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henwilsonmd · 1 year

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post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

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Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

#I'M BACK BABY #ofc i HAD to write a coda for this one come on #if this gets interaction i'll probably post on ao3 bc it's pretty long so i'll come back and edit this post if that's the case #anyway i have a LOT of wips that i'm planning on finishing and i want to be more active on here/make some friends #so drop a follow if you want to see any of that lol #anyway this was just a fun little thing that i hope y'all enjoy!#911 #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 6x18 #911 6x18 coda #writing #drabbles #even though it's not really a drabble i want it with the rest of my codas #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #buddie

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aceghosts · 11 months

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DEAD MAN WALKING

Series Summary: In February 2005, Captain Hunter Delaney is tragically killed in action on a BSAA mission in Northern Canada. After their death, scientists and BSAA agents related to the mission start to die. Albert Wesker intends to find out who is killing them, hoping to use this stranger to his advantage. Rating: Mature Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Murder, Graphic Descriptions of Corpses, Betrayal by Teammates, Body Horror, and a conspiracy to cover-up Murder. I highly recommend you head the warnings. This is going to be a gory, brutal fic; it's primary genre is horror. If this isn't your thing, please avoid. If I forget to warn for anything, please let me know. Words: 5,904 words. Ships: No ships in this chapter, but this is intended to be an Albert Wesker x OC fanfic. Author's Note: It's finally here; the first chapter of Dead Man Walking! I really hope you enjoy this! I apologize if this chapter happens to be set-up heavy, I promise future chapters will be less so. Also, Chapter 1's title is from Bring Me The Horizon's Parasite Eve. AO3

CHAPTER 1: IF THE SUSPENSE DOESN'T KILL YOU, SOMETHING ELSE WILL

“Are we clear on the plan?” Hunter asks, shifting in their seat slightly. Through the opposite side helicopter window, they catch a glimpse of the stark white expanse of Northern Canada with little signs of life below. After the destruction of Raccoon City in 1998, some corporations, like the Sirona Corporation, relocated their facilities to remote areas to avoid a similar shitshow. However, like it always went with these fuckers, shit went FUBAR, and the BSAA was called in to deal with the mess. Hunter and their team were going to investigate the outbreak, helping any poor bastards still left alive. They shake their head, wondering how many more innocent people might still be alive if these corporations didn’t try to play God.

“Yes, we’ll enter the facility from the roof top entrance, determine the nature of the outbreak, and deal with any potential threats.” Arthur responds, his tone sharp and cold. He glares at Hunter, sitting in the seat across from them. Hunter’s frown deepens, uneasy concern settling in their chest. Arthur shouldn’t be here; they shouldn’t have let O’Brien talk them into taking him on the mission.

The door swings open forcefully as Hunter stomps into O’Brien’s office. “O’Brien, you can’t be fucking serious about Arthur being allowed to come on this mission,” They exclaim loudly, the door swinging shut violently, shaking the bookcases on the wall.

“Hunter…” O’Brien pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing at their outburst.

“Don’t ‘Hunter’ me. Ever since his actions in Europe, Arthur’s been more of an asshole than normal, which is a fucking achievement. And before you ask, I’ve tried playing nice. None of it fucking works. He barely obeys orders and doesn’t consider the safety of his teammates or civilians.” They cross their arms, letting out a frustrated sigh. Ever since that mission, Arthur had been different. Unhappy with how Hunter interfered, Arthur seemed unwilling to listen as if he wasn’t part of a fucking team. No matter how many olive branches they offered (and they tried-Hunter really did), Arthur was still a major asshole. A major asshole who was going to get someone killed.

“We’ve talked about this Hunter, but I can’t pull Arthur off the team…”

“Because you’re too much of a coward to go against his dad.”

O’Brien shoots them an unamused glare. “Senator Edwards is a major ally of the BSAA, which we have few of. I know you don’t understand this, but sometimes, you have to play politics, Hunter. You can’t brute force your way through everything.”

“What happens when politics gets someone killed,” Hunter seethes, uncrossing their arms and slamming their hands down on his desk, “What then? You gonna look the family in the eye of the person he killed? Or is that duty going to fall on me while you offer fucking platitudes?”

