The Basement - Casey/Hunk/Penny

[Queen of Cunts]

She followed him timidly out of the elevator car, flinching at the sound of his pistol firing. She kept the box he had given her clasped close to her chest, hoping it would yield some kind of answer before too long. She was well aware of the burden she was being, and she wanted to help, especially if this man was working for the Company. He would get them out alive, and it was important for her to repay that. Her adoptive father had always taught her the importance of “keeping her accounts balanced”, and repaying any debts she felt she had. A strange man saving her life was definitely a debt that needed to be paid.

The kitchen was a lot like the one she had grown up in at her adoptive parents’ townhouse, if a little larger and in a state of greater disrepair. She had certainly never seen a dead body in her old home. Still, she was slowly but surely learning to bear with such sights. It wouldn’t do to lose her head again, especially with someone else counting on her to keep it.

She heard something and turned her head to see where it had come from. There was a door standing ajar on the left wall. She was certain she had heard a voice echoing from it. She went over and pulled it open, peering out into the murky corridor beyond. It was dark, but she could see by the dim lights that it extended out to a corner.

“I think,” she said, trying to summon the courage to speak frankly with the masked man behind her, “that there’s someone else down here. We should... We should try to help them.”

He looked at her silently, as though he was weighing up his options. In the end, he advanced towards her, as though he was going to drag her away. Instead, he brushed past her and stepped out into the corridor, leading the way. He clicked on a lamp, illuminating the passage ahead, and she followed along behind.

They rounded the corner, and the sounds of a voice in distress became more apparent. By the time they found the man chained to the wall, she had drawn level with her rescuer. She put her hand out to see if she could help the bound man, but her protector grabbed her wrist.

“No,” he said, nodding towards what looked like a generator conduit built into the wall, “the chains are rigged. You’ll cook if you touch them.”

[Damen]

He wasn't sure just what it was that had caused him to stir from his slumber. It may have been the ringing in his ears that never went away or it may have been the sound of dripping water from somewhere nearby that was barely able to make itself noticed over the ringing only he could hear.

Most likely, however, it was the cold and pain from the shackles that were biting into his wrists as he hung limply against the stone wall.

One thing kept going through his mind: Keep calm and assess the situation. It was clear, even in the low light, that he was bound to a cold rock wall across from a generator of some sort. Glancing down, he saw he still had everything on him that he was wearing as he tracked his fugitive through the woods, sans his weapons, which wasn't exactly a huge surprise. He looked upward, observing the shackles which held him and gave them a sharp jerk downward. Whoever installed the eye-bolt that his chains were laced through did a good job; it held fast without any visible movement. His eyes caught the wires leading from the bolt up along the wall, across the ceiling and ending at the generator he was facing.

One broiled Ryan, well done, coming up.

His instinct was to call out for someone but that was an urge that was quickly suppressed; whoever left him down there was either going to come back and check soon or was going to leave him to rot. Neither case was likely to cause anyone to come to calls of help. However, he was quickly growing bored and one thing would be sure to make his captors respond more reliably than calls of help: irritation. So, Casey decided there was one option open to him which would draw his captors to him: be annoying. To that end he started singing, horribly off key.

"He was 21 and he had a son and said his wife was no fun. He had enough of all that stuff, so he killed them ALLL!!! Strap him in the chaiiirrreee!!! Execution! Put away the guuunnn!!! By electrocuuution!!! So short him out!"

He didn't get very far into his song before he heard the grinding metal of a door opening followed by footsteps splashing through water. Casey had a feeling that if he shut up whoever it was would go away and he needed answers, so he kept singing, louder and even more off key as a light came on casting faint illumination in the corridor.

"While eating his lobster tail, he began to choke! But he was spared, just so he could use the chaiiirrreee!!! They took him out and he began to pout, he tried to pull back and he began to shout! I don't wanna die, I don't wanna fry, just leave me alooonnneee! Strap him in the chaiiirrreee!!! Execution! Put away the guuunnn!!! By electrocuuution!!! So short him out!"

A young woman rounded the corner, her face concerned as she peered at him. Casey, for once, fell silent as he ran the possibilities through his head. This woman could be working with the people who assaulted him and left him down here, but that didn't really track: she seemed much too concerned for his well being to be a part of a group who would assault and hold a Federal agent captive. If he'd been more paranoid he'd have figured she was a civvy being used by his captors to get information. It wouldn't be the first time a civilian was brought in during an operation and it's a great way to get a captive to trust someone long enough to let vital info slip. But he dismissed that fairly quickly: there was little an agent at a GS-13 pay grade could tell or do that would be helpful.

Though the large man behind her didn't exactly put him quite at ease. Casey figured this individual was dressed in an outfit the Grim Reaper would have picked out if he'd ever decided to get with the times and update his look. Just as the young woman stepped forward, reaching out to his chains, the larger man stopped her with a firm hand to her wrist.

