Resident Evil REwritten
Waking Death 2.0
Waking Up Dead
" " -Spoken
' ' -Thought, usually in Italics
( ) -Commentary. The smartass remarks that could be heard from the back of my head. For comic relief, and personal opinions. They're usually too snarky to be said aloud.
Hello, dear friends. Let me be the first to welcome you to the REwritten, REdone, and completely REvamped story of Waking Death.
This, is the story of a young man named Roy, who unexpectedly finds himself in the world of Resident Evil. What you are about to see is one man's struggle to hold onto his own humanity.
For my dedicated readers who have followed this story since its infancy, I thank you from the bottom of my cold, unfeeling heart. I ask that you refrain from spoiling what you think you know for the new readers. Many things have changed; I hope each and every one of you will enjoy the horror-filled adventure that awaits you.
There are a few things you need to know about our protagonist before reading further.
A) His name is Roy, no known surname, age 17. Between 5'10 and 5'11, fit/athletic build, dark brunette hair, blue-green eyes.
B) He was a child soldier, genetically engineered to be the "perfect killer," a supersoldier gifted with impressive physical strength and stamina, as well as inhuman reaction speeds.
C) Of all his brothers, he is the most dangerous. Think John Wick... On steroids and crack cocaine.
D) And finally... He isn't entirely sane.
There are a few more notes about him at the end of the chapter.
#1 REwriting History
The door to safety has shut tight. There is no turning back.
Ugh, dear Lord, my head...
I could faintly hear someone groaning. After a moment, I realized it was me. Lovely, just the way I love to start my day; lying facedown in what's probably a puddle of my own blood, not remembering anything from the past week. How many times am I up to, now? Seven? Or was it seventeen? I've lost track. But I know it had a seven in there somewhere.
I blearily opened my eyes, feeling drowsy as all hell. Vision fuzzy, head pounding and limbs numb, the only thing that came to mind was, 'Just how the fuck do I get myself into these messes?'
Move. C'mon, get up, not dead yet. I forced my arms to move, blinking back the haze clouding my eyes. I was lying facedown on a carpeted floor,(No blood or puke, thankfully) with a foul smell lingering all around; the stench of rot, death, and decay. Not me, I hope. After several moments of struggling, I could see-
. . .
A pair of boots, with feet in them; light cream-colored ankles sticking out the tops, leading to the rolled-up cuffs of light green capris. A belt holding them up carried several pouches, notably one with a red cross on it. Above them, a flat belly covered by a green shirt and white kevlar vest, betraying an ample chest, all the way up to a cute, pixie-like face with short brunette hair and bright, curious green eyes.
Human. Female. Age sixteen to twenty-four, armored; light kevlar vest, level 2 protection, carrying medical equipment. Armed, Beretta 92 in her right hand, not aimed at me.
...Safety's on, dumbass. Looks like a medic, and a fairly familiar one, too. "Are you alright, sir?" She warily asked, her voice sounding just as cute as she looked. If not for my pounding head and mushy muscles, I'd probably be imaging her naked, sprawled out over an unmade bed.
Blinking back those thoughts, I pushed myself up, getting a leg under me. "Dunno. You here to use that weapon on me?" My voice didn't crack, thankfully, but my throat was dry; side-effect of whatever drug had been used on me, I suppose. Don't think it was liquor, I'm not feeling queasy enough for alcohol poisoning.
"Not if I don't have to. My name's Rebecca, do you know what happened here?" Huh. Thought she looked like Rebecca Chambers. What was it? Resident Evil, I think. Some lame-ass prequal.
She offered a hand and I took it, pushing more than pulling myself up. She still tottered a bit. Just a bit.
"Name's Roy. The answer to that entirely depends on what's going on, but before that, just where the hell am I?" I glanced around the room, still trying to get my bearings.
Small cabin, bunk beds on my right side with a body in the lower one. Aha, so that's the smell. Eugh.(I hate hate haaaate the stench of a rotting body. Makes me wanna heave, no matter how often I run into it. If you think roadkill stinks, you need to speak with your local crime scene techs. They'll set you straight)
"A train in Raccoon Forest, and all these people are just- Dead. I didn't see any lethal injuries on them, but..." She shuddered, her gaze avoiding the body in the room. "You're the first person I've found who wasn't dead, or trying to kill me."
'You've really stepped in it this time, skipper.'
