The Sound of Music: Plagas orchestra

This story is written parody-style with sex version as Separate Ways, Resident Evil 4: Leon and Ada's Adventure, but with a funny twist.


Disclaimer: Resident Evil games belong to Capcom.
Pairing: NONE in this chapter again. Sorry about that, smut lovers. The last chapters had a chalk full of it on CrimsonBelladonna's writing. I'll make up for it in my next written chapter with a threesome: it will be a mammoth long chapter. Patience please. I know my guy friend's won't want to read it. *tears rolling down cheeks* After all, this is an action adventure too. Just like the game!
Summary: Leon gets some time to shoot a few loving enemies and spend a little quality time with his plaga.

TOTAL WORDS: 3,575
Written by SecretsofPandora.

EDIT for info: My South American best friend Carlos says to me - "You do know that Ganado means "cattle" right?"
For Drowning: Yes, there will be Leon/Mendez/Luis and later, Leon/Mendez/Saddler ;)

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The sky above gloomed over the fresh faced U.S. Agent; a piercing wail screeched across with a splash of dark greens and grey streaks, ink stamped like barnacles scrambling over an ancient dead sea. Just the vibrant metaphor in his mind made Leon squelch inwardly and he shivered, not out of fear or cold – it was the ridiculousness of the situation. Why the hell does the sky look like the ocean? Is this some kind of reflection off the current dilemma he’s in? That he’s in deep? Oh great.He sneered, turned up his lip in a snarling kind of curl, and though he wasn’t the type to sneer he found himself uncharacteristically feeling dark and murky as the present sky.

Leon gripped his shotgun so fiercely that his skin pinkened from the extreme force. He had to keep moving, drown his senses in the currents of the intensified air that seem to crackle hot electricity into his veins. It was as if the plaga inside his body wanted to sing a new tune, jamming him up into techno beats faster than light speed. He was so not into the mood for dancing either. And if this goddamn plaga was going to start making him do the hustle and break dance, he’ll cut up the plaga from inside himself, knife in hand. He hoped Ashley was alright.



He was a lone man in a darkened country that had been forgotten by the rest of the world. There, standing amongst the cover of dead branches was a man with dark blond hair; a youthful face that screamed rookie cop. Leon had come a long way from that, yet he was still harassed for the looks he maintained; groomed and clean looking, he must look like a million bucks compared to the dirty infested Ganados. That is…if they were clear enough to understand the differences. He took note of the fact that they still were able to do the usual things, like farming and conversation. He wasn’t sure about anything else, or if it’s even in their plaga to notice anything else but their chores and commands.

The thought of Ashley naked…….going up and down on his….Aw hell! He had to concentrate. Don’t think about it, dude, keep yourself focused. He reached down to his groin and flicked it a bit with his finger, “You’re a fucking heller you know that?”


But his quiescent buddy didn’t answer him. He snorted. “Just what I thought. A pretty girl like Ashley get you all riled up and you’re raring to go, and here you are - dormant.” He let himself relax, sighed and ran a hand through his silky hair. “She’s the President’s daughter, remember that.” Reminding himself wasn’t going to work, he knew, but it was worth a try to somehow say it to the wind; perhaps the words will carry back like a boomerang and knock some of that common sense into him. As the tension eased out of his system, he took out his crumpled map from out of his back pocket, trying to fan out the wrinkles by stretching it. This wasn’t a good idea either. It pretty much tore in half when he did that. Shit! He shook his head. Now he really needed a new map of this entire area when he reached the Merchant. Leon started to sprint, allowing his government boots to leave a distinguishable trail behind.


As Leon kept up his pace; he suddenly felt prickly bumps along his skin; an undulating wave covered his body like a warm woman’s mantle, springing up like fresh new grass. He realized that he was being watched; he just didn’t know how many pairs of eyes were watching him. Well, it’s not like he gave a shit. As long as they stayed out of his way when he sniffed out Ashley’s whereabouts, and at this point, he’d have to first try out the church. After visiting the holy sanctuary of Saddler’s place of meeting, Leon would backtrack to the underground area; he’d get an extensive map for a reasonable price and with some luck, acquire new weapons. After seeing how the Ganado women were now touting those chainsaws above their heads as if it were a holy piece of golden lamb, there was a sense of despair in his heart. First, Ashley gets heaved over by some Ganado looking like he was on his way to the market while he was fighting a horde of plaga walking parasites.


