Classified Information

Chapter I

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“Report to headquarters tomorrow. 06:00. There’ll be a helicopter waiting for you. Any questions?”

He paused, letting it all sink in with a large, dry gulp. He tried to keep his hand steady as he held the cell phone next to his ear.

“No,” he replied steadily. “No questions.”

Good,” the voice said. Mysterious; monotone. He had never seen the face to match it. It just called and told him where to show up. “Travel light, Redfield. This is going to be an in and out mission. Over and out.”

The line died with a click. Chris hardly noticed, standing there with the phone to his ear until the dial tone began to sound.

He closed the generic flip phone and slipped it into his pocket, turning his gaze back to the bathroom mirror. He saw a strong, rugged face, topped with short but messy dark hair. Half of his face was yet to be shaved, stubbly and smeared with shaving cream. His grey eyes were turbulent with unrest.

That was when the called. That was always when they called. During the most mundane instances of your life, always interrupting something. Chris picked up his razor from the sink top, hastily finishing his face, trying to settle himself.

All in all, he wasn’t really mad. The B.S.A.A. had an annoying knack for interrupting everyday life, but he liked the work. He was used to the lifestyle.

No, it wasn’t anger he felt. He met his own eyes in the mirror again and quickly dropped his gaze, ashamed of what he saw there.

Fear.

Chris Redfield was used to abnormal situations. It had been less than a month ago when he, accompanied by his then new partner, Sheva Alomar, had trekked through a bio-infected Africa to halt a global threat. Near death situations were no stranger to him.

But when he had received the call for his next assignment, there had been that moment, that spilt second of unabashed terror, one that had made his heart skip and his skin go cold and clammy.

Chris finished shaving and wiped the excess from his face. He retrieved his grey muscle shirt from the towel rack and threw it over his head, taking a moment to admire himself in the mirror as he did so. He was in his mid thirties, an age where most settled in and began to let themselves go. A profession such as his kept him in top shape, though, a thought that always put his mind a little more at ease.

At least I’ve got my health, he thought with a smile.

He flipped the bathroom lights off and headed into the living room of the apartment. It was mostly bare, only a couch and a coffee table to furnish the place. The white paint job added to the sterile appearance. It was all they needed, though; they were hardly ever home. Jill had been talking about picking up a television for the past few weeks, now that she was home more often.

From the living room came the bedroom. Again, minimally furnished. A single bed, with a bedside table on either side. Originally, when they had returned from Kijuju, there had been two single mattresses; but that hadn’t lasted long. The nightmares were loathe to go away, and Jill always ended up in Chris’s bed, or vise versa.

It was still early in the morning, with that pink grayish light peaking through the window on the far wall. Chris slipped back into bed, still in his t-shirt and sweat pants, and crept close to the other figure in bed, still fast asleep. She had her back turned to him, and he could only see the back of her head, covered in locks of artificial blonde hair. Chris always felt a stab of rage, when he saw that; the last memento, besides the nightmares, of her previous few years of personal hell. He was happy to note though, as he reached out and caressed a tress of it affectionately, that the roots were growing out, her beautiful natural auburn color coming back.

He scooted a little closer to her, trying to snuggle up, when she rolled over with a sigh, her eyes opening sleepily to meet his.

“Good morning,” Jill Valentine said with a yawn, reaching her arms out to stretch. She smiled at him, reaching out to poke his face. “Looks like you missed a spot.”

Chris reached up to where she had touched him, feeling a scratchy patch of stubble. He smiled, continuing the conversation.

“No nightmares today?” He asked. Jill shook her head, propping up on her hand, leaning on an elbow.

“Nope,” she replied with a smile. “First time in a long time.” She yawned again. “Who was that on the phone?”

Chris felt his pulse quicken again. He had thought that she was asleep.

“That was, uh…” he hesitated. “My next assignment.”

Jill gave him a questioning look, her icy blue eyes boring into his grey ones.

“Everything alright?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Chris lied. He was never too good at it. But he didn’t want her to worry, especially when there was nothing she could do. “Everything’s fine.”

