Chapter Text
Should I travel to Guatemala or Puerto Rico for spring break? The thought crosses my mind as I switch off my microscope; I’d have to ask my roommate, but I know she’ll go with my suggestion. I find that she’s much too busy working on her novel to make many decisions recently. Eh, it’s warm in both places. I’ll just flip a coin.
There’s a certain atmosphere to the lab’s clinical lighting, mini-fridges full of samples and energy drinks, and the prints of graphs scattered around the countertops. It feels lived in.
I shrug off my lab coat and hang it on a hook next to my colleagues’ coats. When I was working this morning (on a comfortable 3 hours of sleep) I fucked up my samples; as such, I needed to stay late and re-process them. Not unexpected of me—I’m glad I made it into this grad program, but every day of research proves that they must have chosen me at random. I work hard, I stay up late studying journals, and yet I remain the dullest tool in the Blackbury University Viral Research Department’s shed.
Shutting the lab’s lights off, I make my way into the desolate hallway. The heels of my flats click a constant rhythm on the linoleum floors, each step echoing off the white walls. My brain has been reduced to calling out for bare necessities. I need to sleep, I need to get a clue, I need to get laid. I chuckle to myself.
The double doors at the end of the hallway loom ahead of me.
Thump, click, thump, click, thump, thump, thump, thump. The noise of my shoes is suddenly interrupted. I try to turn around and see who’s running toward me, but my vision cuts out and suddenly I’m on my knees.
“Shh.”
All black.
~*~
“Are you stupid?”
“What do you mean, am I stupid? It’s not my fault she’s been out for so long. She had one vial of sedative in her leg—”
“The big vial or the small one?”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes, there’s a fucking difference. The big one isn’t for humans.”
“What, like she’s gonna die?”
“No, she’s just going to be out for days.”
“Well, it’s been two. Don’t blame me, they had special ops take her.”
“Brutes.”
“I know, right?”
Two voices bicker incessantly as the world flickers into my consciousness. I feel a hard surface under my back and a weight on my limbs. I cannot move them. I can barely lift my eyelids, and when I do, I’m not comforted by what I can see.
Above me is concrete. To my right is concrete. To my left are two large men with even larger guns attached to their backs.
“Gggghhhhh… urrr…. Aghhhhh…” Spit dribbles down my chin as I attempt to speak. It feels as if my mouth is swinging on a pendulum.
“The fuck?”
“Oh, shit, she’s awake.”
The two men swivel around to face me. They look like henchmen from the Arkham Asylum games I used to play. I would have laughed, if I could move my jaw autonomously or understand at any level what is happening to me.
“Hey, what do you want? Do you need food or something?”
“Guh.” No.
“She can’t even talk.”
My eyes dart around the concrete box I’ve found myself in. It’s completely empty, save for a metal door behind the men. Where the fuck am I?
The men study my face. Who the fuck are these guys?
I muster what seems like every drop of strength in my body to lift my head off the table; I see my limbs tied down and the metal bed I’m resting on. What the fuck is happening to me? Confusion turns to panic.
“Agh!!! Apppfffff!!!!” Help! Help! I sputter, and the men begin to laugh.
“She seems afraid.”
“I mean, yeah, she’s been kidnapped.”
The heft of my jaw lightens by small fractions every moment.
“What?!” I croak.
“Oh, she can speak again. Good.”
BANG! BANG! My heart pounds out of control as what sounds like muffled gunshots can be heard through the door.
“The fuck?”
“What’s going on out there? There’s no way anyone could have found this place. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Maybe shooting practice?”
As soon as the goon finishes his sentence, the metal door slams open with a white flash. More loud banging ensues before my vision clears.
“Are you okay? I’m gonna get you out of here.” My eyes focus on a dark shadow.
Holy fuck. A man, maybe mid-twenties, with wonderfully blue eyes and chiseled features is leaning above me. He’s incredibly handsome.
My heart plummets. Who were those men? Where did they go? And who is this—he might be handsome, but that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. And if I’ve been kidnapped, why me?
My brain shuffles through explanations: I’m being trafficked into sex slavery, I’m being held for ransom, I’m…. fuck!
I feel hands on my wrists, then on my ankles, and then I’m free. My legs curl instinctively up to my chest. I’m hyperventilating. The hands move to my shoulder and chin as Mr. Handsome pulls my gaze to meet his.
“My name is Leon, Leon Kennedy. I’m a special agent of the United States government here to save you. You have been kidnapped by bad people looking to harm you and steal your research.” I search his eyes as if trying to gauge his honesty. He has a stern but kind expression—eyebrows furrowed, eyes piercing through his lashes.
Let’s break down what he just said: he is a special agent of the US government (dubious claim), I have been kidnapped (definitely true), by bad people trying to take my research (extremely frightening). I need to see some ID before I can trust he’s anything. I research antivirals against emerging mutant viruses at the country’s largest research university—I’m far from a top researcher, though, more of a lackey sent to play with old prototypes. What we study is important, yes, but I am not.
“You’re a special agent?” I ask, heart still pounding.
“Yes.”
“Do you have some, uh, identification on you?”
He looks away and pulls something out of his pocket—a piece of paper with some sort of US emblem on it and “TOP SECRET” stamped in red on the top right corner.
“This paper is the assignment that was given to me.”
I study it for a moment. It reads:
TO SPECIAL AGENT LEON S. KENNEDY,
You are tasked to retrieve and return a researcher who has been abducted by a confidential criminal organization. We have been monitoring closely the safety of antiviral researchers in the country and find that the disappearance of this researcher is tied to a plot to obtain critical S-virus antiviral research. Intel has triangulated her location to be at…
It seems the situation has been clarified in those few sentences.