“Agent Edwards understands that if he makes another lapse in judgment like he did in Europe, he will be relegated to desk duty.”

Throwing up their hands, Hunter lets out a dark laugh. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, O’Brien, you make it sound like he’s a puppy who had an accident on the carpet. He needs more than fucking desk duty; He needs to be off my team.”

“Agent Edwards isn’t going to kill anyone. He understands exactly what kind of situation he is in. Understood, Captain Delaney?” Fuck it, O’Brien isn’t going to fucking listen.

“Mark my words, O’Brien. Arthur is going to kill someone, and when he does, I hope you know you’re just as fucking responsible.”

“And assist any survivors!” Kevin pipes in helpfully, next to Hunter, pulling them from the memory of their earlier conversation. Hunter nods encouragingly while Arthur scoffs. They shoot him a glare as Arthur rolls his eyes. The team needs to be a united front, especially if they are going to survive this mission. Even on the best days, dealing with outbreaks was dangerous and difficult, prone to going wrong in all the worst fucking ways.

“You think we’re going to find anyone alive?” Patrick asks doubtfully, sitting next to Arthur on his right.

“We need to be prepared for that possibility,” Hunter replies, knowing they could find any untold number of horrors within the facility, “We could find no survivors, or we could find a hundred. As the response team, we need to be prepared for anything.”

“I’m thinking it’s towards the lower end,” Natasha quips on Arthur’s left. Next to her, Arthur smirks, watching Hunter’s reaction.

Ignoring the bait, Hunter opens their mouth to talk more about the mission, only to be cut off by Vincent, their pilot. “Arrival estimated in ten minutes!”

“Everyone, check your gear. We don’t want anyone to go home in a body bag,” Hunter warns.

Approximately ten minutes later, Vincent lands the Helicopter on the roof, allowing the team to disembark. The roof is covered in a thick blanket of white snow, crunching beneath the team’s boots. Warm mist escapes Hunter’s mouth as they suck in a deep breath of air, trudging forward. Well, here goes fucking nothing. Everyone pulls out their weapons, preparing for the unknown behind the rooftop entrance. Natasha and Patrick flank the door on either side before Hunter uses the card provided by Sirona Corporation to open it. They push the door open with their left shoulder, reattaching the card to their belt. Flicking on the flashlight attached to their rifle, Hunter steps into the dark stairwell, holding their assault rifle in the ready position. Red emergency lights along the floor guide Hunter’s way as they slowly descend the stairs to the first door they see. Their team follows behind them, the door slamming shut as Natasha brings up the rear. Hunter looks over their shoulder, and everyone nods, indicating they are ready.

Pushing the door open slowly, Hunter’s flashlight illuminates the dark hallway, save for the small portions lit by emergency lights. The hallway is utterly silent; Hunter’s team moving in a careful and controlled manner. There are no signs of life. No survivors rushing into the hallway. No infected hurtling towards the team in a crazed frenzy. Looking down, Hunter spies a puddle of congealed dark red blood. They step around it, Arthur following behind them. As the team walks further into the hallway, all they find is destruction. Tables are flipped over, and medical supplies and papers are strewn all over the floor. Office windows are cracked, the cracks spider webbing out from the center. Some are even broken, splattered with blood and viscera, a stark reminder of the unyielding violence. It’s absolute fucking madness, and it makes Hunter so angry. These people should be alive, not dead because of fucking greed.

Hunter and their team move further into the hallway, eventually finding the body of a woman. Her dark brown eyes are glassy, wide open in fear. Her blond hair is matted with blood as she lies unnaturally still, throat torn open. Her fingers are caked in blood and flesh, probably from a desperate, futile attempt to save her life. Hunter sighs; the woman is dead. The longer they’ve worked on this job, the easier it is to tell the difference between the truly dead and the living dead. Arthur trains his gun on the woman as Hunter kneels, knowing there is no use checking for a pulse. “First casualty confirmed.”

“Not surprising after all we’ve seen,” Arthur responds.

“Do we need to put a bullet in her head? Ya know? To be safe?” Patrick asks.

Hunter shakes their head. “She’s dead, and I don’t want you to desecrate someone’s corpse by wasting a bullet.”

