A Resident Evil/Biohazard
fan fic by Greg Stubbs
September 27, 1998, shortly before the events of Resident Evil 3…
-“Ahhh!!! It’s got my leeeggg!!!!” RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.
-“Hang on Philips!!, Ill help you, just- ahhhhhhhhhhh!!”
Raccoon Prison inmate Rob Flanigan stood silently in his small cell as the pathetic, dying security guards’ bloodcurdling screams echoed sharply off the white walls, the booming sound of the emergency alarm ringing in his ears. Chaos filled the air as the overhead lights flickered on and off like flashes of lightning. The attacking had been going on for hours now, and he still didn’t know the cause of it. Flanigan scratched his pale, bald head and rubbed his dark beard while trying to think of the quickest way out of the prison facility. He could climb through the air ducts, but there’s a good chance that they are too small for an adult to fit in.
Perhaps I should go through the front door? Heh, yeah right.
If it were only that simple. The tall prisoner leaned against the wall and decided to think about what he should do later, as the sprinkler system in the concrete ceiling sprayed dirty water all over his head and orange coveralls. There must have been a fire somewhere. The tall bald man stared down at the dust-covered, stone floor; he was eagerly hoping for the killers to eventually bust open the 400lb steel door to his cell. Eagerly hoping to cut his back-to-back life sentences short about fifty years and escape this concrete hell hole that kept him incarcerated. The chances of this happening were slim, but it was the only hope the man had of getting out of his cramped, stale cell. The wall was vibrating under his sweaty, tattoo-covered hand because of the booming gunshots down the dark hallway. The shots eventually stopped a few minutes later however. The remaining guards probably ran out of ammo. Stupid insignificant maggots. After all of the times that they rammed their fucking night-sticks into his back, it was hard to feel sorry for them. Besides, he was a cold-blooded killer and knew it; he would have killed them in a split second if it meant a chance to escape.
“Wait, I, I have a family, two kids!! NOOoooooo!!!”
Heh, kinda sounds like my victims. Maybe I can escape with these guys and leave them behind when I make it out of town. Flanigan confidently thought to himself with a sinister grin on his white face.
The prisoner thought of all of the possible explanations for whom the killers were and came to the conclusion that they were fellow inmates who miraculously found a way out of their cells. This came across as strange to Flanigan, for he was able to break out of every facility he’d been to except for this one. It seemed impossible to escape. There might have been a way, but it appeared that Raccoon City had just about every angle covered when it came to securing their prisons. An endless amount of guards, extremely strong walls that were really thick, the list goes on. This painfully evident fact made Flanigan scowl bitterly every time it ran through his mind. The thought of staying in this rock for the remaining years of his life made him shutter. Besides, it was quite apparent that he didn’t peticularly feel like he deserved to have his freedom taken away from him.
So a few people died, it wasn’t my fault. Well….maybe it was, but I had a lot on my mind that year….
And the thought that he was so close to getting away infuriated Rob Flanigan even more. He thought back to that day in late 1997 when he was finally caught, that fateful day when he was thrown into this tiny-ass jail cell. He was staying in a very small cabin in the Raccoon forest, a hideout that served its purpose well for it was deep into the woods. He was surprised he was even able to find it. The location was considerably remote as well. Hell, the only place that was even remotely nearby was some mansion, and he doubted there were any cops there. But one day he was found out. This was because of some jackass S.T.A.R.S. member who stuck his nose way too far into something that wasn’t his business, and went out of his way to locate Flanigan’s whereabouts. Barry Burton he thinks the name was. So, to make a long story short, the S.T.A.R.S. discovered his cabin and chased him through the forest for days. Flanigan thought he was pretty far ahead of them when he unexpectedly ran into Burton. After Burton shot him twice in the knee, Flanigan was incarcerated once again.
But with any luck, I won’t be for long, Burton. So when I do get out, consider yourself dead.
Flanigan’s violent thoughts were cut off when he suddenly heard a loud pounding on the door. Although this filled him with hope, the door was probably not going to budge. Flanigan shook his head with disapproval as he paced the small cell.
You can’t get a steel door open by just pounding on it, you bastards. You need to have dozens and dozens of people to do that.