"Okay, wait wait wait. What's with the cosplay, for one? Two, what the hell? This is too far for a joke." I was just kinda irritated by now, what with my headache and dealing with some cosplay chick who was just waaay too into her role. I don't mind the girl dressing up for some kinky roleplay, but that's just not my thing. Seriously. Besides, that gun and kevlar are real; lotta money to blow on a costume. Too much.
She tilted her head, eyebrow quirked, parroting, "Cosplay...? Hey! I'm an officer of the law! And these people are dead, how can you call that a joke?!" She squeaked, indignant.
How can I call that a joke? Easily, I've woken up with a dead body on top of me a la my so-called 'coworkers' who thought it would be a funny prank. Assholes.
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was not in the mood to deal with this. (I just woke up with the hangover of the century, damnit! If she ain't stripping, I don't wanna hear it) "Fine, whatever you say, princess." This is one seriously fucked-up flaming bag of shit. Why did I have to go and step on it?
She scowled, grumbling as she turned and opened the door, stomping out.
Heh, y'know, she looked much cuter like that, for some reason. Must be 'cuz her ass is just out of this world.
Or out of my world, anyway.
Well, I'm lost. Outside the nearest window I saw a forest, and that this was, indeed, a train. From there, I have no fucking clue as to what is going on, so- Welp, fuckit. Got nothing better to do while my head catches up to my ass, so I decided to tag along with the cosplay girl.
I followed behind her, ignoring the angry muttering I heard. Something about handcuffs, a sharpie, and revenge. Eh, I've had worse.
Out the door, to the right, and down a hall. Eesh, this is all looking mighty familiar. At the end of said hallway, was an electronically locked door. Next to it, was the body of a man that looked like he'd been torn apart by something.
I heard a sharp intake of breath from the girl next to me, before she swallowed and knelt, slowly, carefully edging her hand closer to the body, gently plucking a key from its hand. Eheheh, I was tempted to shout 'BOO!' just to see how she reacted.
But I'm not that cruel. Wait.
Footsteps behind us, approaching. Heavy, but soft.
I waited several moments, and just as those footsteps got within four feet I spun, dashed straight at the guy, noting his stunned expression as I drove a fist in his gut, off-hand grabbing the back of his neck and pulling as I side-stepped out of the way, kicking his feet out from under him before driving a knee into the small of his back on the way down.
Within the space of an eyeblink, he was on the floor with my hand on his neck, the other restraining his right arm, and my knee digging into the small of his back.
"UWAH-!" He let out a surprised yelp, startling Rebecca and making her jump.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on strangers?" Keeping my tone neutral is a habit; sounding emotionless scares people a lot more than sounding angry.
I finally got a good look at the guy; big, muscled, tattoo on his right arm(Tribal. How original) and-
And a fucking mullet. Are you kidding me?
Rebecca gave a start. "Lieutenant William Coen!"
My captive looked up, scowling. "Well, at least someone's heard of me. I'd ask if you've been fantasizing about me, but I get the feeling your boyfriend might get a little angry."
First Rebecca, now Billy, and I'm on a train. Someone, somewhere, has a really fucked-up sense of humor.
Somewhere, we see someone in a dark room. The author, sitting in a beanbag chair naked eating cheetos.
"Mwahahahahahaaa, all too right, my friend... All too right. *Munch, crunch*"
Back with Roy, Rebecca and Mr Mullet Warfare.
With a groan, I released Billy, stepping back and once again pinching the bridge of my nose. This is NOT how I imagined this night going down. Damned bitch must've slipped something into my drink.
Scratch that, several somethings. I'm tripping balls, man.
After dusting himself off, Mulletman turned and waltzed away, grumbling and rubbing his shoulder. I think he said something about hating cops. Anyway, Rebecca was about to go running after him when I caught her by the back of her vest and said, "Leave him."
"What?! But he's a wanted criminal! He's a murderer!" Her protests fell on deaf ears.
"I call bullshit on that. He was armed; if he was a murderer, he would've tried to shoot us in the back. And beyond that, he doesn't have the eyes of a killer. Let the Marines worry about him, he's out of your jurisdiction." Fuming, she pulled out of my grasp, stomping down the hall. I simply rolled my eyes, trailing along behind her.
With a sigh, I wondered, 'How in the hell did I get myself into this shit?'
There's no way I'm in a bloody video game. No way, not possible. But if I am, then the next thing to happen-
"EDWARD!" Rebecca screamed, dashing over to a figure that had just dived through one of the windows, and was now resting against one of the walls below said window.