“We don’t have to use our guns,” Arthur slips his combat knife out, kneeling and planting it in her head. He pulls the knife out quickly with a loud squelch, wiping his knife on her black suit jacket. Standing up, Arthur holsters his knife, looking unbothered. “Now, we don’t have to worry.”

Patrick and Natasha share glances as Kevin looks worried, biting his lip. Hunter stands, exasperated by his actions. “Arthur, that was unces-.”

“I was just doing what needed to be done, Captain.”

They shake their head. “It wasn’t what needed to be done. We both know she was a corpse, not one of them.”

“We couldn’t know for sure. Sometimes, you have to make hard choices, Hunter. I know you really-.”

That’s fucking it! Seeing red, Hunter loses their cool, shoving their finger into Arthur’s chest and snarling, “I know all about making hard choices, Arthur! Don’t you dare lecture me on that!” Arthur’s expression turns dark, malice burning in his eyes. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Hunter needs to regain control of the situation. Now. “Listen,” They order, stepping away from Arthur, “From now on, no sticking corpses with knives unless you believe they might move. I don’t want anyone to get the drop on you because you’re too busy making sure the dead are dead. Be fucking smart about it.”

“Yes, Captain.” Everyone echoes. Natasha and Patrick don’t look convinced while Kevin seems relieved. They don’t even look over at Arthur, too pissed off to even spare a glance in his direction. Fuck, this was not going to end well.

The team descends further into the facility, the reality of the situation hanging over them like the blade of a fucking guillotine. Reaching the labs, Hunter’s stomach sinks, dread heavy in their chest. Corpses litter their journey downward, silence and echoes of violence their only companions. Uneasy, Hunter knows the infected will make their entrance soon. They always do, especially in the belly of the beast. As the team steps through the door of the emergency elevator with their rifles at the ready, a monotone voice announces over the loudspeaker: “ORANGE LEVEL THREAT! ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE!” Red emergency lights light the way forward as Hunter motions for their team to spread out. The team moves into a V formation, stepping silently and slowly as they move forward.

Click.

Hunter stops, their feeling of dread worsening. Fuck.

Click.

They hold out their left hand for their team to stop. Everyone stops as the clicking noises continue, sounding like claws against hard flooring. Hunter looks to their left, meeting Arthur’s eyes. He nods, mercifully giving Hunter no pushback.

Click. Click. Click.

The Licker rounds the corner, unaware of the team’s presence. Hunter and their team have the drop on the Licker, but not for long. Motioning for their team to focus on the Licker, Hunter starts silently counting down with their fingers.

Three. Click.

Two. Click.

One. Click.

On zero, guns fire, shattering the stillness of the facility. The Licker screeches, an unnatural cry of terror and pain before it slumps to the ground, dead.

Click. Click. Click.Click.Click.Clickclickclick.

Shit, more goddamn Lickers. There always are fucking more. Two more Lickers race into the room, drawn to potential prey by the sound of gunfire, emerging from the same hallway as the last one. Hunter, Kevin, and Patrick fire into the Licker on the right while Arthur and Natasha take care of the one on the left. Gunshots ring loudly, mixing with Licker screams, echoing loudly in a gruesome symphony. The Licker in front of Hunter thrashes, succumbing to the hail of bullets. Looking towards the Licker on the left, Hunter finds it dropping to the ground, pretty much fucking dead.

Glancing over towards Arthur, Hunter catches sight of a third Licker, emerging from the shadows, Arthur seemingly unaware of its presence. The Licker screeches, pouncing toward Arthur like a lion on a gazelle. Without thinking, Hunter throws themself into Arthur, checking him with their shoulder. He grunts as the two crash to the ground. The Licker misses them narrowly; its claws coming too close to Hunter for their comfort. Natasha, Kevin, and Patrick both fire on the Licker, immobilizing it fairly quickly. Hunter scrambles off of Arthur and onto their feet, raising their rifle to shoot a final few shots into a dying Licker.

Sighing in relief as it collapses into a pool of its blood, Hunter turns towards Arthur. They hold out their hand to help him up, “We got lucky that time. Are you okay?” Despite Arthur being a major asshole, Hunter doesn’t wish for him to turn into Licker chow.

Arthur snubs their offered hand, gruffly replying, “I’m fine.” Hunter shakes their head, giving Arthur room to step past them. He kicks the head of the Licker, scoffing as if it wasn’t anything serious. “We should split up. Search the building in Teams.”