Flanigan then began to notice a strong sour smell filling the small room. He had been smelling this putrid odor for a while now, but it was never nearly this strong. He held his nose tightly, annoyed. There also seemed to be a series of moans coming from the other side of the door. Something about these killers wasn’t right. Even if they were rapists or mass murderers, it was something else. He imagined that a prison inmate who was trying to get out of a massive, heavily guarded facility would want to be quiet about it. Maybe Flanigan was wrong about them being inmates who want to break out. These guys were just sloppy; they barged into the hallway, attracting all of the guards they could. Are they even trying to escape?
The pounding was quickly becoming faster and more violent as the rattling steel door came closer to giving away. Flanigan backed up a few feet, his back now touching the wall opposite the door. For some very odd reason, they were pounding on the oversized piece of steel as if they needed to get to him.
SMMASH!!! The defeated door feel to the ground like a domino as dust clouded Flanigan’s cell. Covering his eyes, the prisoner slid along the moist wall into the right-hand corner of the room. Despite being blinded by the lingering dust, Flanigan heard a bunch of dragging sounds only a few feet away. The odd moaning was now louder than ever, echoing off the walls like a banshee.
What the hell?
Flanigan quickly opened his eyes and through the dying cloud of dust he saw a group of security guards and inmates crowding around the doorway to his cell. Confused, he stood up wiping the dust from his eyes and took a step forward. Something wasn’t right here. After the dust cleared up, he got a good view of the closest security guard’s face and was reminded three years back of a body he had in the back of his pick up for two weeks straight. Rotted, bloody, torn up clothing, missing body parts, and most of all: dead. Still confused, Flanigan quickly accepted this and knew what he had to do.
The moaning swarm of the corpse-like group of former inmates and security guards began to slowly flow into the wet prison cell, their slowly putrifying feet sluggishly sliding across the slippery ground. If there were fewer of them, they would be moving much faster because all of the stupid bastards were desperately trying to get through the door at the same time. They seemed to have lost their intelligence as well as their skin. This escape may be easier than he thought. Flanigan scanned his mind and could only think of one possible way to avoid getting his skin torn off by these “things”.
Without thinking any longer, he perched himself on his tiny cot that was just a foot away and dove head-first into the flow of the incoming undead. Because of his large build, the lanky zombies fell like bowling pins under the 290lbs of tattoo and muscle that made up Flanigan. The result of his dive had been perfect, except that he landed flat on his face directly onto a dead inmate’s body, and Flanigan was now at the open doorway which led to a gray, dimly lit hallway were there were more flickering lights and water sprinklers spraying everywhere. Flanigan grinned as the mass of hopeless cannibals were still inside the room, struggling to recover from the fall.
As he instantly got back on his feet, Flanigan scanned the ground, and his dark eyes caught a glimpse at a smooth, black nightstick underneath a dead security guard’s hand. He swiped it within a split second and stood straight up. A few of the zombies were already on their feet as well, while others persued their attack by dragging their decaying carcasses along the cold floor. Flanigan knew it was time to go, now. Only a staggering security guard was close enough to bite him, its expressionless, skeletal face and beady white eyes were faced directly at him as it limped through the doorway and into the hall.
Sorry fucker, you’re got going to feast on my flesh. Eat this instead.
WABAAM!! The head of the clumsy, approaching corpse twisted off as Flanigan’s new toy whipped hard against its bony face, the rest of its disgusting body spinning to the ground, its blood mixing in with the water from the sprinklers.
Too easy. And they don’t call for backup either.
Flanigan left the rest of the zombies behind as he made his was down the gray, concrete hallway. He looked down at the mass of dead people that completely covered the ground, the water from the sprinklers drenching what was left of their bodies and their clothes. He liked these dead people better because they don’t walk around and try to take a bite out of him.