I blinked, snarking to myself, 'I just HAD to go and open my big damn mouth.'
With a sigh, I moved over to the two of them, just missing Edward's last words. Something about monsters.
His head lolled forward, just as he stopped breathing. Rebecca grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, feeling his neck for a pulse. "...Edward? Edward! C'mon, wake up! Ah- I can't-"
Through the window I'd juuust stepped away from, a half-decomposed dog jumped through, landing on its feet, growling at us.
*Cra-CRASHK!* Followed by two more, on the other side. Fuck me running.
Rebecca jumped to her feet, pointing her gun at the nearest dog, arms shaking. "S-stay away! Stay back!"
'Yeah, she's green as grass. Just my luck, stuck with the rookie in a horror movie.'
Just as the dog leaped forward, jaws gaping, I felt my heart give a start, beating faster and faster.
My temples throbbed, heart quickened, lungs filled.
In that instant, everything slowed to a crawl, the edges of my vision turning grey as the rest of it took on an extra-bright hue.
I pulled the gun from Rebecca's hand, a quick spin 'round the trigger guard, righting it in my hand as I levelled the sights on the beast.
Turn, set the front sight.
A double-tap in the second, which fell limp to the floor, whereas the third was already in the air, too close.
I fell back onto instinct, reaching out and catching it by the throat. Just as time seemed to catch up, I jammed the barrel of that 92 between the fucker's teeth. It had only the time to blink, when I pulled the trigger.
"Play dead." Dropping the body, I turned back to look at Rebecca, who was wide-eyed, lips moving, but with no words coming out.(Kinda arousing, that. I was imagining those lovely lips working something else)
I flipped the gun, holding it out to her. "If you intend to live, then when you point this at something, never hesitate to pull the trigger. Hesitation will get you killed, Rebecca."
Still shaking, she retook it without a word, swallowing. Hmph. Rebecca's too weak to go through this. She lacks the killing intent needed to survive such a nightmare. Sighing, I resigned myself to at least help her get through this night alive. Might even get some answers as to how the hell I wound up here.
But in order to do that-
I did a quick check of my pockets, finding that I had my knife on my belt, my lockpick set,(Hey, they're useful if I lock my keys in my car) and flashlight. Lighter and boot knife, too, but that's about it. Damnit, really wishing I had my Glock right about now.
I turned my gaze to the dead guy, Edward. Hmm. Well, best not to look a gift corpse in the mouth.
Taking a knee, I felt the guy's neck. No pulse, no breathing. Eyes are open, no movement, no dilation.
He's dead, with several scratches and bite marks over his body. Reaching back, I drew my knife and slammed it through his temple, twisting once and drawing it out, flicking off the bits left on the blade before sheathing it.
"W-w-What the hell are you doing?!" Ignoring her, I undid Edward's belt, pulling off the pouches on it, setting them aside.
There's what I'm after.
His sidearm, a customized Beretta 92FS. Think they called it the Samurai Edge. I removed his holster and everything else he'd had on his belt, before checking through the pockets on his vest.
Anything useful? C'mon, useful.
Another pair of Beretta magazines, loaded. I dropped them next to the pouches and looked a bit more, finding a wallet and a few other odds and ends. Handcuffs, handcuff keys, folding baton, pepper spray, picture of a woman.
Some useful items, but most of it's bunk.
Ditched the picture and spray, laying out the rest of the stuff.
Hm. I undid my instructor belt, setting the different pouches and packs on it in my prefered places, leaving my knife where it was; after about a minute, I had everything in place. Pistol on my 3-30, ammo on my 10, various utility stuff here and there.
Yep, I'm good to go. I stood, drawing my new gun.
Pull the mag, glance, load. Fourteen rounds. Pull slide, check chamber; one in the pipe, so that's all fifteen, plus the spares.
Two in my pocket, three more on belt. Total of 90 rounds, 9mm JHP. Got roughly forty .308 rounds; guess Eddy here was a DM. Too bad he didn't have his rifle.(He must've dropped it, just like another dumbass we all know)
Well, better than nothing. There was one last thing I needed; reaching down, I pulled Edward's nametag off his vest, and then the STARS patch from his shoulder, pocketing them.
Straightening up, I looked back to where Rebecca was standing, glaring at me. "He doesn't need these anymore and I'd rather not go around armed with only a knife, seeing as you said the dead were attacking." A beat later, and she exploded.