His tempo slowed; the crinkle of brown crisp leaves left a distant ringing of sing-song in his ear. What the fuck? No. Not again. NO! He stopped, refused to believe this was happening NOW. With will power he forced it to comply. Instead, distracting away from it, he desperately searched the surrounding area, a panicked and strickened expression lined his face. There up ahead, a tall decrepit building was sparsely hidden just a ways of him. The hill where it stood was curved in a disjointed manner with more dead trees paving its path. A couple of black crows perched themselves on pastel grey fences that appeared on the brink of falling apart. Oh no, baby, that’s not where I want to go. He wanted to backtrack his way towards the church. Then find that underground area where the Merchant sold his wares. His shotgun and lovely 9mm might not always do the trick if the enemies kept getting badder than his up close and personal weapon could handle. It’s just that he’s up to the limit on reloading and it’s as fast as its going to get. He barely, just by a nick of luck that he managed to survive with all of his arms and legs intact. What was that insane Saddler up to anyway?


The sound of a violent motor whirled, shattering the cloaked air around him like a thunderous crack. Leon turned and saw from a distant that a man, larger than most Ganados toting a rather heavy looking machine above his potato sacked head. Fuck! Leon hurried his pace, but not one to run from a situation, reached into his ammunition supply, retrieving a hand grenade. Snipping off the top quickly, he threw the explosive in the air with precision, landing a few meters before the stealthily approaching enemy. It exploded instantly on the ground, blasting the burlap-bag faced Ganado back; the heavy set man lay face up on the ground, his motor weapon still running. Just to make sure that fucker didn’t get up to go another round; Leon pulled out his shotgun and started forward, then stopped.


Another curse spat out of him. He didn’t have time for this shit, he grumbled beneath his breath; Leon hurriedly quickened his pace and headed towards the church, ignoring the disjointed hill where the two story house stood. He’ll have to go by that place another time; first things first – find that Merchant and upgrade. With any luck, the guy will have something for his unexplainable singing plaga. He didn’t want a repeat performance!


He was able to go in and out of the trees in the woods, obscured quietly and quickly along the uneven paths. Since this was basically backtracking, he had already taken care of the previous enemies that were making themselves known to the end of his shotgun. It’s funny how their bodies disappeared like that though, he pondered, from dust to dust ashes to ashes….or something like that. He wasn’t a religious man at all, but he did have relatives who were into the bible and Sunday church meetings at a regular basis. Hell, it’s probably how he managed to get some of his higher than thou morality in the first place. He’d come from a good family background after all….but…..that didn’t always assure a man to have morals. It really all depends….he snorted, a smirk on his sensual lips.


There was the bridge to the church; wooden floorboards lined the direction with some unevenness; gaps in between that revealed a long way down to the lake. The lake itself was huge, perhaps as big as the Michigan lakes up north in the U.S. This trip to Spain was anything but a vacation. Maybe, with some luck, he’ll be able to come back off duty and visit the touristy places.


Leon easily jumped on the separating wood planks; his booted feet mudded and caked stickily on his heels, leaving marks. It had rained on and off on this part of the country, distant from the rest. It was as if it was hidden from the rest of the working and socially public areas. Saddler knew, with grand intention to start from the bottom. The farms and villages, the little people; the castle he had seen on the crumpled map was there. He wondered about the monarchy and the extension of their little so-called government. He hadn’t had much time to look over things before being dumped here to retrieve the President’s daughter. His superiors just sent him here; no questions asked with little ammo, his weapon, a communication to Hunnigan, and a map. Not to mention the two Spanish men that had drove him here were not much in the intelligent speaking way. They mostly teased and cajoled, calling him the gringo with Bonita looks. It almost bothered him, but he shoved that aside. Six years from Racoon city and still, cat calls and hoots from other men still rankled his manhood; it’s surprising he hadn’t gone schizoid over it and started beating up each man who mentioned his playboy youthful appearance.


What caught his eye were the hanging blue symbols, glimmering and shimmering in the semi-darkness. The sky’s grayish atmosphere lent an air of suspended animation, as if this world would remain forever in this state - he took a shot, out of impulse, an eye closed while the other honed in to the target – bang! The 9mm went off, clinking off the medallion to fall to the water below, dropping in a large pool meters below. The noisy splash caused a ripple, spanning out, clearing parts of the lake.