No way. Normally, Hunter would be for splitting up, but it just feels like a bad idea in this situation. “Arthur, are you fucking serious? The best plan is for us to stick together, especially if we’re already encountering Lickers.”

“If we continue as we are, we’ll never get through the base.”

“Splitting up might give us the chance to find more survivors too,” Patrick offers nervously, afraid to get between the two.

They sigh, knowing that Arthur and Patrick have a point, but they don’t have to like it. “Fine, Natasha and Patrick will go on one team. Arthur, Kevin, and I will go on another.” Together, Natasha and Patrick are a solid duo. Hunter trusts them together as long as they aren’t with Arthur. Besides, Hunter wants to keep an eye on Arthur during this mission.

“No, I should go with Natasha and Patrick,” Arthur sneers, shooting a dismissive look toward Kevin.

“Arthur-.”

He cuts them off, “I’m going. Natasha and Patrick, follow me.” Arthur walks off, toward the direction Hunter had ordered Natasha and Patrick.

“Fucking idiot,” Hunter shakes their head, “If he does anything, radio me immediately. Got it?”

“Yes, Captain,” Natasha states as she and Patrick go to follow Arthur.

Looking over toward Kevin, Hunter finds him with a wounded expression. When Kevin joined a year and a half ago, Arthur had been neutral toward him. After Europe, it was like a switch was flipped. Arthur started trying to make his life miserable. At first, Hunter tried the HR-approved route: reprimand Arthur, write reports to O’Brien, and take incidents to HR. Yet, no one did anything, and Arthur grew bolder. It mercifully stopped when Hunter, fed up with the system failing, snapped and broke Arthur’s nose. They were lucky Redfield and Valentine were there that day to pull Hunter off him. Otherwise, a broken nose and black eye wouldn’t have been the only thing he walked away with. Hunter got in trouble, but they considered it the best kind of trouble: trouble that was worth it. Meanwhile, they encouraged Kevin to get out of the BSAA, implying they would give him a glowing recommendation. Kevin was a good kid with a promising future on his shoulders. He didn’t deserve any of this fucking bullshit. “Come on,” Hunter pats his shoulder, trying to ignore the rising guilt, “We should get a move on.”

“I don’t understand why Arthur has it out for me.” Kevin sounds frustrated, clearly overwhelmed by this and the stress of the already fraught mission.

Hunter stops, Kevin stopping beside them. Turning to him, Hunter grabs his shoulder with their right hand, “You didn’t do anything Kevin. Arthur’s being an asshole. I promise I’m not going to let him hurt you, understood?”

He nods, slightly relieved. “Okay. Thanks for looking out for me.”

They smile. “That’s what teammates do. We’re supposed to look out for each other.” Hunter squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, before releasing him. “Come on. We should continue forward.”

—

Hunter and Kevin venture further into the labs, encountering little on their path. As they round the corner, Hunter hears something, motioning for Kevin to be quiet as he nods in response. They lead the way, holding their rifle ready. If needed, Hunter and Kevin would shoot, but Hunter hopes it was someone alive, someone who could shed some more light on what happened. They turn into the doorway, Kevin following behind them. In front of the pair, a scientist is loading samples into a briefcase, unaware of the two agents behind him. “Sir,” Hunter orders, their voice commanding as they stop moving forward, “Immediately stop what you are doing and raise your hands.”

The scientist stops, not turning to face Hunter or Kevin. He hums thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder at the pair. His gray eyes narrow, derision clear in his eyes as he notices the BSAA patches on their uniforms. “BSAA Agents,” He replies, his gaze returning to the samples in front of him, “I’ll go with you, but these samples-.”

“No.” It will be a fucking cold day in hell before Hunter lets him take any of those samples outside of the facility. “They need to be destroyed along with the rest of the infected.”

“Destroyed?” The scientist hisses, finally turning to face Hunter and Kevin, sneering at them. “This is my work; it cannot be lost. Do you understand what we might lose?”

“If it creates bastards like the Lickers,” Hunter replies, raising an eyebrow, “I would consider it a win.”