"You didn't have to be so calm about it! He-! He's dead! So show some respect!" She had tears in her eyes, looking on the verge of breaking down crying.
Damnit, I need her stable, not whining.
But, I can't just dress her down like I would a soldier that was losing it; she's too fragile for that.(That wasn't my actual reason; I noted and admitted that later, but at the time I was making an excuse for myself to be gentle about it. I'm a real pushover)
I placed a hand on her shoulder, the other raising her chin to look me in the eye. "Rebecca. I know it hurts to lose a friend, but right now, we can't afford to let emotions override our judgement. The only thing we can do for him now, is survive. And I'll respect him by doing everything in my power to keep you alive." Keeping my voice calm, solemn, and kind, I reassured her the best way I knew how. Dealing with people is, not my strong suit.
She heaved in a shaky breath, suppressing a sob. "*Sniff* O- Okay. Thanks..." Smiling tranquilly, I patted her shoulder, trying my best not to look creepy and/or macabre.(Or perverted, though that's how I felt right about then)
Yeah, I've got a problem looking normal, eheheh. "C'mon, let's get moving." She nodded, gathering herself as I lead the way back into the main passenger compartment.
Inside, I spotted several bodies lying around.
Seeing two lying facedown in the aisle, I asked, "Rebecca, how did you put those things down?"
Seeing them, she shivered. "I- I just shot them. They wouldn't stop, and-"
I nodded, cutting her off. "Very well. From now on, any of those things, zombies, whatever you want to call them, are to be shot in the head. If you can't hit the head, aim for the legs, then put one through their skull. Anything less than a clean headshot is a waste of ammo."
Moving forward, I drew my knife, dropping into a crouch as I took hold of the nearest one's neck, stabbing it the same way I had Edward's corpse; through the temple, twist, extract, rinse and repeat.
Once done, I glanced back to the girl. Her face was pale, eyes wide. "W-why did you-?"
"If this is what I think it is, then nothing short of the destruction of the brain or cerebral cortex will put them down for good. In layman's terms, shoot 'em in the head, break the neck, or remove the head. Forcefully." I looked back towards the other end of the car, reaching for my handgun.
"Then... Just what is it?" She asked, still slightly shaken.
"The Tyrant virus, a bio-chemical weapon developed by the Umbrella corporation. It essentially reanimates recently deceased bioforms, mutating them into hideous creatures retaining only the most basic of urges; the need to feed. The infection is spread through bites, scratches and fluids; only one in ten million are genetically immune to it, so unless you're feeling lucky, I suggest you keep your distance from the infected. And before you ask, no, there isn't any cure that I am aware of. Once infected, you're as good as dead."
Turning, I started for the other door when she called after me. "How do you know all this? And how are you so sure?"
I stopped. "That, I cannot say. There is much I wish to tell you, but not just yet. Once we're back in the city. You're going to have to trust me until then, I'm afraid. As to your other question, there is only one thing I know of that can turn the dead into flesh-eating monsters, and that's the T-virus. Now c'mon, lets get moving before one of the other deadheads wakes up with the munchies." Moving again, I got to the door, grasping the handle.
Rebecca caught up, key in hand when she asked, "Can you at least tell me why you're helping me?"
Hmph. Ack, fuck it, why not.
"As Edward said, there are various other monsters lurking in the forest, looking for someone tasty to chow down on. I don't fancy my chances of outrunning packs of dogs, either.(I was completely serious, too) And to be honest, you remind me of someone I once knew. Beyond that? Well, it's raining and I've got nothing better to do, so why the hell not." I shrugged, as she shook her head and I opened the door.
Stepping through, I raised my gun, checking left and right.
Dark in here, lights are off.
I was moving ahead towards the other door, when the crackling of static filled the air. Rebecca pulled her radio from her belt, responding, "This is Rebecca, over."
Blinking, she called back, "Enrico? Hello! Enrico, do you read me? Please respond!"
After fiddling with the channels for a moment, the Bravo team Captain came back over the radio. "I can hear you, Rebecca. Now listen up. We've found detailed information on the fugitive, William Coen. He has been convicted of killing as many as twenty-three people."