“No,” his voice was distorted by the mask he wore, “the chains are rigged. You’ll cook if you touch them.”

"Hey," Casey spoke up before they had a chance to speak any further, "I'm pretty sure I'll cook if I touch them too. So maybe you could help me out? That's a lovely bit of hardware you're carrying," he nodded at the other man's submachine gun, "If you're worried about getting shocked, maybe you could put a few rounds into that generator over there?"

[King of Cunts]

Hunk cocked his head. Actually, he’d been thinking he might avoid being electrocuted completely by leaving the guy to hang. He didn’t really want to waste the ammo on yet another unknown quantity. But something told him his “partner” wouldn’t be amenable to that course of action. Maybe he could steer her by feigning recognition, cooking up some kind of story about him being a criminal, but acting wasn’t really his strongpoint.

He eyed the connections hooking the prisoner up to the generator. It was little more than jumper cables attached to exposed wires. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was attached directly to the house’s electrical system. If there was a blackout, he could cope. Unfortunately, the house’s other occupants would be dead meat and that would reduce his chances of completing his mission. If that was his aim, he may as well just shoot both the civilians now.

The puzzles he’d seen so far had seemed to involve a method the captives could use to free themselves. They weren’t supposed to have help. They especially weren’t supposed to have his kind of help. He mused behind his mask, looking for all the world like he was staring into the middle distance.

Then, he reached up and pulled a lever down on the generator. Every light in the basement winked out. He heard the woman give a yelp. He keyed his goggles to display in infrared and watched the heat die in the machine. The two survivors were realised in bright white patches on his vision, distinguishable as human beings only by their outlines.

Hunk lifted his weapon, and issued a single command.

“Hold still.”

His sub-machinegun barked and the loop holding the man’s chains to the wall shattered, sending him crashing to the floor in a shower of brick dust. That done, he flipped the switch back up, but not before switching his vision back to ambient light.

[Queen of Cunts]

For a second, everything went dark. She felt her entire body tense. She didn’t know why he was doing it and she was convinced that she was about to get shot. All she could see in the pitch blackness of the basement were the red pinpoints at the centre of his goggles. It reminded her of the monsters on the upper floor. She was sure they glowed like that in the dark. It was like something from Hell itself.

She was sure he didn’t mean her any harm though. He had saved her life. That was the most honourable thing you could do. It was the reason she owed her life to the company, after all. Why would he have done that if he wanted to hurt her?

Of course her nerves were frayed. She had been snatched from her home, brought all the way here - wherever here was - and left to roam the halls full of monsters for no reason she could determine. She’d always been quite far from the carriers, so to be trapped in a house with them was a horror she couldn’t have imagined. She didn’t know how she was going to cope, but this was her life now, for the time being. She would just have to manage it.

When the lights went on, it helped to dispel some of the doubts clouding her thoughts. She was pleased when a third person joined their team. It was like a confirmation that they were all going to be alright. The more people they had, the better chance they had. She was sure of it.

“Hello, my name is Penny,” she said, kneeling down beside the man to make sure that he was alright. She tried to come close enough so that she didn’t have to raise her voice. She knew that people who might have been in shock were sensitive to volume. “And this is... He saved my life. What’s your name? Are you okay? And, if it isn’t too painful for you, could you tell me how you got here?”

[Damen]

A sharp pain flared in his left hip and the cold water surrounded him as he fell and the near freezing temperature soaked through his jeans and bit into his more sensitive areas. Casey let out a long suffering sigh and absently ran a hand through his hair, unintentionally soaking his head.

"Hi, Penny," he said, looking up at the young woman and offering a half smile, "I'm Inspector Casey Ryan."

He made sure that his United States Marshal's badge was displayed prominently against his chest and that the chain it hung from wasn't damaged as he moved to push himself to his feet, a groan escaping from his mouth as his joints flexed on their own for the first time in when he felt an object wrapped in plastic. His first thought, perhaps an irrational one, was that the object was a severed body part. It wouldn't have been the first time something like that had crossed paths with him in the course of his work. His stomach twisted in dread as he grasped and then lifted the object from the dark and murky water. It was something of a pleasant surprise to find that it wasn't a gore covered horror. It was a much more pleasant surprise to open the clear plastic and discover that it was, in fact, the short barreled Saiga-12K semiautomatic shotgun with a triangular folding stock he had been carrying while tracking his fugitive along with his sidearm, a .40 caliber Glock 22.

On the side of the shotgun was a note written in an elegant, flowing script across a crisp, white card: "Perhaps it might be prudent in the future to pay heed to your boundaries."

