Chapter Text
It is the end of the world, and being the logician that you are, you are positive that you are going to die.
You listen to the sounds of screams and gunshots outside as you cower behind the counter of the antique shop, clutching a small crank radio in your hands. The radio blares on about evacuation orders and containment efforts, but you can’t be bothered to listen to any of it. From what you’ve already heard, there is a viral outbreak turning people into zombies across the city, and that is all you need to know to feel certain of your inevitable death. There is simply no getting around the fact that you are small, unarmed, and alone. You don’t stand a chance against the zombie hordes outside, and it is only a matter of time before one of them realizes you are huddled up in here and comes breaking through the window or the door.
With a deep sigh, you rummage around in the bag sitting on the floor beside you. When the outbreak first started, you filled the bag with what little survival necessities you had immediate access to: a flashlight, a water bottle, and some snack bars. You pull out a snack bar and tear back the wrapper. You might as well enjoy one last meal before you die, even if it is just a cheap processed bar of tasteless oats.
Before you can take a bite, however, you hear a thud coming from the front of the shop. The snack bar falls from your hands and to the floor. A feeling of absolute dread overcomes your entire body as the possibilities of what it could be race through your head. Shaking more than you would like to admit, you slowly peek out from behind the counter to see what caused the sudden noise. Silhouetted against the front door is a humanoid figure, hunched over and mangled. Its bony fingers scratch fruitlessly against the glass as it stares in your direction with clouded eyes. You dart your head back behind the counter, praying to whatever deities may be listening that the horrendous thing didn’t see you.
CRASH!
A scream escapes you at the sound of shattering glass, followed by a faint groan that emanates from the front of the shop. Looking back out from behind the counter, you see that the zombie has smashed through the glass front door. It shambles toward the counter, completely disregarding the broken glass digging into its bare feet.
You had previously thought that, when presented with death, you would go quietly. You hadn’t accounted for adrenaline. Without even processing what you are doing, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, then jump to your feet. With the best aim and strength you can muster, you chuck the crank radio at the zombie. Miraculously, you manage to hit it square in the face. The throw is too weak to do any damage, but it does disorient the horrendous creature long enough for you to jump over the counter and juke around the side of the shop toward the front door. You don’t even bother to open the door, simply opting to jump through the broken frame.
Now outside for the first time since the onset of this citywide apocalypse, you can finally take in the true extent of the chaos. Broken glass and abandoned vehicles litter the streets. Everywhere you look, something is on fire. The screams and gunshots are much clearer, along with distant police sirens and the overhead sound of a few helicopters.
A groan resonates behind you, and you turn just in time to see the zombie from before reaching toward you. You swat its hand away before taking off down the street, thankful that you wore boots comfortable enough to run in. You have no idea where you are going or what you are going to do. All you know is that you want to be anywhere except here.
You continue down the street at top speed, fueled by your adrenaline. You once took comfort in the beauty of the city lights; now they just disorient you as you try to navigate through the night. In your disoriented haze, it takes you much too long to realize that the street you are on is a dead-end. You skid to a halt at the chain-link fence blocking your way, heart pumping out of your chest and lungs breathing so hard that it burns. You thread your fingers through the fence openings, exhaustion catching up to you. Looking around, you realize that you have no idea where you are. You must have run at least several blocks, and now your stamina is shot.
Your stomach drops as you hear several groans and shuffling feet behind you. You do a 180 to meet the gaze of your hungry pursuers, and to your horror, there must be at least ten of them. There is no way you can dodge around all of them to head back the way you came. Self-preservation instincts kicking in, you look around the area frantically for any method of escape. Your eyes fall on a dark and narrow alley, and without a second thought, you bolt toward the passageway in hopes of escape.
To your relief, you can see lights on the other end of the alley; a viable escape route. Your sprint gradually turns into a run, then a jog, then a clamber. Your legs are exhausted, and you can hardly breathe from all this running. You silently pray that whatever is on the other end of this alley will allow you some form of respite.
You stop dead in your tracks as the street comes into clear view. What awaits you is most certainly not respite. Rather, there is a man… person… thing? It towers over its surroundings, standing at what must be at least eight feet tall. Clad in leather boots, leather gloves, leather scraps, and a leather skirt, it stands with its back toward the alley, scanning the area. Despite the chaos and danger that permeates the city, it seems completely unperturbed.