Looking startled, Rebecca murmurred to herself, "T-twenty-three people?" I merely shook my head at the stupidity of this. They're stranded in the forest, radios are mucking around,(Or he's crinkling some tinfoil just to fuck with the rookie. Seems about par for the course, what with the incompetance of everything else) there's a cult of cannibal serial(Mass) killers around, and they're worried about a Marine that's on the run and likely has a several-hour headstart?
What the fuck.
"We've also confirmed that he was institutionalized, so keep your guard up."
"Captain, I've found a civillian on-board a train, the Ecliptic Express. I've... Also confirmed the death of Edward Dewey." But something was wrong.(Very wrong)
All that came back through the radio was static. "Captain? Enrico, are you there? Enrico!"
Nothing but static.
She shook her head, looking troubled.
Well, I better cheer her up a little. "Am I the only one feeling like we're in some cheap B-rated horror movie?" She looked up at my smirking features, a small smile dawning in her own pixie-like face.
"It's starting to feel that way."
Grinning like a crazy bastard, I chuckled, snarking, "Well, at least you're not blonde and I'm not black, so we should be good."(Seriously. It's always either the hot, busty dumbass blonde or the unfortunate token black guy that dies first. What the hell?)
After a moment of futile resistance, she cracked up giggling, shaking her head. "You're awful."
Rebecca opened the door and I stepped through, gun raised, old habits taking over.
Clear. Stairs on left, sliding door to the kitchen straight ahead. We entered, shutting the door behind us. I was moving towards the stairs, expecting it when the door behind us opened once more, and a certain mullet-bearing former Marine entered, looking between the two of us.
When he didn't immediately turn and scamper off, I said, "I take it you've figured out that we're better off working together, too?"
He looked startled for half a second, before nodding. "Yeah. If the dead are coming back with the munchies, we'll stand a better chance of surviving if we cooperate."
"WHAT?! I'm not cooperating with a-" Just as Rebecca was starting to have her little freakout, my arm snapped out and gibsmacked her.
"OW! What was that for?!" She was rubbing a sore spot on the back of her head, scowling.
Coincidentally, it was right where I smacked her. Go figure.
"For not listening, and for being a gullible idiot. Tell me, did you see the court documents on Mr Coen, here?" Okay, time to bullshit my way outta this.
"Huh? Yeah, so what? He was tried and convicted of murdering twenty-three people!"
I nodded sagely. "And how long did it take for them to convict him? Scratch that, how long did it take from the conviction, to the execution date?"
She blinked, thinking back to that paper she'd read.
As she thought on that and her expression changed to that of dawning comprehension, I patted her shoulder. "Now you're getting it, Becs. Whenever a trial is sped up and done with minimal publicity, especially something like a good Marine killing civillians, then somewhere along the way, there's a cover-up going on. Even more so when the punishment for it is an execution. And whenever they schedual an execution within a month of the conviction, there is most definitely some illegal backroom deals going on. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"
I looked back to the subject of our conversation, who looked entirely stunned.(Surprising. Kinda hard to pull off 'stunned' with a mullet)
Beaming, I sniped, "You don't have the eyes of a cold-blooded killer, Billy. Besides, no good murderer would be caught dead with a mullet like that."
. . .
Oh, the look on his face was just priceless as Rebecca and I both busted out laughing. We both shared a good laugh at the former Marine's expense.
Heheh. Anyway. Chuckling aside, I started up the stairs, my two compatriots reluctantly following close behind.
Up topside, we were in the dining room; several fires had broken out, still burning through tableclothes and drywall. On the far side of the room was a lone, elderly man, sitting at a burning table. I remember this.
Resident Evil 0 wasn't my favorite game of the series, but I played it once, one friggin' long-assed time ago, damnit. ONCE!
C'mon, think. The leaches fear fire, right?
On the bar next to us was a box of 9mm rounds, which I passed on to the others before plucking a random bottle of alchohol from behind it. "Bacardi? Agh, damnit. Why is it always the Bacardi?" I was muttering, dreading what I was about to do. I hate to waste good rum.
Popping the cork, I grabbed the nearest tablecloth, just as I noticed-
I grabbed the back of Rebecca's vest, yanking her back again, fiercely whispering in her ear, "What're you, retarded?!"
Of course, she gave me an indignant/puzzled/pissed-off look.(Or some combination of all three. I'd also like to note the very lusty gaze she set on the crotch of my trousers. Or at least, I wish) "What the hell are you talking about?"
I blinked, remembering that they don't know that the Marcus lookalike is a leech zombie.
