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Best of Intentions: Come Sweet Death (ch. 3)
🕑 Added 2024-05-27 14:55:49 +0000 UTC"I cannot believe this is working," Jill marveled as I fought to keep a smirk off of my face, adjusting my hard hat and my bright orange reflective vest as I finished tying off the caution tape to some of those orange and white barrel things. I was blocking off an entrance to the metro station, and it was working like a charm. People saw the caution tape and decided to move on to the next station.
"What's more likely -- that construction is actually being done or that two random people just decided to block off the metro?" I asked Jill, cocking an eyebrow. She looked like she wanted to argue the point, but she couldn't. "No one questions a man in a reflective vest carrying a ladder. No one will bat an eye," I promised. And, so far, I had been proven right. We had shut down a lane of traffic at the nearest stops to the central station. We couldn't completely block off all traffic though, simply because that would cause enough of an inconvenience that someone would complain enough to warrant a response.
But it worked just fine in any case.
Enough that we went to work. The yellow tape was just the start. While I broke out my tools and materials, Jill went about setting up the actual defenses. We stole some of the chain link fence sections and some orange and white barricades to set up a perimeter around the exit. The barricades went behind the fencing to help make sure that they didn't topple over in case the numbers got out of hand. We got some odd looks from the people passing by, but none commented. Such was the power of a reflective vest.
That left me free to beef up the defenses inside of the actual station stop. None were particularly big because we were so close to the central station, but they were still sizable -- the weird spinning bar things numbered a dozen across. Alone, those wouldn't stop any zombies, so I went about making some additions to them. As an Artificer, I was drowning in tool proficiencies and one of them was smithing tools.
And it was rather generous with what it considered a smithing tool. I thought I'd have to break out the forge and hammer to build the barricade, but all I needed was a welding gun and a mask. I'm guessing it was because welding was a more modern aspect of smithing. Not really sure and I didn't worry too much about it on account of how convenient it was. My welding wasn't exactly godly, but it was good enough for a rush job. I added bars above the rotating things, making a makeshift wall.
Creating a singular 'doorway' I removed one of the spinny things and put up a chain link door. A stopgap for the moment. We could look for upgrades when the clock wasn't actively working against us.
And, from there, it was repeating the process for all the other stops. There were only six of them nearby, but it wasn't exactly fast work. Hours ticked by as I secured the exits and wrapped them up with yellow caution tape. They earned a bunch of confused glances, but no one actually said anything about it. Both Jill and I finished our work near midnight, and secured the materials to continue building them.
It was then that a car pulled up on the side of the road and a brick shit house of a man stepped out of it. He was tall, though about an inch shorter than me, at 6'1. His dark hair was cut short with a five o'clock shadow clinging to a strong jawline. He was handsome. If I had to summarize him in a single word…then 'Jock' fit him best. He looked like the kind of guy that was the quarterback of the football team and fucked the prom queen in the back of an unnecessarily expensive car. Despite that, he walked up and greeted me with a friendly smile, "Chris Redfield."
"Rudeus Raine, but everyone calls me Rude," I shook his hand after taking off a thick glove. He had a firm grip without squeezing down like a macho asshole. "Thanks for coming. If I were you, then I probably would have kept flying out."
To that, Chris' smile grew. "If that were true, then none of us would be here. Except for Jill," he said, inclining his head to me. It was then that Jill walked up the steps and his eyebrows shot up, "Planning a career change, Jill?"
Jill seemed immensely relieved to see him, taking off the hard hat. "Just might after this. Glad you made it."
"Wasn't easy. There's a massive quarantine around the city that's diverting traffic -- they're not letting anyone into the city, for better or worse. But, it's nothing outright. Military personnel disguised as beat cops, roads closing because of sinkholes, and so on. Back roads are still open for those that know how to find them." Chris explained and I nodded.
"Is there no way to call them in?" Jill questioned, and to that, I answered.
"The government's already decided that it wants to secure it's image over preserving life. I'm sure part of that is they have no idea what they're dealing with, but… well, Umbrella is a bioweapon arms dealer. If they aren't taking it seriously just from that, then I wouldn't trust them to find their own ass with both hands and a map." It wasn't what anyone wanted to hear, but it was the unfiltered truth. The Cold War ended half a decade ago, but most of the shot callers during that era were still in the seats of Congress.