“Well, fuck,” I say. I thought, by being a student in America, that school shootings were the only form of violence I’d have to fear; safe to say I have been proved duly incorrect.
“We need to get out of here quickly,” Leon says, “can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let me help you up.”
I extend my legs, swinging them slowly over the edge of the reclined chair as I push myself to sit up. It feels as if my back is attached to a ball and chain. Leon grabs my arm and wraps it around his broad shoulder, bending at the knees slightly. As he lifts to his full height, I’m floated onto my feet. I notice now how well-built he is, how his bare arms bulge from the sleeves of his shirt. Hot.
I attempt to focus on the things I can understand rather than deciphering the bigger picture. I am being saved from some heinous situation by a hot guy. There are two men, presumably dead, lying in a pool of blood on the floor. These were the goons from earlier, men who had taken some part in my capture and containment. I can barely walk, but I am being helped by previously mentioned hot guy. We need to escape the place I’ve been kept in. There are dead men, and this is a life-or-death situation. Not really the time to be noticing hot guys, but there’s not really any other positives in my life right now.
“You got it. One foot ahead of the other.” He whispers, and I look at him out of the corner of my eye. Is he trying to be sexy, or is he just like that naturally? Jeez, get a grip. The grogginess of the sedative seems to be wearing off, every step restrengthening my limbs.
“Where—” I begin to ask our location, hopefully not too far from home.
“We’re in New York state, about two hours from the city in a safehouse deep in the woods. You were taken two days ago, reported missing a day later, and I was dispatched when news of your disappearance reached the government.”
“Hmm,” I nod, humming in understanding. I remove my hand from his shoulder, now able to walk freely.
“Have you used a gun before?” Leon asks, turning to face me.
“No, have you?”
We stand in silence for a moment.
“Maybe once or twice,” he responds.
“Yeah, sorry—I’m not all there right now.” He sharply nods.
“I am going to keep you safe, but it would help if you kept an eye out for yourself.”
We both turn toward the two bodies on the ground. The gravity of the situation slowly begins to dawn on me, but I rein my focus in to the present moment. We need to run before more of these men arrive, men with large guns that are willing to kill and be killed.
Leon moves toward the door that has blown closed. He motions me toward the corner, and I shuffle there with my forearms pressed against my chest.
“Stay back. Let me clear this hallway.” He creaks open the door, back against the wall. An eerie silence fills the room. He takes a quick peek through the gap before kicking the door open with his foot and swiftly flipping to face the empty hallway, drawing his pistol.
“It’s clear. Let’s go.” My heart pounds—what am I, in some spy movie? I’m meant to be sat in my room chatting to my roommate about spring break, not hiding from armed men. Despite my fear, I take a few steps toward him as he leads me down the dim hallway.
The hallway is about fifty paces long, with another door at the far end; about four bodies are strewn on the ground haphazardly. We step over them as we move toward the door.
“I don’t think you were meant to be kept here. This was simply a holding location while they organized transport, probably out of the country.” Leon says, not turning to face me.
“Fuck, so, you’re saying I’m lucky you found me so soon?”
“I wouldn’t call it luck.” Full of ourselves, are we?
Leon waits for me to be nearly flush to his back before creaking open the door. I suppose if there were to be shots fired through the open door, he’d be hit instead of me. A gentleman.
The door reveals nothing but a closet-sized room containing a rusted metal ladder.
“Leads to the surface.” Leon says.
“We’re underground?” Giving no response, he holsters his gun before beginning his ascent up the ladder; I’m following right behind him.
At the top of the ladder is a trapdoor that Leon quickly shoves open, lifting his head to push his eyes above ground. His head swivels around before making a “come hither” motion with his hand and quickly surfacing.
I’m next, albeit slower, and am not particularly excited by what awaits me: a small wooden cabin full of fresh corpses, blood staining the ground. He must have killed many guards to access the trapdoor. A sickening thought.
I have yet to see another living soul aside from Leon and those two (now dead) men, but Leon seems to be on edge. So am I, of course, but he’s supposed to be experienced in this.
“This was too easy,” he mutters. Easy…? I mean, if you call shooting a dozen men dead easy, then sure. Disregarding his opinion, I’m disconcerted by the level of protection laid between me and safety; this must be a serious operation, not some ramshackle gang of criminals.
We step toward the cabin door, and Leon does his mandatory creak and peek before moving forward. The cabin is positioned in the small clearing of a pine forest. A dirt path snakes into the dark wood; only a sliver of sunlight makes it through the foliage.
“There’s a vehicle parked about half a mile down this path.” I nod, even though Leon’s gaze is fixed toward our surroundings.
We make our way down the path into the darkness.
~*~
Leon’s pistol remains raised until we reach the car. It’s a black Jeep, seemingly government issued. The silence of the cabin followed us here; nothing moves in the forest—there’s not even a rustling of leaves. Just a pure absence of noise, aside from the crunch of our footsteps. It unnerves me.
Just as I recognize the fearsome silence, I hear a stick break somewhere in the distance, then a patter of gunshots.
“FUCK!” Leon yells. I whip around to him and see blood spurting from his shoulder. Oh, my god. “Get in the car!”
I open the driver’s door—it’s the closest to me—and jump in. I bend into my lap as I hear more gunshots ring out. The keys are in the ignition.
The passenger door opens, interrupting a series of shots, and a bloodied Leon appears in the seat. “GO!”
Why didn’t I think of that?
I turn the keys, slamming on the accelerator. The wheels spin for a moment before we burst off down a gravel road. I’m not sure where we’re going, but it needs to be quick—Leon is injured, possibly critically, and there could be more men on the way.
Leon groans in pain from the passenger seat.
“Fuck.”