The scientist snorts. “Of course, you would think it a victory. You’ve only seen specimens built for military application. What I aim to do will bring humanity into a new dawn, once I find the missing piece. One day, you will thank me for it.” Hunter glances back over their shoulder towards Kevin, who shrugs his shoulders. This guy was off his fucking rocker. The scientist scoffs, turning back to the briefcase. They hear it snap shut. “Obviously, you wouldn’t understand. You only seek to destroy out of fear because you cannot understand it.”

“Turn around, keep your hands in the air,” Hunter orders, moving closer until they were only a few steps away. They didn’t want to destroy his virus because they didn’t understand it. Hunter understands exactly what it was capable of. They want to destroy it because it will hurt and kill innocent people, something that Hunter was already too familiar with.

“I will acquiesce to your demands, Agent…,” The scientist stops, facing the pair with his hands by his side. His hands are curled into tight, still fists. He looks at them both expectantly, waiting for Hunter to give him their name.

“Captain Hunter Delaney and,” Hunter motions towards Kevin, “Agent Kevin Zhu. We are here to rescue or detain you, based on your perspective. You’ll be brought back to the BSAA for questioning and a medical examination by BSAA Medical Staff. I promise-.”

CRASH!

Hunter and Kevin both turn towards the door, Kevin shooting a glance at Hunter before returning his gaze to the door. “What the fu-?”

Something pricks their neck, followed by a sharp burst of pain. Hunter elbows the person behind them hard, hearing the scientist gasp and slam against the counter. Reaching up, Hunter pulls out what was stuck in their neck. They open their palm to find an injector. An empty one. Fuck.

They open their mouth to ask what the fuck he has done, but their throat tightens, intense pain consuming them. Howling, Hunter drops their gun and falls to the ground, writhing in pain. Every inch of their body feels like it’s burning. Their muscles spasm, heart beating out of their chest. Hunter’s screams stop, as they try to take in air, barely able to breathe or make noise. “CAPTAIN DELANEY!” Kevin yells, running towards them. He drops by their side, looking over them with concern. “What the hell did you do?”

The scientist chuckles, staying out of their view. “I did your Captain a favor,” He lets out another chuckle, “if they manage to survive the process.”

“What do you mean if they survive?”

The scientist enters their view, briefcase in hand. As he edges towards the door, he looks at Hunter curiously, almost as if he wishes he could stay. “None of the other subjects survived yet,” The scientist emphasizes the yet, watching Hunter with a deep fascination as they writhe on the floor. FUCK! Everything hurts so badly! Their skin feels tight, muscles constricting painfully. “Now, if you will excuse me-.“

“Don’t!” Kevin yells, only for the scientist to ignore him. He looks down at Hunter, conflicting emotions running across his face. “I’m sorry, Captain Delaney. I-.” Kevin stops, guilt overwhelming him.

Jaw locked tight, Hunter shakily raises their hand towards him, trying to assuage him of his guilt. Kevin’s eyes widen, taking their left hand into his own. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault; it was Hunter’s fault for not being more careful. “Okay,” He whispers, squeezing their hand in comfort. Good.

Hunter doesn’t know how long they spend laying on the floor, but it feels like an eternity, every inch of their body burning. All they can do is watch Kevin’s face contort in terror as their body convulses, painful cries escaping them. Eventually, the fire beneath their skin starts to dim, leaving Hunter feeling feverishly warm. Their muscles relax, allowing Hunter to finally move, their body sore. “Kevin…” They croak, trying to push themself up into a sitting position.

“Captain!” He sounds relieved, helping them up. Pulling their water bottle from their belt, Kevin helps them take a sip. “How are you feeling?” Kevin asks after they gulp water down like a dying man.

“Like fucking shit,” Hunter grumbles, exhausted by the simple act of drinking.

“I’m-.”

“Don’t.” Hunter doesn’t even have the energy to wave him off. “We need to find the rest of the team and get out of here. Help me up.” It hurts to speak, the act of speaking feels like rubbing sandpaper against their throat. Yet, Hunter pushes through the pain, knowing all they have to do is make it out of here. They’re going to make it out of here.

Kevin nods, pulling Hunter up to their feet. He slings their left arm around his shoulder, slightly taller than Hunter. “Where to-?”