Controlling perception and the Red Scare decision making was still a guiding principle.
"He's not wrong. As much as I would like an army of marines to scoop me up bridal style to rescue us from this mess, we shouldn't count on them," Chris agreed. "Looks like you've already started securing the perimeter and supplies. I talked to Kendo about munitions -- he's got his doubts, but he's willing to hear us out. Jill, you should reach out to Raymond. He's always been sweet on you, and he hates Irons more than we do."
"I'll start calling in bomb threats and kidnapping babies from the hospital," I informed, making Chris do a double take in my direction.
Jill rolled her eyes at my antics, "It's to prevent kids from going to school and staying with their families. As for the babies…" she looked at me and I shrugged.
"Babies are little noise and shit factories, but I don't hate them enough to let them get eaten by undead," I told them both bluntly, earning a wince from the both of them. "As soon as we get this taken care of, we need to start raiding for supplies. Before the looting gets out of control," I said, reaching into my bag of holding and pulling out a map that I had been using. It was a map of Raccoon City, and it was covered in markings denoting places we needed to loot -- complete with a color code of necessity. Medicine and weapons were red, food and general supplies in yellow, and general stuff to make living in a cramped series of tunnels suck a little less in green.
Chris blinked at the map, but his focus was really zeroing in on the bag of holding. "Er, how did-"
"Oh yeah -- I forgot to mention that. It's a bag of holding, it can carry up to five hundred pounds worth of stuff without changing weight. Its folded space. Don't worry about it," I said, and on second thought, I reached into the bag up to my elbow to find something I tossed in there.
Jill frowned at me, her eyebrows drawing together, "That's how you carried the axe?!" She blurted, dumbfounded.
"What kind of sci-fi bullshit is this?" Chris asked me, his jaw dropping as I found what I was looking for. A sticker.
No sci-fi bullshit. Magic. However, I knew that answer would just raise more questions. So, instead, I lied. "Nanomachines," I told him, trying to keep my amusement out of my voice. I could tell that he didn't even know what those were. "Tiny, microscopic robots that are invisible to the naked eye. I'm using them to create a folded space, and this. Jill, your arm please," I said, and she gave me the weirdest look.
But, hesitantly, she offered her arm. I took off the film, wet a cloth with a water bottle in the bag of holding, and pressed the stick-on tattoo onto the back of her wrist. "This is another function. Whenever you are about to take a big hit, throw your arm out to block it, and the nanomachines will generate a force field to protect you," All blatant bullshit, but it was bullshit that was a lot easier to explain magic, how I had it, why I had it, and why no one else did. Nanomachines were hard to wrap your head around, but in comparison to a disease that reanimated the dead?
It was a lie that was grounded in reality.
"That is… some serious sci-fi shit. How many of those do you have?" Chris questioned, looking curiously at the smiley face that was on Jill's shoulder.
"I only have enough for the bag and the tattoo. For now," I told him. Then I made a snap decision and tossed him the bag. "Use that to carry the guns in."
"Where did you even get this stuff? Why didn't you ever mention it before?" Jill questioned, poking at the Spellwrought tattoo in curiosity and alarm. It should still work, since it was only the ink that needed to be infused with magic. Though, it did open itself up to being damaged. It was worth the trade off, I think, because I highly doubt that I was going to be able to convince either Jill or Chris to let me come near them with a needle.
"You never asked, and I said don't worry about it. We'll meet up here in an hour, alright?" I said, giving them a thumbs up and started walking away.
"Rude! Answer the question Rude!"
…
Despite what I said, I did have some errands to run before I could start calling in bomb threats at schools and kidnapping babies. Mostly because school wasn’t open yet, and kidnapping babies was one of those things you wanted to do last minute because cops took it rather seriously. However, those errands weren’t something that I could do with Jill around. Or Chris. Mostly on account that I wouldn’t be able to explain it in a way that they would understand.
Spell Components.