"That- That thing, over there isn't human. Just keep your distance and watch." I held the molotov in one hand, and pulled off the nearest burning tablecloth in the other, stalking closer to the disguised monster.
I got real close, before lighting the molotov on the burning cloth, and then flung it over the leech zombie, covering it with the burning tablecloth.
Suddenly, an inhuman wailing filled the air, as the stench of burning flesh filled my nostrils.
I hopped well back, carefully watching as the figure of the man broke down into dozens, hundres of leeches. That's when I threw the homemade explosive, turning and tear-assing back to the others. The instant I was next to them, I drew my handgun, spinning and dropping to one knee, taking aim in that very same instant.
Eyes wide, heart pounding, I watched as the leeches burned, and burned.
Rebecca watched on in horror, as the old man she'd been about to help burst into hundreds of leeches. 'Disgusting!' She shivered, thankful that Roy had stopped her from making that mistake.
And then the man she'd met only minutes ago had made a molotov cocktail, burning the things alive. He knew. He knew that thing wasn't human.
"Burn, motherfucker, burn." Roy muttered, eyes entranced by the flames.
"Eugh, nasty. How'd you know about that, anyway?" Billy was puzzled, covering his nose, looking oddly at the man.
Before he could answer, there was-
"Awwwuuhhhaaaahhhh..." Opera singing?
Glancing out the window, she saw a figure atop a hill in the distance, wearing a white gown with long, dark hair.
Roy was on his feet, taking aim when the train gave a jolt, and started to move. "Fuck," He cursed, holstering his weapon with a scowl.
"What the hell? Who started the train?" The former Marine asked, looking back down the stairs.
"Umbrella, or Marcus. Either way." Roy shook his head as he muttered something under his breath, looking like he was under pressure, planning something. "Alright. Both of you, on me. First we'll check the kitchenette, then we'll head down below and go car-by-car. We stick together, no matter what. No one goes alone. Understood?"
His tone brokered no arguement, betraying what would happen if either of them disagreed.(Rebecca wasn't eager to wind up like those zombies from before)
He may not be bigger than Billy, but he looked far more dangerous. For some reason, his eyes sent a shiver down Rebecca's spine; a piercing gaze that reminded her of Captain Wesker, but-
Roy's wasn't cold; behind those dull turquoise stones was a raging hellfire that threatened to destroy whatever stood in his way.
'Or whoever,' She thought with a shudder.
It was unsettling, to say the least. He hides those feelings well, but Rebecca's always had a good feel for people. Even her psychology instructor had said as much, back in college.
If she had to guess, that fire is fueled by pain that he refuses to show. The other thing that she noticed was that whenever his gaze settled on her, those fires seemed to fade and die out, replaced by something softer she couldn't quite recognize. Is that what he meant, when he said she reminded him of someone he once knew?
Back to Roy's POV.(Point of view. Also a type of porn, if you're so inclined)
Moving quickly, I went over to the door to the mini-kitchen, punching a gloved fist(SKD tactical PIG gloves. Very comfortable, still provides adequite protection against cuts and grazes) through the glass window, reaching down and twisting the handle hard. I felt something inside it give and snap, before I shoved the thing open, brushing shards of glass off my sleeve.(Underarmor long-sleeve, high-collar compression shirt. The ladies looove the pecs and six pack)
Whatta we got?
Handgun rounds, green herbs,(The hell IS a green herb, exactly? I don't recognize it from any botany journals I've read) first aid spray, and a key.
I gathered the different items, walking out and nearly into the others as I handed them the different objects, aside from the key.
Billy had an M9; military version of the Beretta 92FS. Decent firearm, but I didn't care all that much for it. When you can only use FMJ rounds, then stick to a larger calibur, ie 45ACP or 40S&W. That way you don't need to put five or six rounds in a target to put him on the ground. Not to mention, such an open design isn't meant for hard use in harsh enviornments. Sand, mud, dirt and grit gets right into the action, fucks up the whole gun. I prefer the old short-recoil 1911; much better design. Simple, accurate, easy to work on and very, very reliable if you don't fuck with it.
FMJ and service mags, people. You don't need a match barrel unless you want 2 inch groups at fifty yards and regular springs are perfectly fine. If it ain't broke, don't fuck, er, 'fix' it.
Anyway, pet peevs aside.
