Chapter Text
Only a certain group of people are prepared to handle bio-weapons, ready to dive head-first into the action no matter the date, time, and location. And not everybody is cut out for that; this job requires a dedication that’s out of this world.
“I didn’t know they came in extra-large! How many new species are there?!” one of the BSAA jarheads on the footbridge between two deserted buildings exclaims, and the trio continues firing their guns at the humongous B.O.W. I can’t help myself but also don't give a crap about the timing and smirk.
Watching them through one of the broken windows on the first floor of a random building that looks less than stable, walls blackened by ash and concrete damaged by bullets, grenades, and god-knows-what, I suprisingly struggle to come to a decision.
Looking for my brother on my own, in the middle of a battlefield where he can be anywhere, or asking for their help is risky either way. All I have to do is choose the option with the better odds of finding my brother, and with my limited amount of time, it seems easier to escape a bunch of jarheads before they can even pull out a pair of those zip ties or handcuffs. I may be extremely reckless, as my mother liked to scold me for, but I’m not stupid. With the BSAA, I’ll be able to cover more ground.
Act now, think later!
“Screw it,” I grumble under my breath when I realize that I’m only wasting valuable seconds, vaulting out through the window and running to the middle of the road after making sure that my magnum is loaded.
The cold air hits me all at once, the gunpowder probably more prominent than dust at this point, but with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I’d probably die from frostbite before I even feel its effects. It’s a good thing I’m wearing my black parka—the only jacket I really own.
“Finn! We’ve got a huge B.O.W. on our tails! I need the A.P.C.’s firepower, now!” the biggest of the three that looks like he could punch a boulder if he wants to yells into his earpiece, glancing behind him at the giant monster.
“Hey, jarheads!” I shout out over the sound of gunfire, waiting for Boulder Puncher to look at me. It’s almost funny how they skid to a stop at the sight of me, but that thought evaporates into thin air when they aim their guns at my head. My heart drops into my stomach. “Whoa, there! Don’t shoot! I’m not one of them!” To keep them from riddling my body with bullets, I raise my hands, pointing my gun to the sky with my finger far from the trigger.
My predicament makes me want to roll my eyes or wrinkle my nose, but I won't be able to find my brother if I'm on the ground with a bullet between my eyes.
Remembering that they have a large B.O.W. on their asses, Boulder Puncher glances back at it before sprinting to what he thinks is a lesser threat. I should be offended, but now's not the time. As they get closer, he beckons, “Come on!”
I don’t make him say it twice, keeping up with them on the road that’s covered with cracks and debris.
“Captain, you can’t be serious!”
“Later, Piers! We need to survive until Finn gets here, and he seems like he could help!” he reasons while climbing up a rickety ladder, and I follow suit, stepping onto one of those wooden platforms that connect a roof and a window together. The smaller jarhead—Piers, apparently—climbs up another ladder on the other side with the only female soldier I’ve seen so far hot on his heels.
Examining the giant bastard as best as I can, I train my gun on what I assume is its weakness grossly sticking out of the nape of its neck, firing a single round at it. It staggers a bit but continues to march toward us.
“Get back!” The jarhead behind me tugs on the bottom of my jacket, forcing me to stumble back a few steps, bumping into him.
Not only is he muscular but also tall. Standing at five-foot-eleven, I’d say he’s about an inch or so taller than me, and he is not someone I'd want to get into a fistfight with despite my athletic build. Give me a gun and I'll gladly do so.
“What the hell!” I glare at him for a second before focusing back on the behemoth of a weird creature in front of us, fixing my hold on my gun. I’ve been a mercenary for ten years now, so he has to forgive me if his big muscles and tall stature don’t make me tremble at the sight of him. “I have legs, you know?”
“Just hang on a little more and cover me! Those J’avo keep coming out of thin air!” he orders, ignoring my rhetorical question and continuing to shoot the B.O.W.’s weak spot with his assault rifle. The snarky remark I planned to give him vanishes like a snap. What the hell was I gonna say?
Huffing a bit, I look away from him. Stupid jarhead. I plant my feet back down on the wood beneath us and stand tall next to him, firing two rounds at the giant and then two more rounds from my magnum into some incoming J’avo, the firepower and proximity blowing their heads up. That damn backup better get here quicker.
As if God chose to listen to me instead of a more righteous soldier than I am, an A.P.C. rams through one of the gates. Whoever is inside rains fire on the B.O.W., forcing it to run away with its tail tucked in between its legs. Sighing, I slouch a bit and run a hand through my undercut, feeling all the sweat, dirt, grime, and whatnot that's made itself home in the strands, wiping it off as much as I can on my jeans.
Turning to Boulder Puncher, I arch my eyebrows when I see Piers and the female soldier pointing their guns at me. Well, срање... I look at their captain, reluctantly raising my hands again and slowly saying, “Okay, okay. Hang on. Don't shoot me. Listen, I’ll offer you guys a deal, yeah? Let's make a deal."
He raises his eyebrows, glancing at his little jarheads on the other side. He then proceeds to reach for his earpiece. Cрање. I can try bolting, but even just the sniper rifle in Piers's hands tells me I won't make it far; I also have the captain and the other jarhead to take into account. I'm not stupid enough to take that risk, not yet.
"Stand down, guys. I got this," he says, and I stop myself from sighing, keeping my shoulders from visibly relaxing. He adjusts his grip on his assault rifle, and I take a quick scan of his stance before meeting his brown eyes. "Well? I'm all ears."