Some would be a whole lot easier to procure than others. Take Witch Bolt for an example -- the spell component that it required was a burnt twig from a tree that had been struck by lightning. That wasn’t exactly something that I could get my hands on. It wasn’t something I could easily buy online either because Amazon wasn’t a thing yet. The only thing I found was weird witch websites that I couldn’t guarantee hadn’t just burnt some twigs.
Normally, a DM would wave off the components simply because it was too much of a pain in the ass to actually keep up with. If they did, they treated it like gold requirements that you had to spend a bit to acquire.
However, the more problematic materials in DnD, such as diamonds, could be pretty easily acquired. That much I proved when I took a baseball bat to the glass pane of a jewelry shop, ignoring the alarm that started blaring, and helped myself to the jewelry hidden behind the counters. Diamonds, gold dust, jewel dust and types -- all of them had a set amount. A diamond that cost 100 gp, or gold dust that cost 25 gp. So on and so on. A huge pain in the ass playing, but when you could freely commit crimes without worry about game balance?
Easy peasy.
“Revify spam, here I come,” I muttered, idly wishing that I kept the bag of holding as I shoved jewelry into a bag. Ironically enough, spells like Fireball would end up being more costly for me. I’m sure I could get my hands on some bat guano, but I had absolutely no idea where. Licorice root would also be bit of a pain, but I’m sure I could find a Whole Foods that would carry that special brand of healthy bullshit.
Slinging a bag over my shoulder, I turned on a heel and- “Seriously?” I demanded, seeing a cop appear in the busted out window, leveling a gun at me. “Of all the shit that’s going on tonight, you have the time to bother with a simple robbery?”
“Get on the ground, now! Drop the bag and put your hands above your head!” The cop barked at me over the sound of the wailing alarm. His expression was pale and he had some dark bags underneath his eyes. He looked like a guy that was already exhausted before being straddled with an allnighter. “Hands! Put your hands in the air!” He added, and I was so extremely annoyed right now. Of all the odds. Would Jill and Chris be able to bail me out if I wound up in a cell?
“Fuck. Fine! Fine, take me in, you absolute dick. I’m only trying to save the world,” I muttered underneath my breath, tossing the bag on the ground before putting my hands up. Really didn’t feel like testing how my AC worked with bullets. The cop approached slowly, his eyes darting around everywhere but behind him. It was then that I saw that a cop wasn’t the only one drawn by the blaring alarm. A corpse was shambling across the street, between the few bystanders that were on the road. Her teeth were bloody and I saw a huge chunk was taken out of her upper thigh with her skirt missing.
I could take advantage of that. “Behind you! Dude! Cop-Guy, behind you! There’s someone behind you!” I started, my voice getting louder and more frantic as the cop approached, not looking behind him. The zombie stumbled forward, seemingly fixated on the cop, who refused to not have the gun pointed directly at my face.
“I’m not that stupid-” he started and I made a snap decision. I slapped the gun away, hearing it go off in my ear and something hit my shoulder, but I ignored it for now. Lunging to my feet, I shoulder-checked the cop, knocking him out of the way for the zombie that lunged for him. The zombie tripped over my bag, falling on its face. The cop scrambled to his feet, looking at me with wide eyes for a moment before he pointed it at the woman. “M-Ma’am? Are you alright-” He started, going to pick her up but keeping the gun pointed in my general direction.
“Don’t-” I started, going for the gun again, but it was too late this time. The zombie lashed out, biting the offered hand and the cop screamed in agony. Fuck. God damn it. Fucking fuck. Lunging forward, with a blood-soaked hand I ripped the gun out of his. Taking aim, I shot the woman in the back of the head, letting him rip his hand free and I saw he was missing a finger. The cop looked up at me with a bloodless face, holding up a hand as if to wave me off…
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I told him and pulled the trigger. A bullet ripped through his forehead, splattering blood across a display case. I tried. I did my best. I did what I could, but fuck, that stung. I-
The familiar sensation struck me. Time seemed to wrap, a single millisecond stretching on and on while I found myself looking at my character sheet. Looks like killing the cop was enough to push me over the edge and level up.