It felt good to finally leave his cell while not being cuffed and escorted by police officers. Hopefully this was the day of his escape. While it appeared to be a tragedy that people were turning to zombies and others were being eaten, it wasn’t a tragedy to Flanigan. He wanted to be free, and this chaos, regardless of how it started, was his ticket out of here. He didn’t consider himself a evil man though, just a misunderstood one. In his opinion, evil men are guys who play golf and go home to their nice houses in the suburbs. No, Flanigan wasn’t evil, not in his eyes at least. Sure, the prison officials did announce him to be totally insane and felt the need to lock him up in a cell for the rest of his days, but Flanigan thought he could easily live on the outside. The only problem was his burning desire to kill. But hey, what are you gonna do.
One ramshakled hallway after another, Flanigan was getting closer to the front door. It is ironic that that is how he’d be leaving this prison, but hey, it’s ironic that people would turn into the walking dead. Despite all of this horror, all of this chaos, Flanigan couldn’t care less about how it all got started. It might have been some sort of strange disease, but it didn’t matter nonetheless. This was the way it was and this is how it was gonna be.
From time to time, Flanigan would encounter more walking corpses walking around cluelessly, desperately trying to eat bloody flesh. As they would approach him, he would simply beat them to death with his nightstick, their dark blood splattering against the white walls. This put Flanigan in a good mood because many of the zombie inmates were former enemies of his. He was overjoyed when he came across the warden. Flanigan peered at him as the rotting bastard shuffled by the door to the cafeteria.
That’s for takin my weight-lifitng privledges away.
As Flanigan continued walking, his shoes making bloody foot prints across the body-infested tile floor, he saw that most of the other prisoners were out of their cells and either dead or undead. However, he did pass a couple of locked cells and heard the pounding of inmates still trying to get out. Flanigan payed them no mind however. He was in a hurry to leave. He hated this place, even more then he hated high school, and wanted to get into the good old outdoors. Hopefully the rest of the area would be zombie infested like it is here, but probably not the whole city. Maybe he was one of the very few survivors? Now that would be nice.
After a few minutes of walking, Flanigan discovered something strange about some of the dead bodies. There were a few of them who’s parts of their body were cut off clean. Other bodies were missing an entire pair of arms or legs. This couldn’t have been done by the zombies, they lack the strength. What the hell did that then? It was only a minute later when Flanigan discovered the answer to his question
“Click, click, click..” Flanigan heard a light tapping coming from the front desk. He nudged around the corner and saw the mass of papers and computers, along with a dead police officer, that made up the desk, but still did not find the cause of the clicking. Flanigan stepped out in the open and discovered that there was nothing there. Oh well, the front door was only a few seconds away. It was finally-
Flanigan shot his head around at the office just at the left of the front desk. In a split-second, the door slammed open, and a wounded female police officer came limping out.
“Y, you’ve gotta help me!! I-”
Out of nowhere came some sort of moist, giant tenticle. It quickly rapped around the woman’s neck, as she gurgled violently. Flanigan then thought he saw a claw rip its way straight through the woman’s stomach. He heard a light hissing in the office while he police officer gurgled a bit longer and then fell lifelessly toward the ground. And out it came, some sort of creature.
It was some sort of monster with no skin, no eyes, and a brain that was easily visible. There was also a set of large teeth. It made its way out of the office and over the woman’s body, its talon-like claws clicking on the shiny tile floor. Flanigan held his nightstick tightly as the creature hissed more and moved a bit closer toward the front desk were he was standing.
It paused for a second and then leaped briskly in the air with amazing speed, its oversized claw ripping into Flanigan’s large forearm.
“Ahhhhh, fuck!!” he exclaimed in pain.
The creature then leaped in the air again, this time aiming to kill him. Luckily, as the deformed creature was in midair, Flanigan clocked it in its face with the hard nightstick. The creature lost focus and tumbled dizzily to the ground, landing hard on its stomach. Before it had a chance to get up, Flanigan placed his heavy shoe on the back of its neck, the creature’s arms and legs waving rapidly in the air.
You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?
The former inmate then proceeded in belting the creature’s brain repeatedly, until a dark ooze came gushing out. The creature hissed for the last time as its blood created a small pond in the floor.
Flanigan stepped off the creature and held his bleeding arm as he made his way to the front glass doors. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He pushed the doors open and looked up at the star-filled sky, the pale moonlight casting across his pale face. It felt good to be free.