“The control room,” Hunter takes a deep breath, swaying slightly next to Kevin. “Need to set off the purge sequence and then get out.” Fog swirls around their brain, their head pounding. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s so fucking hard to think.

“That sounds like a good plan.” Shit, Kevin sounds scared.

“We’re going to make it out.” Hunter promises, trying to reassure them both.

“But, Captain, you’re inf-.”

“Don’t,” They snarl harshly, panic threatening to overtake them, “I’m not infected; I’ll be fucking fine. Do you understand?”

Kevin doesn’t look convinced as he replies, “Okay.”

—

Hunter and Kevin venture further into the facility, slowly making their way through the winding, labyrinthine hallways. Occasionally, the two duck into a room, hiding from any infected, mainly zombified lab workers. With Hunter’s current condition, neither is in any shape to fight back, leaving their best option to hide. Inhaling shakily, Hunter catches sight of themself in the reflection of a lab window. They’re deathly pale, so much more than normal. A sheen of feverish sweat coats their skin. Dark purplish-black circles form under their eyes, their normally faded green eyes appearing glassy. Hunter’s thoughts are slow, making them feel as if every thought or reaction is in slow motion. Taking another shaky wheeze, Hunter shivers, leaning closer to Kevin. They still feel like they’re on fire, the pain right beneath their skin. Their muscles are weak, leaving Hunter trembling and unsteady as they stumble on. Hunter’s back hurts, something pressing onto their spinal cord. Yet, Hunter feels as if they are being consumed, burned out until they’re nothing more than a hollow husk. Even if it’s a figment of their feverish mind, Hunter will not be consumed. They’re not infected; they’ve survived too much to die here.

“Captain Delaney-?”

“I’m fine,” Their voice is rough and hoarse, Hunter wincing at the stabbing pain in their throat. “We’re almost there.” Kevin doesn’t respond, wisely choosing to help Hunter continue forward. As they reach the outside of the control room, Hunter hears the sound of the keyboard clacking. Their head hurts, every clack a jackhammer slamming painfully into their brain. Kevin pulls out his pistol as they slowly approach the room and enter. Hunter spies a familiar face; one they’ve been itching to wrap their hands around his throat and strangle. “YOU!” Hunter snarls, reaching down for their own Beretta. They manage to pull the pistol out of its holster, only to fumble, dropping the gun as it skitters towards the door. Hunter growls, ripping their gaze away from the gun and back towards the object of their hatred.

The scientist turns away from his computer, raising a grey eyebrow in surprise. He checks his watch, returning his gaze to Hunter a mere few seconds later. The scientist stares at them with interest, making Hunter deeply uncomfortable. If he keeps staring, Hunter is going to punch him in the fucking face. “Interesting,” He muses, a slightly demented gleam in his eyes.

“What’s interesting?” And now the situation was truly fucked. Arthur steps into the room, Natasha and Patrick flanking him. He looks over at Hunter, frowning at their fucking pathetic state. “What the hell happened to you, Hunter? You look like shit.” Natasha and Patrick smirk at each other, like they’re fucking amused. Couldn’t fault Arthur about this one. Hunter looked like fucking shit; hell, they probably looked like they were on death’s fucking door.

“Really? And here I thought I looked fucking fantastic,” Hunter quips as Kevin eases them over to lean against the counter of the terminal. He steps away, almost fearful Hunter might collapse to the ground. Trying to stand up straighter, Hunter reassures their teammates, “I’m fine; I just need to have one of the Doctors at Headquarters look me over.” The scientist chuckles, shaking his head. Fuck.

“Why are you laughing? And who are you?” Arthur asks, pointing his gun toward the scientist.

“Dr. Charles Griffin,” As he speaks, Hunter notices his eyes never leave them, determined not to miss any detail, “Captain Delaney will not be okay. If they survive, they will be better than okay. If they don’t, well…”

“You’re wrong.” A foreboding feeling falls over Hunter, and they swallow, slightly swaying. What Dr. Griffin was saying wasn’t true. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it couldn’t be fucking true. “I’m not-I’m fucking not…” They can’t get the rest of the words out, their throat tightening up.

“You’re infected, Captain Delaney. I’m sure you are competent enough to understand what that means.”