There's no turning back, so there's no other way but forward, even if I'm just really digging myself a deeper grave, though it's been deep enough for so long that an extra few feet don't matter. "I’ll help you with...whatever your mission here is as long as you promise not to kill me. If you guys play nicely, I might even tell you all I know about what’s happening here.” Getting an even brighter idea, I add, “Oh, and I’ll even help you guys look for the person responsible for all of”—I gesture to our surroundings—“this shit if you’re even nicer.”
He stares at me curiously and cautiously. “Who are you? The locals have already been evacuated, so I doubt you’re a normal civilian.”
Glancing down at the rest of my outfit which consists of black combat boots, black denim jeans, and a dark green t-shirt, I think I’d still pass as a normal and even stylish civilian. Well, now I don’t feel like behaving so much anymore. Nevertheless, I roll my eyes and say, “I need help looking for my brother; I’m a mercenary.”
“And why should we trust you?”
“I should be asking you the same thing, but look at me. Most mercenaries I’ve worked with would do anything to save their own skin, so do you really think my first instinct is to just pop out in front of you jarheads and start running towards you? I’m obviously out of options. My mentor would be really disappointed in me.” He still looks skeptical, still thinking about my offer. Rolling my eyes, my mouth moves faster than my brain like it usually does. “We don’t have all day, jarhead. Are you gonna take my deal or not? Don’t waste my precious time.”
Unsurprisingly, he nods. Bingo. Looks like he isn't a trigger-happy bastard.
“So, do you know what caused all this?” he asks, jumping back down to the ground, surprisingly still calm despite my provocative words and learning that I’m working alongside the guys that have been killing his men. Well, technically, I’m not working alongside them anymore, seeing as I’m not a stupid B.O.W. embarrassing myself by doing something stupid. Fuck them.
Following him, I bend my knees as my feet hit the ground, debris crunching under the soles of my boots. “Some lady gave us an ‘energy booster.’” We start following the A.P.C., meeting up with the rest of his jarheads that are eyeing me warily, but I shrug off the looks in favor of keeping a close eye on all of them in return. “I was busy trying to read what was written on the syringe when those idiots just started injecting themselves. I didn’t exactly wanna use it on myself anymore when I saw the side effects. I gotta tell you, it was a shitty energy booster. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.”
I remember my brother, and God forbid, he got one as well.
“Can you get a PID on the woman that distributed the virus?”
“Yup.”
“Well, one way or another, you’re coming with us,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder. It seems like he’s waiting for some sort of reply from me, so I sigh and exasperatedly nod. If I was a lot younger, I’d tell him to drop the act; he’s probably doing this to get some glittering promotion, and handing me over to the authorities is just going to give him the boost he needs. I’ve met my fair share of people like him, but this is my first time working with one. I know I'm an asshole, but it doesn't mean I like working with other assholes.
“Captain, he’s a mercenary!” Piers argues—sounds more like a whine to me—while their other teammates watch the scene unfolding in front of them with obviously tense shoulders.
I scoff. “Yeah, no shit, and you’re a soldier. Thanks, Captain Obvious. There are freaks all around trying to kill us. You think I’m jumping for joy to be here?”
Their captain ushers them around him and whispers something to them. Silently, I watch them like a hawk as they all nod reluctantly, especially Piers who seems to be keeping an obviously closer eye on me. I raise an eyebrow in a silent challenge, like ‘shoot me, I dare you,' and make sure he knows that it’s meant for him.
Their captain breaks away from their little huddle, taking a few steps toward me. “We don’t know your name,” he points out.
I tuck my gun away in my shoulder holster and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “The name’s Theo Muller.” They all watch their captain, walking away when he nods, leaving me with him, Piers, and the female soldier. “You are?”
“Chris Redfield,” he introduces himself, gesturing his hand to Piers and the lady. “This is Piers Nivans. That’s Evangeline Warner.” Now we're making progress. Hope they actually help me and this isn't a waste of time.
Grinning mischievously, I ask him, “What, is it short for Christopher?”
“How exactly does that concern you?” Piers asks me with gritted teeth, obviously affected the most by my taunts, subjecting his assault rifle to a death grip. Should I steal one?
Strutting up to his face, I smirk at him. “I just feel like annoying the living shit out of you jarheads. Got a problem with that?” His glare hardens, and I revel from his expression for a bit before shrugging nonchalantly. “Not that I care if you do.” I give him back his personal space, shifting my weight to one of my feet.
“Okay, that’s enough. And you.” Chris points a finger at me, and I swat away his finger, lightly staring daggers into him, muttering how it's rude to point at a person. “The only reason we aren’t putting you in handcuffs is that we have a deal. Once you find your brother and help us find the woman responsible for distributing the virus, we’re bringing you into custody. But right now, you’re sticking with the three of us.”
Sighing, I roll my eyes. “Just trust me and make this entire thing easier on us, handsome. I need you and your little ducklings to find my brother. If you all think I’m gonna shoot you guys while you’re not looking, think twice. I don’t hurt people, especially good people, just because, even if they’re jarheads; I choose my jobs carefully.”
The guy is absolutely stunned at the nickname, and Piers grows even more pissed at me if that’s still possible. Just calling something what it is. Evangeline just seems unbothered by anything but Piers, placing her hand on his arm and whispering something in his ear to stop him from literally sticking the muzzle of his gun to my forehead. It looks like she’s putting a leash on the puppy that is Piers.
Speaking of leashes, their matching scarves briefly catch my eye. How cute.
Chris clears his throat, and I send him a laid-back smile and wink instead of my usual mocking smirk. He looks away and says, “Alright, then. Let’s go. What does he look like?"
Might as well have fun. What's the worst thing that could happen?