I made my choices quickly. Another level in Artificer was taken, bringing me up to level three in the class and unlocking a choice of my subclass. I had waffled between the big three a fair bit -- the Armor artificer was appealing simply because of the defensive benefits. There was going to be a shit ton of danger, and encasing myself in an iron-man suit sounded extremely reassuring. However, I had so many other options to protect myself in addition to the fact that I really would need to hit a lot harder if I wanted to throw down with creatures like Nemesis or Mr. X.
So, it was really a choice between Artillerist and Battle Smith.
More dakka was the deciding factor, leading me to choose Artillerist. The class features tilted the scales in its favor -- Eldritch Cannon was going to be extremely useful. It was basically a battle bot that could spit fire, heals, and projectiles. Even better, it was something independent of me. In game terms, it used a bonus action for me to fire it and control it, but in reality, it was a battle bot that I could control with my mind while I was also attacking something.
With that choice made, I went through my spell list and saw some options open up. With the components needed for the spells to work, I quickly made my selection.
Rudeus Raine
Variant Human
Artificer 3
Level 3 (Xp: 900/2700)
Strength: 9 (-1)
Dexterity: 15 (+2)
Constitution: 16 (+3)
Intelligence: 18 (+4)
Wisdom: 12 (+1)
Charisma: 8 (-1)
Feats:
Fey Touched: Your exposure to the Feywild’s magic has changed you, granting you the following benefits:
Increase your Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma score by 1, to a maximum of 20.
You learn the misty step spell and one 1st-level spell of your choice. The 1st-level spell must be from the divination or enchantment school of magic. You can cast each of these spells without expending a spell slot. Once you cast either of these spells in this way, you can’t cast that spell in this way again until you finish a long rest. You can also cast these spells using spell slots you have of the appropriate level. The spells’ spellcasting ability is the ability increased by this feat.
Spells:
Cantrips
Mending (V/S/M): This spell repairs a single break or tear in an object you touch, such as a broken chain link, two halves of a broken key, a torn cloak, or a leaking wineskin. As long as the break or tear is no larger than 1 foot in any dimension, you mend it, leaving no trace of the former damage.
Fire Bolt (V/S): You hurl a mote of fire at a creature or object within range. Make a ranged spell attack against the target. On a hit, the target takes 1d10 fire damage. A flammable object hit by this spell ignites if it isn't being worn or carried.
1st Level
Grease (V/S/M): Slick grease covers the ground in a 10-foot square centered on a point within range and turns it into difficult terrain for the duration.
Cure Wounds (V/S): A creature you touch regains a number of hit points equal to 1d8 + your spellcasting ability modifier. This spell has no effect on undead or constructs.
Speak with Animals (V/S) (Fey Touched: Once per Day): You gain the ability to comprehend and verbally communicate with beasts for the duration. The knowledge and awareness of many beasts is limited by their intelligence, but at minimum, beasts can give you information about nearby locations and monsters, including whatever they can perceive or have perceived within the past day.
Disguise Self (V/S/): You make yourself--including your clothing, armor, weapons, and other belongings on your person--look different until the spell ends or until you use your action to dismiss it. You can seem 1 foot shorter or taller and can appear thin, fat, or in between. You can't change your body type, so you must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs. Otherwise, the extent of the illusion is up to you.
The changes wrought by this spell fail to hold up to physical inspection. For example, if you use this spell to add a hat to your outfit, objects pass through the hat, and anyone who touches it would feel nothing or would feel your head and hair. If you use this spell to appear thinner than you are, the hand of someone who reaches out to touch you would bump into you while it was seemingly still in midair.
To discern that you are disguised, a creature can use its action to inspect your appearance and must succeed on an Intelligence (Investigation) check against your spell save DC.
Longstrider (V/S/M): You touch a creature. The target’s speed increases by 10 feet until the spell ends.
Feather Fall (V/M): Choose up to five falling creatures within range. A falling creature's rate of descent slows to 60 feet per round until the spell ends. If the creature lands before the spell ends, it takes no falling damage and can land on its feet, and the spell ends for that creature.