The world falls out from Hunter as they grip the terminal tightly, knees bucking underneath them. He’s wrong; They’re not infected. “You’re lying, You’re a fucking liar,” They plead, inhaling panicked breaths. Yet, Hunter knows that is not the truth. They’re infected, and there is only one cure for infection. A bullet in the fucking head.

“I am not lying, Captain Delaney. You know this,” His tone is harsh as if he doesn’t have time to deal with a dying person’s hysterics, “Although, you should have mutated by now. None of the subjects lasted this long.” He tilts his head, his gray eyes pensive. “I wonder if there is something special about you, Captain Delaney. To last this long means the virus has found something in you, unique to the other subjects.”

“What happened when the others turned?” Natasha asks, her voice trembling. Her eyes flicker over to Hunter, sympathy and fear both at war.

Dr. Griffin smiles, getting some fucking sick twisted pleasure from the team’s reaction. He turns towards the computer, quickly pulling up a video on the monitors for all to see. With little fanfare, he presses the button, the video playing. A man in his late twenties-early thirties is pacing around a white cell. Even through the not-so-great video quality, Hunter notices he is sweating profusely, feverish like they are. “What did you do to me?” He wheezes, swaying as he paces back and forth. Something grumbles, and the man groans, hunching over. Beneath his skin, Hunter sees something ripple along his spine. “WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” He screams, an animalistic howl of pain and torture. Hunter’s breath catches in their throat as they realize it’s almost like something is moving beneath his skin. Another howl escapes him, and so much happens at once. The man mutates, bones cracking and skin ripping as he changes into a monster. They grip the edge of the terminal tighter, feeling faint. His screams are the worst sounds Hunter has ever heard, and they’ve heard some truly awful fucking sounds. He writhes on the ground, his body changing. Eventually, he stops, laying still for a few moments until he twitches, a sign that he is still alive. A fucking creature rises to its feet, two long appendages protruding from its wrists. The mutation marred the man’s face, his body distorted from the transformation. It had turned him into a tyrant, something Hunter was all too familiar with. The Tyrant looks up at the camera in the room. With a quick motion, it whips one of the appendages, causing the video feed to cut out.

Hunter looks over toward Dr. Griffin in pure horror, only to find him already looking at them. “My virus is not supposed to cause that. I’m missing something,” He pauses, a curious look in his eyes, “but it’s possible that I’ve found that missing component in you, Captain Delaney. I might have found the first perfect host for the virus.” Yet. Their stomach recoils, Hunter rejecting the idea. They weren’t some perfect host for an Evil Genius’ fucking demented virus.

“Is Hunter going to turn into that?” Patrick steps back, training his gun on Hunter.

“I’m not fucking turning into that, Patrick,” Hunter motions to the screen, “I mean, fucking look at me, Patrick! Do I look like a BOW to you?” Hunter wasn’t going to mutate; they would make sure of it.

“No.” Patrick lowers his gun, looking away in slight shame.

“What is the virus supposed to do anyway?” Kevin asks.

“My virus will extend our lives beyond their natural limit, slowing the aging process. It will make humanity faster, stronger, more intelligent. Obviously, I’m missing an essential key to this virus, but one day, I will revolutionize the world with it.”

“Oh? Is that all it’s supposed to do?” Natasha offers sarcastically. Her gun is lowered, but Hunter notices that it’s pointed in their direction.

“Yes,” Dr. Griffin snarls, “I’m not like that hack, Spencer and his ilk.” Another spasm hits Hunter and they let out a low groan. “You should probably do something about your Captain.”

Arthur raises his rifle at them, Natasha and Patrick following suit. “Sorry, Captain. I hope-.”

“WAIT!” Hunter yells, raising one of their hands as if they might fend off their inevitable death. “Dr. Griffin says most don’t last this long. We may have enough time to get me to the closest BSAA facility.” Dr. Griffin snorts derisively at the mention of the BSAA.

“And what’s to stop you from turning in the helicopter?” Natasha refutes.

“We can’t take the chance that you’ll turn or attack us. We have to do this for the good of the mission.” Arthur states coldly, but Hunter swears they hear something akin to ‘Fuck you, you hardass bitch’.

“There has to be a way to transfer them without them turning. Maybe, we can-.”