An exclamation of surprise broke from his lips, an expletive that was a low growl and guardedly made, however, for Leon’s habits were much more thoughtful and regulated from long years of training. But what greeted him as he stared down at the vast open lake of blue-grey water, murky from below; he beheld a moving rotund view below depths that unexpectedly met his gaze. It caused him to stand still, watch with half closed eyes, squinting not from the overcast day; Leon thought that there was something with a large plaga below those mystical waters. He had contemplated for that moment that dubbing the lake mystical was a far cry from anything he’d seen on television or movies, or read in books. He was living and breathing a legend; he felt and heard the legend. The singing plaga was faintly whispering, tickling him slightly as if with a feather; this called out to him from below his manhood’s sacs.


Leon’s sense of hearing was doubling him over twenty fold, taking hold of his lust in an unsteady way. Dropping down on one knee, he nearly fell into the water, but snapped in attention, his fingerless gloves spread out against the dampened wooden plank to steady his body.


Leon pulled back up easily, a swift graceful action with a loud “huff” torn from his mouth. “Alright…” he breathed low, the sound of it sounded mocking to his ears; his heart steadily going a few beats louder, thumping like a drumbeat. At that moment, an earsplitting familiar apparatus was noisily climbing its way towards him; the fallen large Ganado with the bag over his face placing a worn shoe in front of the other in a menacing running position kept his quick pace. Expletive curses ripped out from underneath his breath, hands pulling back the shotgun to fill the chamber. “You want more of this? Come and get me..”


In no time at all, the bigger man was upon him, close at his heels and then a crackling noise tore asunder in the now smoky air; several shells fell haphazardly to the ground at Leon’s booted feet. Clinking against the wooden floors, rolling off to the side and into the depths below; the sound of the shells created tiny splashes and the bulky enemy had been thrown back violently. The Ganado grunted as he tried to pull his heavy body up, knee up, hand gripping on the running chainsaw he kept tied to him like a wet blanket.


Leon ruefully smiled; it was a dark grin accompanied with a taunt, “Awwww…did it hurt? How about one more souvenir from the end of this…”

He cocked back the shotgun and it clicked, expecting it to blast. fuck me!. Leon nearly rolled his eyes, not realizing he had pumped the stupid plaga-infested monster empty of his rounds. With the 9mm shoved behind his pants from the back, Leon quickly swiped it up in a rapid maneuver that pinned the head. The small explosion hit its mark, drowning the menacing Ganado back down with his own guttural dying groan.


With a swipe over his forehead, his fingerless gloves were splattered with dry blood; Leon was covered in a sheen of cold sweat all of a sudden, the sound of music was coming in strong now……and he doubled over. A piercing stab through his ears made him automatically reach over his ears to cover them. They were wailing in high monotones, so sharp and bitter that he had to get on his knees, head bent over with hands on either side of his head. Not only did it threaten his sense of equilibrium, it threatened to pursue the rest of his organs. The sound waves drove on like a savage beast intent on destruction with the heavy metal and pounding drumbeat of a jungle bunny. His insides gripped him; stomach acids churned and plopped like hot lava in a fiery inferno; Leon screamed as he slammed his head back; his mouth opened up to cry out. But it never came. The emptiness of his words came in the silent movement of his lips, opening and closing. Leon panted then, the cool sweat wetting his blond bangs. Relaxing his head back down, the plaga didn’t just want to fuck with his dick, but fuck with the rest of his human system.


Gulping up, the feeling of nausea and emptying out what he had last for a meal was inching its way up to his esophagus, then it grossly slid back down, sinking into the acidic lining of his stomach. Leon heard the song; it sang high with its own platitude, climbing up an invisible stairway to heaven. Speaking of which, why didn’t the stupid plaga in him pump out any led zeppelin? Gagging like a wretched bulimic, he had attributed to the loud ruthless thumping of blood and a chamber full of heartbeats in his ear. If anyone came upon him right now, he would be merciless to their approach. Closing his eyes briefly, he didn’t want to fight it anymore and hoped that the singing plaga would take some pity. Fat chance of that. Still, the emotional part inside him pleaded: No more fucking with my cock please, he whimpered inwardly, sounding like a pathetic loser, his low breath producing curls of smoke only to dissipate into the air.

The temperature must have dropped. Naturally.