Shield (V/S): An invisible barrier of magical force appears and protects you. Until the start of your next turn, you have a +5 bonus to AC, including against the triggering attack, and you take no damage from magic missile.
Thunderwave (V/S): A wave of thunderous force sweeps out from you. Each creature in a 15-foot cube originating from you must make a Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes 2d8 thunder damage and is pushed 10 feet away from you. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn't pushed.
In addition, unsecured objects that are completely within the area of effect are automatically pushed 10 feet away from you by the spell's effect, and the spell emits a thunderous boom audible out to 300 feet.
Tasha's Caustic Brew (V/S/M) ©: A stream of acid emanates from you in a line 30 feet long and 5 feet wide in a direction you choose. Each creature in the line must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw or be covered in acid for the spell’s duration or until a creature uses its action to scrape or wash the acid off itself or another creature. A creature covered in the acid takes 2d4 acid damage at start of each of its turns.
2nd Level
Misty Step (V) (Fey Touched: Once per Day): Briefly surrounded by silvery mist, you teleport up to 30 feet to an unoccupied space that you can see.
Utility spells were a lot more useful in this situation. Being able to run as fast as an Olympic athlete? Being able to make a quick escape out of a building and not going splat? Being able to disguise my appearance in a pinch to pass myself off as someone else? All extremely useful spells. In comparison, the damage spells were almost lacking -- Caustic Brew would be good for hitting a group of undead. Thunderwave was a spell that Artificers gained as they leveled, so I couldn’t see it being used much, but it did seem like a good way to gain the undead’s attention.
Then, I was back. Time resumed its normal pace, and- “Oh, shit, I got shot,” I breathed, a hand going to my shoulder to find that my sleeve was completely soaked with blood. Holy shit. Oh fuck. God fucking damn, that fucking hurt like a fucking motherfucker. I tried to take in a breath, but, shockingly, getting shot really fucking hurt! Why did it burn so much?! “Ah, fucking fuuuuuuckkk…! C-Cure Wounds!” I cast on myself, expending a spell slot and instantly, I felt the pain vanish immediately.
Tenderly, I poked around at the wound to find that the flesh had smoothed over. I was healed. Picking that spell was the single greatest decision that I have ever made, I decided.
I looked at the dead cop, guilt churning away in my gut. “Sorry. I tried,” I told him, reaching down and grabbing my hard-won loot before heading out. The people beat feet when they heard the gunshots, leaving me to leave the jewelry store. When I did, I saw that there was more undead on the road, two more of them were shambling toward me with their arms raised. No blood on them, or signs of infection.
I raised my newfound pistol, “I might have been wrong about when everything goes to shit.” That was a worrying thought. I pulled the trigger twice and the two zombies fell to the ground. Firearm proficiency made me a pretty decent shot. Hardly a deadeye that could shoot the wings off of a fly from a mile out, but I could reliably hit a target. Swallowing thickly, I tossed the loot into the car that I stole specifically for this excursion. Looking down the street, I saw no one else.
Sliding into the car, I turned the key and I was hit with more bad news coming from the radio station I had on. “-thing going on in the stadium! A riot seems to have broken out! I-I suppose the Raccoon Rascals sure hate that they’re down three points!” An announcer continued, catching my attention, an edge of fear in his voice. “Oh my god, is that guy- he’s eating that woman!” He exclaimed and my jaw dropped.
“There’s a baseball game happening tonight?” I breathed, having completely missed that. I’m such a nerd I completely forgot that baseball even existed. Oh, that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. That was a lot of people in an enclosed space making a shit ton of noise with absolutely no idea what was going on. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I stomped on the gas as the radio host cut himself off, and I completely ignored every rule of the law to drive to the stadium. With my other hand, I took out a phone and dialed one.
Jill didn’t take any time at all to pick up.
“We fucked up.”
…
Chris Redfield felt like he was in his element, despite the horrors that were incoming. He found his element back in the airforce as a high risk pilot -- whenever an emergency evac was needed, he was the one that flew out to rescue his guys from whatever mess they managed to land themselves in. It’s what he would have spent his career doing if he had any say in it, but a few too many headbutts with his commanding officer saw him discharged.