Hunter bitterly laughs, cutting Kevin off. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for the good of the fucking mission,” They sneer at Arthur, “You’ve wanted to put a fucking bullet in my back since Europe. This just give you an excuse.”

“I think the virus is scrambling your brain.”

“Fuck Yo-.”

BANG!

Time slows as Hunter stops mid-curse, looking down at their torso. Spots of red appear; Hunter feels nothing at first. Unfortunately, Hunter doesn’t have long to dwell on that revelation, time resuming its course. More bullets hit their body, knocking them back onto the terminal. It all hurts so fucking much, their body feels like it’s being torn apart. Hunter tries to grab on to steady themself, but their fingers twitch uselessly, barely responding. Sliding down to the ground, Hunter finds themself propped up against the terminal.

“CAPTAIN!” Kevin screams, as Hunter’s eyes still focus on Arthur. He drops beside them, grabbing their right hand as Arthur, Natasha, and Patrick lower their guns. “No, don’t-don’t go.” Kevin pleads, gripping their right hand tightly.

It hurts. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it all hurts so fucking much. Hunter draws a wet breath, their lungs filling with their own blood. They take another, choking on all that blood. Hunter’s brain screams desperately for oxygen as their heart sluggishly struggles to beat. The edges of their vision blacken, slowly creeping in as their consciousness diminishes. Hunter doesn’t want to go yet. Fuck, they’re not ready to go yet. Faces of family and friends flash through their mind as they fiercely cling to life. Death will not take them. Yet even Hunter Delaney finds that they cannot fend off death, darkness eclipsing their vision. Their consciousness fades into the ether as they drown in blood and pain, only feeling fear and rage as their final emotions.

Hunter Delaney dies for the first time.

—

Kevin sits numbly as the helicopter flies away from the Sirona Corporation facility. He stares down at the blood-stained dog tags, tags stained with Captain Delaney’s blood. It hits Kevin all at once, like a freight train. Captain Delaney is gone; they’re really gone. He tears his gaze away from the dog tags, looking out at the facility. A few seconds later, it explodes, flames and smoke shooting out. Eventually, the building collapses on itself, dust rising. His hand tightens around the dog tags, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Shit, what was Kevin going to tell Frankie? What was he going to tell any of the Delaney Family? Captain Delaney had been his mentor, and their family had become close to him. He was supposed to watch Captain Delaney’s back, and they died. It was his-. “There was nothing you could do for your Captain. They would have most likely died anyway.”

He looks up, glaring at Dr. Griffin. “Don’t you dare speak about them,” Kevin snarls, “Besides, we’re all responsible for their death, you included Dr. Griffin.”

Dr. Griffin shakes his head. “I know you are upset about the loss of your friend, but blame is very unhelpful.”

“Speaking of blame,” Arthur cuts in, glaring sharply at Kevin from Dr. Griffin’s right as he lowers his voice, “Captain Delaney’s death was tragic, but unavoidable. They were infected and mutating, giving us no choice but to kill them. Understood?”

Natasha and Patrick nod while Kevin stares at him in stunned shock. “You want me to-?”

“No,” Arthur shakes his head, his hand dropping down towards his pistol, “I want to make sure we all understand what happened on that mission.” Yet, the threat was left unsaid. Play along or you might be the next one to end up with a bullet in your back.

Kevin looks around, wondering if anyone else is bothered. Natasha and Patrick both look away from him while Dr. Griffin looks bored. Turning back to Arthur, who is watching him with cold eyes, Kevin quietly admits, “Okay.” The only person who would have looked out for him is dead. His gaze drops down to Captain Delaney’s dog tags. No one else is going to help him. Kevin is alone, utterly alone.

“Good. I’m glad we all understand what happened.”

Taglist: @sstewyhosseini, @detectivelokis, @mishwanders (If you want to be added or removed, just let me know!)

#Kate Writes #The Hunter Fic Tag #fic: dead man walking #Hunter Delaney #resident evil fanfic #albert wesker x oc #resident evil fic #biohazard fanfic #death tw #body horror tw #OTP: Love Me Mercilessly #I hope this came out okay #I'm actually really nervous about this #I promise that the future chapters will be better #I'm worried that some of the characters don't make sense now #But I'm planning to lay out their motivations over the fic #AHHH!!!! I'm just really nervous about this

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