RADICALISATION, resident evil [1] ✓

⤿ ii. for the lost souls

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𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜: 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠

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Raccoon City — September 28th, 1998

     He doesn't know how long he sleeps behind the counter of the corner store, and it's impossible to tell by the sky because of the dark clouds promising rain soon, but he has a feeling that it's been at least eight or nine hours going by how cramped up he feels. Unzipping the sleeping bag, he wiggles free and reaches for his half-drunk bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and drinking the rest despite how his already full bladder protests at the addition. Munching on another granola bar for breakfast, he rolls up and tucks away the sleeping bag even though there's really no need, not anymore.

     Scanning the perimeter, he spots the toilets just off to the side and sighs in relief, strapping his tactical belt back on and picking up his bag, not wanting to leave them lying around on the off chance that he has to make a quick escape. One of the toilets hisses and snarls at him, the locked door rattling, and he rolls his eyes, kind of glad that the person in there had the brains to lock themselves in before they succumbed to the Virus. The other toilet isn't terrible, per say, because it could be very much worse, but the stench still makes his nose wrinkle.

     Just as he finishes his business, a shrill scream pierces the air and he jerks, spinning around and closing the door, sliding the bolt across to lock himself inside. Heart hammering in his chest, he looks up to the barred window and curses his luck, fingers tapping a nervous and chaotic pattern upon his thighs. He hopes that the scream belongs to some random stranger and not Jill, but he's in no way wanting to find out whether it's his old friend or not. Hell, he hopes that the scream is human in the first place, and not something new that the Virus has created.

     Gunfire sounds in the distance and he inhales sharply, eyes slipping closed as he tries to ignore the swelling emotions within his chest at the sound. His memory is a little blurry on the details of the days before he woke up in the hospital, but he can quite clearly recall an absurd amount of gunfire around him, along with blood and screams that chill him to the bone. A deep, dark part of him knows what happened, but the truth has been locked away from his conscious self, and he's kind of glad for that right now.