"Well, it seems someone is a bit of a pretentious puta," he muttered to himself and slipped the card into a pocket in his jeans. After a second or two he had slid his sidearm into the tactical holster on his thigh and was settling the weight of the shotgun in his hands and held close to his chest.

"Ma'am," he said, addressing Penny, "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you but I'm not taking much pleasure in any aspect of my current situation."

His eyes darted back and forth between the two of them and it was painfully obvious that they could not be more different. The young woman carried herself like someone who had never been in a situation any more dangerous than driving on the highway. The other was dressed in a black paramilitary uniform, his face covered by a gas mask and absolutely none of his skin exposed to the elements and carried himself with the wariness of someone who had been attacked often and did not care to repeat the experiences. It wasn't too hard to know which of his two rescuers would have the answers to his questions.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful," Casey said and leveled an unwavering gaze at the other man; "But would either of you two care to enlighten me as to what the hell is going on in his nut-house?"

[King of Cunts]

This was unfortunate. The survivor he’d just rescued didn’t look like he was going to be of any use. He didn’t have the faintest clue what was transpiring here, and that was clear from the guileless way he was asking them what was happening. Still, having another armed individual around - one who could defend themselves - wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. A bullet to the head would neutralise him just as easily as her if there was a problem. And perhaps he could focus on the mission now, instead of having to worry about the woman.

He turned his head, leaving the other man’s questions to Penny. She was probably better equipped to deal with them, since she was in a similar place to the newcomer. He didn’t imagine his own contribution would be appreciated as much. It was his experience that men and women in situations like this rarely looked upon an individual with more knowledge than them as a boon. If anything, they were always suspicious. He chose to remain silent.

Of greater concern to him was the noise he had heard. It had been slight, the merest susurration that suggested another body in the corridor other than theirs. More telling than the noise was the complete absence of it that followed. If it had been another survivor, he would have heard them - laboured breathing, clumsy footfall, something. A carrier, or a B.O.W, would have been louder still. And yet, whatever was lurking deeper into that basement corridor was silent. Intentionally silent.

Very few beings had the training or the knowledge to control their breathing and movement to a level that could be indiscernible to an operative of his calibre. That meant he might have been dealing with another special operative, though from which organisation it was impossible to tell. There were varying castes among Umbrella’s military units, all of whom could have been equally hostile towards a private security officer like himself. Similarly, if it was a rival organisation, they might also endanger his already tentative situation.

He would just have to wait and see. At the very least, they were using their discretion for the time being. He would do them the courtesy of withholding his own judgement. The last thing he needed was to start a fire fight in the darkness with an armed civilian to his back.

[Queen of Cunts]

Whoever this man was, he seemed nice. She smiled at him, an expression of her genuine pleasure at meeting him. They might have been trapped in a strange and dangerous place, but that didn’t mean it was okay for her to be impolite. She’d didn’t find his own brusque manner to be necessarily objectionable. That was clearly just his way.

“It is good to find another person alive here though. Tell me, Mister Ryan, do you work for the company at all?”

It would be good to find someone else who was affiliated with her employer. She still wasn’t sure what Mister Hunk’s allegiance was, though he had mentioned having an employer of his own, whoever that might be. Perhaps if Mister Ryan was with the company, that might explain some things. She had always heard of terrorists who were against what their organisation stood for. Perhaps this had something to do with them.

She hoped not though. She didn’t want to have anything to do with people so barbaric.

She looked to Mister Hunk to see if he would shed some light on their predicament, but perhaps he had not yet managed to decide what was happening to them yet. She knew that he was not a part of this game, but she assumed he would tell them what was happening the moment he had figured it out. He was looking back down the corridor. He was vigilant and that made her feel safe.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure that if we all stick together we’ll make it out of this in one piece. I’m afraid we haven’t had the chance to explore much. Which way do you think we should go?”

[Damen]

Casey unfolded the stock on his shotgun and checked the chamber and magazine to see if he still had his shells loaded and chambered as the young woman spoke.

"Inspector Ryan, if you please, Ma'am," he said without malice and in the bored, automatic tone of one who has made the correction many times in the past and expects to make it many more times in the future; "I'm not with any company, I'm a United States Marshal."

He looked around at his surroundings and sighed; "I was tracking a fugitive through some woods when I was attacked. I tried to fight back, but I was knocked out and I woke up here. As for which way we should go, 'out' would be my first suggestion."

Casey looked at the other man long and hard. It seemed he had dismissed the marshal from his world and was now focused intently on something down the corridor. He tried to listen for whatever it was that had perked the specter of death's attention but the noise in his ears was loud enough that it drowned out almost everything quieter than a normal speaking voice. But the other man was fixated on something and even if it was in his imagination they would be foolish to write it off. Their situation was too dangerous to just dismiss anything.