers pressed against his tired aching eyes as if to shut out the sight before him. He blinked to clear his vision. No noise. No music. That was a good sign. This was no time to start feeling horny from do-re-mi coming out of dead villagers. He wouldn't put it past the plaga's influence to start getting a hard on and Leon was not the necrophilia type. Come to think of it, he wasn't the type to allow Ashley, the President's daughter to take advantage of him, now was it? Just thinking about that.....hurt.


He was just way too distracted really, to realize that around the dead bodies, the broken crates, gun powder and black blood making a beeline to his U.S. government paid boots, that there was a small snake busy doing nothing somewhere. Spotting it, Leon's first instinct was to shoot it, but his fingers stilled. He was too goddamn tired right now to play musical chairs with the reptile. If and when the snake decides to emerge, he'll think about it. Instead, Leon reached up with a sweaty half gloved hand to push the long dark blonde bangs that obscured his vision. At least, he thought with some kind of cynicism, that the fuckers didn’t emit those damned irritating musical tones. He didn’t need that right now, except for that imaginative hot cup of chocolate making its way down his sticky throat, waking up his senses with renewed vigor. No fruity smoothies for him, and perhaps a glass of orange juice would do the trick.

Suddenly, a movement alerted him. His quick darting eyes spotted the wiggly snake again, vanishing quickly beneath a fallen Ganado. No time to wait till the little baby emerges; the impatient shotgun made another noise, echoing the atmosphere and splitting the air like a thunderclap.

As he briefly examined the enemy on the ground - the so dead Ganado was shot into a pulp, much like a bloodied orange juice with tomato sap, along with that charming, but turnabout snake. He grinned. What usually replaced snakes, to his chagrin and utter simple joy – a golden egg. Those were quite rare too. His usual supreme condition was not up to snuff, and dragging his feet over to the egg like a feeble old man in desperate need of a cane, Leon gritted his teeth at the small effort. It was not so bad, he tried to convince himself with an idle explanation, he was after all, surrounded by a surmountable amount of disease walking villagers. He had barely felt the slash of blade that attached to the end of a hoe, or the axe that somehow found its way to his shoulder, nearly taking it off. Thank fucking hell for his thick jacket. Right. Leon snorted. The gun arm dangled lifelessly on his side, but Leon’s too good luck attached to his own musical life force kept him standing strong. With one leg supporting him, he reached down, balancing precariously to swipe the golden gift between his deft gloved fingers.

“Not my choice of food, but you’ll do.”

His wide smile reflected off the golden shine of the egg, revealing a toothy grin caused by the oval shine. Popping it into his mouth, he swallowed it whole and the sensations came instantly. A myriad of feelings – a depressive emotive replacing directly into his brain, snapping attention at once his alerted state; and bringing back the Leon S. Kennedy he was familiar with. He took a deep breath. Held it until he let out a long exhale, felt his lungs fill with a kind of clean air, driving out the foul darkness of Ganado breath and stench. He felt his insides sew up together, as if he had just taken a trip into the operating room in a fast forward motion, and time jumped to give him a first aid kit.

Now, to check up on Hunnigan, because he’d hear from her sooner or later, and as if she heard him, his message beeped. Leon held the transmitter up, and was straight away pleased to see a fresh clean face. Her voice came in at first clear.

“Leon. Are you alright? You hadn’t answered my calls earlier and I’ve managed to track you to this location.”

Her reception was hazy, and white noise started after her last comment; a static replaced her voice, cutting off his one connection to the outside world. At least she was his outside world, until he could find some other way to find back up. ‘

“Hunnigan!” Leon’s voice sounded desperate, and he was; he had lost Ashley again and there was another important matter he wanted to discuss with her: the sound of music. “Damn.” His voice ended in a harsh whisper as the line went completely dead.

“Just great.” And no time to discuss this with himself, his healthier condition helped him rush out of that destroyed shack and out into the open air, rushing towards the fallen ladder. After hefting it up and over, he could backtrack his way towards the abandoned church, where he had found her.

His government boots made a solid thump on the wooden planks, not studiously-built; a few cracks, wear and tear revealed the age from weather and time to his blue eyes. He shoved his blacktail betwixt his muscle black shirt, obscured beneath his thick doe-suede winter jacket. The shotgun gripped in the fold of his gloved fingers, he swayed with the movement of each step, seductive hips slowly up and down, back and forth with those careful booted steps. When his superiors sent him on this secret mission, he was given enough ammo for what would seem to be enough for a full hour; the question was on his mind: did they know that there was an outbreak here? True, there wasn’t a sign of anything out of the ordinary, like that of the infamous Racoon City incident. It looked like the walking diseases couldn’t do anything similar to that previous incident.