Scanning around, blue eyes drifted to and fro as the song lifted, cascaded into a semblance of operatic tunes, accompanied with the cymbals that defied orchestratric symphonies in an echo chamber coliseum style. By then, the Agent didn’t want to fuck around with this shit anymore, was tired of being used by the disturbingly musically inclined insect inside of him. Blood seemed to surge and clasp itself around the infection. The pounding in his ears tried to match the current music, but failed in broken rhythms. It switched suddenly, as if someone ripped off the needle from the old record – a screeching rip then with dead calm presently played a saxophone to drive him insane with a lusty, almost gregarious bad B movie porn. Leon reached into his pocket; fingers twitching with eagerness; he found nothing. He hissed through his teeth.


That Saddler is a piece of work. What does he hope to achieve with this? Drive everyone to fuck everyone with distraction and therefore take over the world? Thoughts of a huge orgy brought disturbing images. Again, he had to contemplate about the situation; Leon almost laughed out loud because of it. The numbing pain around his muscles tightened and he really wasn’t suppose to ‘think’ too much – just get the President’s daughter and out and away from this woe begotten part of the country.

He wanted to kick something, have something else useful for his boots to do. Lord knows he had had plenty of times to smash it into someone’s face. Looking up at that moment was just the thing: an approaching Ganado.

Leon wanted to make sure if there were other twin fucks the walking parasite brought with him and he waited; at least moments for the sniffing out of his scent. Glad to have not worn cologne when he was dropped here. Drawing his brows together, he felt the irritancy of a faint song making its way out. Hmmmm....or rather, by the looks of things, by his singing goddamn plaga. It probably called out to the others – contacting the damn things so they can start making some kind of angst-ridden phantom of the opera truism of their own. Leon snorted, kept his steely blue eyes honed to the slumbering Ganado; his thoughts on how it would have been to the plagas inside him – 'Come and get me, my brothers and sisters, we need to create some powerful music and get Leon’s dick hard again!'

Fucking hell! The Agent gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, the fingerless black gloves ready to pull the trigger on his hand-weapon. “Come closer, sweetheart…yeah that’s right.” A hushed whispered tease: “Right into my arms.”

He looked down to his blood splattered boots and grinned. “Looks like you’re going to be needed.” A surge of energy poured through him as his leg muscles twitched. His lids lowered, and if Ashley was around to see with those great big hazel eyes, she’d gasp at the sight of his sensual looks; Leon just about impersonated a luscious super male model on the cover of a Gun magazine.

Lips twisted up a bit, he silently fumed. It’s funny; it’s as if there was a silent adrenaline tap to his singing plaga when enemies were around. At least for now. He’d make damn sure to kill the fucker before the manipulative little beast inside him wants an encore to what happened between him and Ashley. With that thought, he rushed out of the shadow of the low hanging branches. It wasn’t as if the lumbering dumb Ganado didn’t scent him out already, but giving himself this sort of dramatic appearance made him half smile.

The Ganado yelled out with a pointing finger, just stopping to say something incoherent to the Agent’s ears: Cabrón!

The government didn’t hire just anybody, and he had grown up in the last six years since rookie cop. They had hired a man, deceptively youthful, but full of wisdom and grit and in answer, the man with the annoying plaga inside him half grinned; kissable full lips pulled up. His hand spread out, arms out, giving him that moment of vulnerability, gun dangling on his right. “You stop just to tell me that? Aw.” A hand went up to his heart in mockery, knowing full well that these Ganados could understand better than a mindless zombie. “Better a motherfucker than a dead one.”

Leon raised his gun then, in a flashy quick draw, pumping round after round into the enemy; the walking lone Ganado stumbled forward with a gurgle of his own; falling ever so non majestically on the hard flat ground very loudly. The blond haired youth clucked his tongue. “Just what I thought.” Raising his gun slightly to allow the empty clip to fall on the ground, a new one swiftly drove in as soon as the other touched the floor at this feet and disintegrated.

“Now…to go get Miss Ashley Graham…” He looked up at the sky for a second, then tapped his chest. “Hey, you mind if you sing your song to get the girl rescued?”

It’s as if it heard him. The plaga inside him sang; something out of peter and the wolf; a friendly but deceptively classic tune. Leon didn’t often listen to classical music but he knew his childhood stories. One can’t erase the memory of a child’s past. “Ah. You like Russian classics? I thought you were a Spanish conquistador..” It was silly to talk to the living and breathing parasite inside him, but if he could communicate with it, they’d have some sort of affinity. He just hoped that his plaga wasn’t too rebellious. He shook his head a bit; a thought of having to surgically remove the thing was a good thing despite the pain it was going to cause. Rather that than to fuck everything in the entire place.

He didn't think his dick could handle it.