TITLE: Coagulation

SUMMARY: The infection didn't stop with Raccoon City. The T-Virus is spreading. Alice is on the move, attempting to clean up Umbrella's mess. But is it all in vein?

CHARACTERS: Alice

RATING: M

WARNINGS: Language, gore, zombies, violence

DISCLAIMER: I. Do. Not. Own. Resident Evil. x.x

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for the Muse Bunny challenge: Tortured. (Although it seems like a sort of roundabout kinda way.) Set after the events of Apocalypse, but before Extinction.

Blood splattered across the crumbling walls of the courthouse. It was old blood, dead blood, staining dark red that looked closer to brown. She didn't pause to take in its running rivulets designing the bricks in patterns that spelled something out for her, if only she would look. Ignoring its dying message, she brought her blade around to slice through the jugular of the one to her left and down the center of the monster beside it, their bodies falling like crumpled masses of flesh, bone and blood. Her blade whipped around still more blood slipping off of the edge in an arch of dark red patterns as she took aim for yet another coming her way. The cut was diagonal, leaving the body in pieces of two instead of one. A backwards kick struck through the air and made bone-crushing contact with the sternum of her latest victim. She spun on her heel and without thinking, instinct fueling her power and rage, she stabbed through its chest and brought her blade upwards through its skull.

As the last body collapsed and she finally had the time to breath, it hit her. The blood dripping down her blade was the same blood dripping down the courthouse walls, mixing and marring with the burnt sienna bricks. It bled onto the sidewalk and ran down into the streets to drain into the gutters, staining the foul used waters a murky red. This was her life.

Death was her life.

And with that moment of realization that always came with conscious thought, she wished once more for the heat of battle. Battle required no thought on her part, not anymore. It was instinctual, a natural movement, a means to an end. But when it did end and she was left standing-- the last one standing-- sense returned to her. Cognitive sense.

She sheathed the kukri blade and slung it about her neck and shoulder, letting it hang on her back. Running a blood-covered hand through her strawberry blonde hair, blinking away her dulling blue eyes, she moved away from the stench of death and the sickly sweet scent of infection. Her boots echoed off the pavement and bounced off the walls of nearby buildings, reminding her that this city too was empty. Just like the others she had been to.

Since Raccoon city she had been on a mission. A silent pledge to clean up Umbrella's mess and set things right. But it seemed her campaign wasn't as successful as she would have liked, because there was always another city to sweep through. There were still more infected, more fallen, more in need. There was still so much to do and it was making her realize, albeit slowly, that she was only one in a world that would soon be nothing but infected.

She passed the dark alley were she knew they had once been hiding, the reek of rotting tissue hitting her nostrils in a familiar wave. Pausing for a moment, she debated taking the shortcut. It would get her there quicker, to take the alley and round it to the front of the courthouse. But after a moment she passed it by. She didn't mind the walk.

The front was as empty and abandoned looking as the back, corpses littering the massive steps, bloody handprints painting the supporting columns. Her feet kept moving her forward, taking step by step the stairs that lead to the front doors. Her hands reached out and tried the handles. Locked. A tiny smile almost found its way onto her lips-- locked was a good sign. Stepping back, she raised a leg and shot it forward in a powerful kick, unhinging the doors and loosening the locks enough to allow the doors to swing open and bang against their respective walls. She stepped in.

The floor was polished marble reflecting back like a mirror, but the trails of blood smeared across the surface distorted her image to one of a monster. Her eyes refused to linger on the floor. Instead she strode forward with purpose. She had received the transmission just two days ago. Survivors. They were hiding out in the courthouse in the town square, but they were trapped. Infected surrounded the area and there was no escape for them. At least twenty survivors-- impressive, considering.

She glanced to her left, open doors told her they weren't hiding there. To her right, elevator doors stuck open with an empty shaft revealed and what looked to be cut cables. No survivors there either. Facing back to the front was a set of massive stairs that lead to the upper levels. Moving forward she went quickly up those stairs, reaching the second floor in good time. Surveying the scene, she ignored any open doors and headed to the conference room. It would be the largest, and from the looks of it the doors were locked. That's where her survivors would be.

She tried the door. Locked. She knocked, calling inside through the wood. No response. Frowning, she yanked at the door again, breaking the wood at the lock, throwing out splinters into her hands and face. She stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.

And there were her survivors.

They were huddled together in a back corner. They lay in each other’s arms, couples, families, friends and strangers. Their eyes were closed and they looked peaceful... Silent and somber.

"Dead." She muttered.

She didn't have to wonder what had happened. Two days locked in here together. Two days as their city lay besieged by the undead. Two days of despairing. Two days with no hope in sight. And then someone gave them hope. Someone gave them a way to 'save their souls'.

She was too late.

Turning away, she left the courthouse the way she came, rounding the corner and pausing at that same alley. Would the three extra minutes she took taking the long way around have made the difference? Had that one piece of selfishness cost twenty people-- men, women, children-- their lives? She turned away from the alley; it's gaping mouth mocking her with a silent laugh.

The radio at her belt crackled. A familiar voice came through-- faintly. "Alice... When are y--... --are you coming back...?"

Never.

Not so long as Umbrella continued to torture her soul. Her eyes caught the now-dried blood on the sides of the courthouse. And maybe she was just tired, maybe it was her imagination, maybe it was Umbrella fucking with her again, but she could swear that the blood painted a picture of the twenty dead faces staring back at her. Add twenty more to the list she had failed.