What he didn’t know was that he was being watched; a pair of glassy cool calculating eyes from a distance; they greedily feasted on the U.S. agent, slightly surprised at his quarry. The distant observer lowered his telescope. A slow breathing could be heard from him; a deep resonating thunder beat beneath the solidarity of a masculine chest, covered deeply in his non-cultish gear. Bitores Mendez was not a man anymore. The powerful fingers, surprisingly long and lean held a strength he was aware of; they had snapped off one too many necks, and touched off sensitive parts of his victims due to his expansive sexual prowess. It would please him greatly when the U.S. agent made his way to his lair, and not to take advantage of the young pup himself. He had a different plan entirely. News of the agent spread like wildfire and he had read the bulletins before they were plastered in the villages and farms. Word of mouth flew faster, like that of a spreading viral disease. He smirked; a loud grumbled noise came from his chest. It was the hidden power he kept until needed. Power surged through his vibrant veins like a hungry parasite; deliberately going back and forth, seeking ways to feed and never resting to actually find it.

Mendez turned towards his Ganados. He silently felt good about them; observing them with an idle glance, never giving them an inch of slight appraisal. But, he felt a tingle of apprehension. Perhaps, he clued in, it was due to that pesky newcomer in their midst. Having had a little bit of fun with Luis Sera, the new researcher for his cult leader was a delightful piece of entertainment. Mister Sera had told him, an insolent direct reply to his face that he would never bed with the likes of his kind….ever. The deep chuckle rumbled out of his chest like a tiny thunder; he remembered what that insolence did to his Spanish would be ally. Luis Sera may be working for his generous chief, but the brilliant scientist soon sang a different tune as soon as his sexuality was questioned. Mendez found it deeply exhilarating despite the need to control those sensual senses. Just seeing the lean muscles of the newly hired researcher decked out in nothing but his underwear, giving him pleasurable assistance with dirty Ganados laid out like his medium rare steak was all too consuming - a satiation he himself could not wait to find out again.

He wondered what it would be like, with two of them; the youthful looks of the pretty agent and the ruggedly suave researcher together, giving him more than his own fair share of pleasure. Waves of stabbing lust pierced through Mendez, ironing his lost soul like an iron brand; hot fiery twisted passion tore at his gut. His thick lips parted; a groan came forth, mixing with the grumble of his powered virus in him. He had closed his eyes and imagined for a second, and that split second was enough for him to grow a hardening awareness, pulsating against his pants like a heartbeat ready to sever his meager resolve.

With confident strides, Mendez swiftly took hold of a Ganado by the throat, nearly choking the life out of him. The hapless Ganado shook and trembled, legs dangling carelessly in the air as Mendez’s strong grip enclosed over his throat with more force. The unknown Ganado’s eyes nearly popping out of its socket and before the victim could utter a cry, choking on his own blood infested viral blood, there was no death. Just the next stage, like a moth out of its cocoon, emblazoned with tentacles crowning with sharp blades made out of metal and bone. With a loud cry, Mendez growled; an animalistic predatory sound; a vulture’s shriek and a cougar’s low dark threat on the prowl for the long dead meat. He dipped down to kiss the last whimper out of his prey’s mouth, blood and gore mingling with his, and the two became as one. The tentacles flayed violently out of reaction and the taller, broader man loosened its grip, dropping the newly born Ganado. As the flailing body hit the floor; it showed the true form of its plaga parasite.

His thick boot stepped on the tentacles that tried to slash out; a disgruntled piercing sound came forth from the victim as the boot twisted, grounding the meatened flesh to the floor. Walking away with hard core arrogance honed to his person, Mendez would seek out the Researcher, then wait. The delicious tender flesh of the Agent would be ample entertainment for his greedily blood shot eyes; the government had sent him a heaven sent boy and his leader had given him a brilliant scientist that talked too much for his own good. He’d shut that mouth up in his own way, but not by his hand. He’d make sure the plagas that were placed into the decayed atmosphere would fly faster than the speed of light like a hidden feather into their vulnerable system, giving them more music to listen to. Then, he’d have his own orchestra of macabre dark delights.

Without caution, he laughed; loud and clear that the sound of music brought on his own sing-song. Louder than the baritones and sopranos singing to their godly statues that stood silent against the foreground of an empty large cathedral. It was enchanting music to his grime-ridden ears; a powerful composition that sent even the black crows staying within their perimeter, searching for something other than prey, heat seekers for the blood and virus; it was a love and hate war between this world and their own private hell.