A groan sounds from down the street, and you look to see a zombie staggering in the creature’s direction. The creature doesn’t even bother to look. The zombie continues to approach, arms outstretched in ravenous and mindless hunger. Still, the creature doesn’t react. As the zombie gets closer and closer, you begin to fear that maybe the creature is just a person who is unaware of the zombie's approach. You open your mouth to shout out a warning, but you immediately choke back your voice when the creature suddenly turns toward the zombie and, with little care, dispatches it with a swift impaling through the face using a tentacle-like appendage extended from its right hand.
You don’t have much time to process what just happened before a chorus of groans echoes down the alleyway. Turning around, you see that the zombies from the previous street have followed you into the alley in hungry pursuit. Your heart skips a beat when you come to the horrific realization that you are now stuck between a mob of zombies and a tentacled monster that just obliterated a zombie without a second thought.
Your head swivels back and forth, taking in your only two options. Eaten by zombies, or impaled? Neither option is particularly appealing. With a shudder, you accept your fate and decide to take the easiest way out. Being eaten alive sounds like a long and excruciating experience; perhaps an impaling will be quick and painless.
You step out of the alley, knees hardly able to support your body. You watch with dread as the creature turns slightly, clearly made aware of your presence. You close your eyes, anticipating the end. However, the end doesn’t come. After several moments have passed, you peek open an eye to see what is taking so long.
The creature has turned to face you, and your hands rush to your mouth to hold in a horrified scream. It has no skin from the lips down, revealing completely receded gums and exposed muscles. One side of its face is scarred and stapled over itself, rendering that eye useless if not completely missing. The other eye is cloudy and white, narrowed in a perpetual grimace.
You stand there for what feels like an eternity, exchanging stares with this hideously mutilated abomination. What is it waiting for? Isn’t it going to kill you? To your surprise, it turns away from you and begins walking down the street, completely uninterested in your presence. You gawk after it, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you are still alive and, in fact, not impaled.
A groan snaps you back to reality, and a glance over your shoulder reminds you that the zombies are still approaching. A thought then plants itself in your mind; it is a borderline insane thought, but it is a thought nonetheless. No matter where you go, there will always be more running, more dead-ends, more zombies. You know that you will eventually succumb to exhaustion or reach a true dead-end that you cannot escape. Slowly but surely, the zombies will win, and you will die.
This gigantic creature, however, seems to have no interest in you. And as a bonus, it is capable and willing to dispatch any zombies that are stupid enough to wander too close. Perhaps, if you tag along with this creature, its presence will protect you from the zombies until the outbreak is brought under control or you find some way to escape the city.
You don’t have too much time to think about it, as you are acutely aware that the zombies are now flowing out of the alley and in your general direction. With a cautious energy in your gait, you head in the direction of the creature, quickly closing ground. You fall into step a few feet behind it, and it turns its head to glance at its new tagalong, but upon seeing you it loses any interest and returns its focus to the street ahead.
Now that you feel some semblance of safety, your heartrate and breathing start to calm. With this returning calm comes your returning rationality, and you decide to take a moment to analyze the situation. You are in the heart of Raccoon City, meaning that reaching the outskirts for evacuation is unlikely. Your best bet will be to survive in the city as long as possible until the outbreak is contained or you can be assisted with evacuation. As for the creature, you aren’t sure what to make of it. It has the physical structure of a human, aside from its massive size. Humans, however, distinctly lack tentacular appendages and mutilated faces. Upon further examination, you note that the creature also has a strange device on its chest that is attached to the back of its neck with a pulsing tube. It also appears to be searching for something by the way its single eye continuously scans the cityscape. Could it be alien? At this point, where the zombie apocalypse has become reality, nothing would surprise you.
You wonder if the creature knows how to speak and consider trying to strike up a conversation with it. It seems like a harmless idea, but your mind trips over itself trying to think of what to say. The last thing you want to do is make it mad by saying something wrong. After some more thought, you consider that an introduction would be a safe bet.
You clear your throat before you speak, your voice slightly raspy from the fair bit of screaming you have done today. “Uh, my name is (y/n). Do you have a name?”
The creature continues along its path, looking everywhere except at you. You are unsure if its lack of response is due to an inability to understand you, an inability to speak, or just a complete disregard for your existence.