“Well, where are you going?” She probed, obviously aware of something amiss. “Usually I can’t shut you up about missions.”

“They didn’t mention, specifically,” he answered quickly. “I’m not sure it’s even an active mission. Might just be a meeting or something.”

Jill eyed him for a moment longer, then, deciding he wasn’t going to tell her anyway, laid her head down in resignation.

“If you say so…” she snuggled into her pillow, her two-tone hair falling over her face. “I wish I could go with you…” she continued. “I’m starting to go stir crazy, just sitting around.”

Chris smiled. He’d certainly noticed Jill’s boredom. He’d only been on one mission since Africa. Jill, his usual partner, had stayed behind, on mandatory leave from the B.S.A.A. to recuperate. Both of them were messy, normally, leaving clothes where they dropped and the like. But when Chris had returned, the entire apartment had been spotless. Jill had kept it that way since he’d been back, scolding him whenever he left something out of place.

He laid his head on the pillow next to Jill, scooting in close.

“You’ll be back out there before you know it,” he said. “Just be patient.” He reached out and brushed some hair behind her ear. She scooted closer beneath the covers, her hand on his strong arm, her eyes locked on his, into his, beckoning him, her full lips slightly parted. He could practically hear her whispering kiss me.

Chris leaned in, taking his chance. Jill leaned close as well, and then, just as their lips were about to touch, she tilted her head upwards and planted her kiss on his forehead.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” she said, turning away from him. She slid her feet over the bed and stepped out, taking the blanket with her. As she stood, the blanket fell away from her body, excluding the chest, where she was holding it. The smooth, creamy skin of her leg and back was revealed. She had been naked under there the whole time.

She gave Chris an infuriating little smile before he watched her walk away from him, her nude, perfectly rounded butt swinging from side to side as she headed for the door.

“You better start packing for your mission,” she said without pausing, disappearing through the doorway a moment later. Chris sat on the mattress for a second, speechless with a mixture of awe and frustration.

Finally he fell back on the bed, exhaling a breath he’d forgotten he was holding. He laid there, staring at the ceiling, until he heard the shower spurt to life. He then rolled out of bed, trudging to the closet to begin packing.

He didn’t know how much more of it he could stand. They were sleeping in the same bed, for Christ sake.

But… he thought with a sigh. He supposed he should be used to it. He and Jill had been at this awkward point for years. There was obviously something there; you’d have to be a fool not to see it.

But he knew as well as she, it couldn’t work. They were partners first, friends second. Getting anymore involved than they already were would only complicate things, distract them. He remembered what it had been like the first time, when he thought he had lost her…

He couldn’t imagine anything hurting more than that had. He supposed it was the right thing to do, to keep this barrier between them, no matter how small or inconvenient. That was a golden rule in their line of work: don’t get attached.

He was used to it. He could probably learn to live with it. He had no hard feelings about it. But it always got under his skin the way she teased. A touch here, a look there. Rarely did she pull stunts like she just had, but they weren’t unheard of.

He sighed again, zipping up his duffel bag, mostly filled with guns and gun equipment. He couldn’t stay irritated with her. Especially now, when he was outright lying to her. He didn’t like to, usually didn’t. They were partners. But something told him not to tell her about this one. She would only worry. Hell, he was worried. It was the last place he ever wanted to go.

Well, he thought. Orders are orders. He began to dress himself, getting ready to leave. It was a day’s ride to HQ. Neither him nor Jill had a car, so he’d have to take the bus. He changed from sweatpants to some jeans, and threw a zip-up hoodie over his broad shoulders.

He double checked to make sure he had everything he needed. All that was left to say goodbye to Jill, and then he was out.

Next stop, Raccoon City.

…

Knock knock

“Come in,” a friendly voice came from behind the heavy oak door. He opened the door and walked in. The owner of the friendly voice, an attractive young woman in glasses and a bun, smiled and motioned to the chair across from her.

“Have a seat, Mr. Kennedy,” she said, collecting papers strewn about her desk. He smirked as he sat down.

“You know, I’d prefer you call me Leon,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “You always do on the missions.”