It was then that he was scouted into the Special Tactics And Rescue Service - S.T.A.R.S. An elite division of the police force that was tasked with handling dangerous situations, with a lot of elbow room for private investigations. It was perfect for him, and he took to it like a fish to water. Right up until the mansion where everything first went to shit.
Yet, despite the incoming flood of it coming his way now, Chris didn’t find himself nervous. He wasn’t scared. He was focused and ready, the pressure making him into the best possible version of himself. “It’s good to see you, Kendo,” Chris greeted an old friend.
Kendo was the best gunsmith in the city. A man in his late thirties, with a close beard and a bit of a gut. However, everyone in the police force, especially S.T.A.R.S, knew that you came to Kendo when you needed guns. If he didn’t have something in stock, then he knew how to get it or how to make it. Kendo offered a tired smile, shaking his hand. “Good to see you, Chris. Wish it was under better circumstances, though.”
“Believe me, I wish this was a social visit,” Chris agreed, entering the shop and was greeted with the scent of steel and gun oil.
Kendo’s brow furrowed as he looked at Chris, doubt shining in his eyes, “I trust you, Chris, but you’re asking for a lot. A whole lot. This could ruin me. Best I could hope for is that they revoke my license but, realistically, I’m going to be looking at jail time.” Kendo stated outright, and despite his clear reservations and the risk he was taking, Chris noticed that the store was broken down. Weapons were in crates, all of the ammo in the store was stacked up, and the attachments were sorted.
Chris was a little humbled by the trust that Kendo was showing, because he was right. If Chris was lying, then Kendo would be facing up to life in the slammer. Unfortunately for everyone, Chris was telling the truth. “These things wiped out Bravo team a few months back. Nearly killed Alpha team. And now they’re in the city, and no one is prepared for it. I wish it wasn’t the case, but we’re going to need these.” To that, Kendo’s forehead creased with worry lines.
“So, that crazy guy was telling the truth then? Came in here, flung a bunch of papers in my face screaming about the end times -- he was right?” Kendo questioned, and… sounds like Rude really had a method of doing things. Chris offered a small nod and Kendo dragged a hand down his face, “Shit. I should have bought more ammo like he said.”
“Couldn’t have known, and you’re doing enough. Do you know where to go?” Chris asked, approaching the stacks of ammo. He grabbed a case and took out the small burlap sack that honestly looked like it was about to fall a part. But, true to what Rude said, when he pushed the ammo into the bag, it sunk in it like it wasn’t even there. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Kendo, whose jaw dropped at the sight.
“I-... yeah, central station. What is that?” Kendo asked, and Chris shoved another box of ammo into the sack. Again, it just fell into it and vanished from sight, but when he reached in, he easily found the box.
That was the question. Rude became a lot more suspicious with this thing. It was like something right out of Star Trek or Star Wars. Nanomachines. That’s not something that a civilian would be able to get his hands on. There was a lot more to Rude than met the eye, but for now, he was picking up a shovel when an ocean of shit was pouring their way. No- more than that. He was the first one to spot the ocean of shit, and the first to pick up a shovel.
Suspicious or not, Rude had earned himself the benefit of the doubt.
“It’s something the crazy guy gave me. Should help us transport all of this,” Chris started, loading up on ammo. The guns could go in the truck that Jill gave him. When she got one, Chris had no idea. However, it was then that his phone started ringing. Picking it up, he didn’t get a chance to say anything before Jill’s panicked voice reached his ear.
“People are turning in the stadium! It’s the Rascals versus the Sharks,” Jill told him and Chris felt like someone punched him in the gut. The baseball tournament. The Rascals hadn’t reached the finals in the better part of twenty years, and it was against the Sharks, Raccoon City’s rival. Worse, it was a homegame. The turnout was going to be absolutely massive. How could they have missed this?
“I’m on my way. Does Rude know?” Chris said, snapping to attention. This was an utter disaster. People would be trampling over themselves to escape the stadium, but there was only so many people that could squeeze through the doors. A lot of people would be turned in that stadium, and then those dead would spill out into the city like a flood.