“Ah, strong silent type.” You twist your hands together awkwardly, disappointed in the lack of engagement. You were hoping for some answers. You try to come up with something else to say, hoping that if you keep pushing it will eventually speak up. “I suppose you aren’t from around here like I am. I mean, I wasn’t born here. I was born out of state. But I moved here after my uncle passed away. I inherited an antique shop from him, see, and I thought it might be interesting to get out of my comfort zone a little bit.” You shrug. “It’s not the most glamorous job, but it pays the bills, and what else can you ask for? But you know, I’m not actually that fond of the city life. I’ve always dreamed of living in a little house in the mountains, maybe next to a small town. Man, that just sounds amazing. Maybe I should have moved to Stone Ville and just commuted into the city every day.”
You look up and examine the creature’s face for any sign of acknowledgement, but there is none to be found. You sigh. This is going to be a long, boring survival experience, isn’t it?
You tense at the faint sound of growling, causing you to look around frantically for approaching zombies. There are none to be found, however, and you start to relax. You must be hearing things.
Then you hear it again and, with a feeling of foolishness, realize that it originates from your own stomach. You remember dropping your snack bar in the antique shop before you could eat it to satiate your hunger. You sling forward your bag from over your shoulder and dig around until your hand meets another one of the snack bars you packed. With a clean tear, the wrapper is removed and stuffed back into your bag. You raise the bar to your mouth, eager to fill your stomach with some sustenance.
You pause, looking down at the snack bar in your hand, then up at the creature walking in front of you. All living things need food, right? Perhaps, if you give it food, it will be persuaded to your usefulness and maybe even answer some of your questions. You increase the speed of your steps until you are right beside the creature, then reach the bar up toward it as an offering. Much to your shock, it bothers to glance in your direction, glaring at you with that single white eye.
“Uh, are you hungry?” you ask quietly, voice trembling. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
The creature comes to a halt and turns to face you. You feel all the blood drain from your face as it examines the food, then you, then the food again, as if trying to assess whether to accept your offer or just kill you on the spot for daring to make such a ridiculous proposition. After an excruciating amount of time, the creature lifts its hand toward yours and slowly takes the snack bar from your grip. It holds the bar in front of its face, turning it this way and that in what you could almost call curiosity.
“It’s, uh, food. You can eat it,” you explain, pointing at your mouth in case it doesn’t understand your words.
The creature watches you, then glares back at the food. You watch as the creature parts its teeth and tosses the whole snack bar into its mouth, not even bothering to chew before swallowing. You exhale a held breath, relieved that things didn’t go horribly awry. The creature then turns its attention back to you, and you decide to take this opportunity to try conversing with it again.
“You ready to talk now?” you inquire.
“S.T.A.R.S.” the creature growls in a deep, menacing voice unlike anything you have ever heard. It sends a chill down your spine and makes your hairs stand on end.
“Uh, what… What does that mean?” you ask.
The creature doesn’t answer. Instead, it hunches over until it is eye level with you, an amazing feat considering that the thing is over eight feet tall and you are the shortest person you know. It stops with its face just inches from yours, and you can feel its hot breath on your skin. You can’t even bring yourself to blink as the creature’s single eye scans over your face, analyzing some unknown variable of your being. It takes a step back and extends its examination to the rest of your body, from the top of your head down to your feet and back up again. It seems to be contemplating something, almost appraising.
“Um… What are you do-”
Your voice cuts off with an abrupt squeak when the creature reaches out and grabs your arm. You know its massive hand could easily snap your bony arm like a twig if you were to recoil, so you simply freeze, hoping that if you stand still long enough it will eventually lose interest.
It does not lose interest. Instead, the creature lifts you up and throws you down next to a vehicle parked a few feet away. Trembling with confusion and fear, you scramble to your feet using the car as support. By the time you collect your bearings, the creature has closed the distance between itself and you. Its colossal figure looms over you as you lean back against the vehicle. You’ve always been small, but never have you felt so tiny, so insignificant, like a speck that can just be flicked away without a care.
When you first learned of the zombie apocalypse taking place outside, you told yourself that anything could happen. Anything could go wrong. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for anything and everything.
But you certainly didn’t prepare yourself for what happened next.