He only had a few mags worth, so I passed him the ammo box.(50 rounds. Rebecca had gotten most of the last box) Rebecca had the med kit, so she got the herb and spray.(Didn't feel like carrying them, myself)
The key I kept in-hand as I trotted down the stairs and through the door, leading the way as my toadies trailed along behind me. In the next car-
I drew my gun, taking aim without breaking pace. Two in the aisle; first shot through his forehead, second clocked the guy behind him right between the eyes. Turn, one O'clock. Last shot dropped the final Z-boy, who was standing up from a seat; all three of them dropped to the floor within moments of each other.
Gun up, I moved straight to the other door, carefully hopping over the fallen bodies as I went. Tugging it open, I had turned just in time to see Billy trip over one and fall flat on his face.
"Real smooth, Mr Mullet Warfare."
. . .
"Oh, so you're a comedian, huh?" He grumbled, getting back to his feet.
"I'm a jackass of many talents. And just so you know, if you're going to shoot any of the undead wandering around, aim for the head. Body shots are just wasting brass." When I finished giving him that bit of info, I tugged the door open, stepping through with my gun raised.
Clear. Moving swiftly, I crossed the car and got to the door just as they were crossing the midway point. I let them through and pulled up the rear, shutting the door behind us. Rebecca looked a little anxious, but said nothing. Hmph.
'Keep it together, police girl.'
I moved past them, down the hall and around the bend, just past the stiff. Second-to-last door of the area; Conductor's cabin. Those two caught up with me, the girl edging warily past her dead coworker, her gaze avoiding his corpse. Ah; she felt guilty, I suppose. Hm.
Pulling the key from my pocket, I unlocked the door and opened it, stepping through with my gun raised.
No surprises in here, not yet, anyway.
"Clear." I heard the others stepping inside, shutting the door. A quick glance around revealed everything we needed. Pistol and shotgun rounds, a first aid spray, map of the train, button on the wall, and of course, a barely-concealed briefcase that held our ticket outta here.
"Huh... Now all we need's a shotgun. Great." The former-Marine sniped, rolling his eyes.
"Perhaps," I took up the shells, getting a quick count. 25 in the case, hell yeah.
Sweet. Opening it, I dropped the 00 Buck rounds into the two empty cases on my belt, the rest falling in alongside the 7.62 ammo. Good to go. I ditched the case, passing the pistol rounds to the other two. They'll need it more than I will.
I opened the closet and nabbed the briefcase, looking it over. Fairly simple but elegant affair, very well-crafted. Probably very expensive, as well.
"Either of you care to bet there's something useful inside?"
Billy just shrugged. "Go for it."
"Don't know. Maybe?" Rebecca mimicked his Air Force salute before they shared a glance, and she turned away with just a leeeetle huff. Heheh, cute.
Pulling my knife as I holstered my sidearm, I sliced through the side bellowing and reached inside, fingers searching.
Aha! Got it. Keycard to the lead car. Alright, just skipped a good fifteen minutes of dicking around. Now to figure this out; should we head straight to the engine, and possibly stop before the canon, or go and fuck off for a few minutes, possibly risking an even worse crash than the game detailed?
The decision you make here... Will forever change your life as you knew it.
Yo. Added some new stuff, a better intro to our anti-hero. Adding new content based on the new RE2 remake.
Someone asked me about Roy. He's definitely inspired by Deadpool, essentially being a superhuman psycho. Not quite completely insane, but definitely walking a razor's edge between sane and insane. His personality, while rather unstable at times, reflects several shades of Nathan Filion; his sense of humor and wit, his casual and irreverent demeanor, etc.
If it helps, you can imagine Nathan voicing him. If that completely ruins your mental image of Roy...
Too bad. Mwahahahahaha.
There is a shout-out to one of my all-time favorite authors on here, a certain miss Tani2. She has one of the single greatest Resident Evil fics I have ever read: "Leon? A word please"
That, is the best fic you'll find. Period, end of report. No offense to any other writer or hopeful writer, but if you want to learn a thing or two, go and read her story. Unfortunately, she has not updated the sequel to her RE fic, so we're SOL for now. At least until she remembers that she has an account on here.(Wishful thinking, I know)
Ahem. Even if you're not a fan of romance stories, you'll find more than enough humor in Tani2's works to make it worth the read. I guarantee it. Now, if you want to find out just what the reference was, you'll need to go read her RE story to find out. Mwahahaha.
There's also one from COD Black Ops 2,
Anyway, thanks for reading. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this, but rest assured I'll be working on it.