“He’s on his way already. I’m coordinating with the police now, but we need feet on the ground,” Jill told him and Kendo started to look nervous. Jill ended the call and Chris turned to him.
“Get your daughter and yourself to central station. Hold up there,” Chris told him, earning a serious nod from Kendo. With that, Chris stormed out of the gunshop, throwing himself into the driver’s seat, and he only just barely noticed Kendo throwing some weapons in the bed of the truck before he sped off in the direction of the stadium. He swerved around cars, jumped up onto the sidewalk more than once, and it was nothing short of a relief when he found some flashing lights on his tail when he came to a screeching halt.
Rude was standing in front of a set of doors -- the entire wall was covered in them, and people were streaming out of them by the dozen. He stood like a rock in face of a raging river, his gun out and taking shots at those that came out. And it was then that Chris realized that not everyone that was coming out of the stadium was still human. Bodies dropped, some of them feasting on a person that hadn’t managed to get away in time.
“RCPD! RCPD!” Chris shouted, getting out of the truck and flashing his badge. To his relief, he did recognize the cops that were trying to chase him down. Marvin Branagh, a good cop that was well on his way to becoming a detective. The only thing holding him back was a budget. “Marvin! We have to shoot the infected in the head. Catch!”
Marvin sputtered, catching an assault rifle that Chris threw his way. “Chris- what are you-” he began, only to snap his mouth with a click when he caught sight of a woman getting her throat ripped out by a zombie. A split second later, it was shot in the head by Rude.
It was only then that Chris noticed the… thing in front of Rude, when Chris went to stand next to him to hold the line. Directly in front of him was a… well, a little robot. It had six legs that that secured it to the ground, which all connected to a small base that had a railgun looking thing secured to it. Every six seconds or so, it would fire a shot that impacted a zombie, striking them with enough force that even if it didn’t hit them in the head, they still dropped. “What is that?!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rude dismissed the question. “Do you have any more ammo? I’m out,” He said, and Chris tossed him the bag as he picked up where Rude left off. There were more dead than living that were coming out of the stadium now. And there were dozen upon dozens of them. For this single entrance.
Rude reached in, grabbing a box of ammo, and began loading up while Marvin approached from behind, holding the line with them. “You better not get me fired, Chris!” He protested even as he began opening fire.
“Getting fired is the least of your worries now, Marvin,” Chris told him, being brutally honest. “Rude, how did we miss this?” Rude had been so on top of things. He seemed to have everything covered. Enough so that Chris didn’t feel the need to press him on the plan.
“Do I look like I have ever played a sport in my life?!” Rude protested the question, still loading a mag before sliding it into the gun, loading a bullet in the chamber, and started firing at the seemingly never ending horde of zombies coming out of the stadium. They were keeping them at bay, but only here. Only at this entrance. And, in response to that question, Chris glanced at him.
Yeah. Fair enough. “We can’t hold here!” Chris warned, seeing that the dead were slowly encroaching. If not from directly in front of them, then from the sides. It was only a matter of time before they were overrun. No other way to say it. And, in response, the spider-bot skittered forward toward the veritable sea of undead and belched a gust of fire that streamed over the corpses, igniting them. It didn’t stop them from marching forward, but it was burning them up. It’d be tough to move when your muscles were charcoal.
Almost as if to agree with them, something landed directly behind him. Chris felt the vibrations rush through his feet, making him whip around to-
“What the fuck?” Chris breathed, looking up at a massive creature that stood closer to ten feet tall than not, his face stapled together without the lips and wrapped in black cloth. The Umbrella logo on it was impossible to mistake, however. With that alone, he knew it was nothing but trouble even before it took a threatening step forward from the small crater it made with its landing.
"Oh shi- worry about that, Chris! Definitely worry about that!" Rude yelped from behind him.
“STARS!” It growled, striding toward Chris.
Well… this wasn’t good.
Comments
Scott J
Man, I really hope we get a benny-hill sequence of Nemesis struggling to maintain footing in a grease spell.
xPYROTECHx
Damn, I’m really liking this story. Even though I only know some bare bones Resident Evil lore.
