Author's Note

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=664T5ScFabk&t

Raccoon City

Running through the Raccoon City P.D proved to be much more difficult than Hunk had anticipated.

But he wasn't named Hunk without reason.

Every hallway crawled with zombies. Every corner had some sort of infected abomination on the other side. The deformed experiments that used to dwell below had risen to the surface. It would be easier to deal with if he wasn't being chased by the very thing that Umbrella unleashed onto the city: T-00, or the Tyrant. Also known as Mister X throughout the base.

Just as he made it into the main lobby of the P.D, radio static buzzed in his helmet.

"Heads up, guys at the top just ordered a full cleanup on Raccoon City, so move fast, or you can kiss your ass goodbye."

All he could respond with was, "Got it."

He didn't train to be filled with fear. He understood the consequences of each mission he was tasked with. Each mission with it's own secrets, secrets that only he knew. He knew that each time he went out with a new squad, he could die, or even be the last one left. After all, that was why he got his codename.

Only armed with a simple pistol, a Hawk Magnum, an LE-5 Submachine Gun, and a W-870 shotgun, he quickly ran out of options against the horde of infected he was battling through. Each bullet spent was a commitment. Each grenade used was a get-out-of-jail card that was used up. And each small medical kit used was a reminder of imminent death.

The Tyrant was persistent, evil, and unstoppable. No matter how far he got ahead of it, he would be trailing behind.

"Times up, Hunk!"

He was almost out, but he knew that he might not make it. "Go, Nighthawk."

"What? I'm not just going to leave you here-"

"This is war. Survival is your responsibility."

If he wasn't going to make it out, he wasn't going to let Nighthawk get blown away with him. Whether he gets out or not, the situation was for the better. If he made it out, he would get a ride back to base, and give back the G-VIrus. If not, and he gets blown away in the blast, the virus will never become public knowledge. Either way, his life would've mattered.

Well, perhaps not to Umbrella. All they cared about was the virus. They didn't care whether he made it out alive.

He was close. Very close to the entrance. Only a minute or two more, and he'd be out in the front. Sure, it wouldn't have amounted to anything without an escape from the blast, but he could tell himself that in the end, he made it out of hell itself. The P.D was by far the worst scenario he had been put in. All odds were stacked against him, and he was only barely making it.

He made it to the courtyard. Kicking the fence-gate open and making his way into it, he found himself feeling a strange tingle all around his body. Perhaps it was the herbs finally wearing off? No, it couldn't be, because within a couple of seconds, he felt himself falling. Everything was black, and everything around him a second ago was gone.

Why?