“Spare the flirting, Mr. Kennedy,” Ingrid Hunnigan replied curtly, not looking up from her papers. She handed them across the desk to Leon. “We have your next assignment here.”

“What do we have this time?” Leon asked, his flirty smirk still upon his lips. His face fell when he opened the folder.

“Does Raccoon City ring any bells, Mr. Kennedy?” Hunnigan asked, now looking at him, her hands folded upon her desk. She didn’t like what she saw in his eyes; that sudden lack of confidence. It seemed out of character for him. She hadn’t seen him like that since he’d first been recruited.

“Not any good ones,” he replied finally, tossing the off-white folder back onto the desk. “I thought that place was wiped of the map?”

“Well, yes…” Ingrid started, still perturbed by Leon’s awkwardness. “It was bombed. Both napalm explosives and T-Virus and G-Virus counteragents. It’s mostly gone now, with the ruins quarantined. But…”

“But?” Leon urged, anxious to hear.

“Well, we’ve kept an eye on it. The B.S.A.A. is in charge of all that stuff. Does regular sweeps of the area and the whole works.”

“Wait,” he interrupted. The what? The B.S. what?”

The B.S.A.A. Stands for Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Anyway,” Ingrid continued. “Their scouts reported some viral activity about a week ago. The transmission was lost shortly after, and the scouting team has yet to return.”

Leon dropped his eyes. That couldn’t be good. Those poor souls…

“Leon?” Ingrid caught his attention. He snapped out of his daze.

“What kind of viral activity?” He pressed.

“Well, that’s the strange part…” she said, reaching over and opening his folder. She flipped to a page containing a number of complicated graphs and scans, as if he was supposed to be able to make sense of it.

“We’ve crossed referenced it with the T-Virus, and it came up blank. Same with the Gene Virus. Something’s happening down there, and we don’t know what.”

So that’s where I come in,” Leon said grimly. “I suppose you want me to look for clues and-”

“Search for any survivors, yes.” Ingrid finished the last of his sentence.

“Do you really expect any survivors?” Leon inquired morbidly.

“You’re the expert,” she quipped. “Do you?”

Leon didn’t answer.

“Anyway,” Ingrid continued. “That’s not the hard part.”

Leon grimaced. “The hard part?”

“Yes, the hard part. You see, that organization I mentioned earlier, the B.S.A.A., were in charge of this whole operation. They’re an international organization, way over our heads, and they don’t like us meddling in their business. But we can’t let them do what they’re going to do.”

“Which is?”

“They’ve sent in an operative of their own, you see. He’s looking for survivors, as well. But they have no interest in finding out what sort of virus is breeding down there. They don’t care. They feel it’s much safer to exterminate the entire place. Their operative is armed with portable, super powered charges. When he gives the signal, those explosives are going to go off, and whatever’s left of Raccoon City is going to be incinerated.”

“And?” Leon asked. Ingrid gave him a look. “Why would we stop them? Sounds like a pretty good idea, if you ask me.”

“Well…” Ingrid shuffled more papers uncomfortably. “Our agency feels it would be more… um…”

“Lucrative?” Leon was looking right at her, his face set with contempt.

“Don’t give me that look, Leon,” Ingrid said. “It’s not like it’s up to me.”

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Fucking typical.” He paused. “So, what’re my orders?”

“Your primary mission is to find the B.S.A.A. operative, and relieve him of those charges. Use lethal force if necessary.”

Jeez, Leon sighed. This just never ends…

“Who's the operative? Do we know?”

“No,” Ingrid said flatly. A lie, obviously. Leon leaned forward towards her.

“Hunnigan, this is bullshit,” he said.

“It’s not up to me Leon,” Ingrid replied shortly. “It’s classified. I’ve already told you more than necessary.”

“Yeah…” he gave in. She wasn’t going to tell him anything more. For the best, he supposed. Knowing the other operative wouldn’t make it easier to kill them, if it came to that. He sighed.

“When do I start?”

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Please let me know what you think so far. It's mostly plot right now, but it'll get good, I think.