This is the start of my effort to promote ShadowLeggy (youtube. com/User/ShadowLeggy) 's famous Carlos/Ashley relationship. It originally wasn't supposed to be as serious as it seems like its going to turn out to be, but whatever. Hopefully you can forgive any problems with the Carlos character, I haven't played RE3 yet so I can't say I really know his character all too well. Anyway, enjoy.
A lone car lurched across the barren waste of Southern America. A light rain drizzled down, washing the car and softening the terrain. Several times during its trek the car almost didn't hobble over a steep incline or stuck itself in the mud, but it refused to stop until it reached Jimsburg.
Driving the car was a South American policia, staring ahead with a cold glare and a cigarette pressed between his lips. In the back seat of the car, staring out the window, sat a man clad in green BDU's and a black suede jacket. His skin was a light brown and his hair had a reddish tint to it.
He turned his eyes away from the monotonous backdrop and settled his gaze upon the M4A1 assault rifle that lay beside him. He had denied every weapon the goverment had offered him in favor of this. It had saved him from zombie infested Raccoon City, it could save him from anything.
He turned back to the window as the events that brought him here came flooding back to him. He had been working opposite Leon Scott Kennedy for months now, as Ashley Graham's bodyguard. His half of the job consisted mostly of playing his Game Boy out in the hallway while Ashley slept in her glorious bedroom. It was a boring job but it was easy and safe and the pay was pretty damn good.
After a while though, Ashley must have gotten tired of Leon because she requested a new day time bodyguard. So he was set to be the new guard. At the end of his last night shift, he offered Leon his Game Boy, saying, "You'll need it," with a half accent that's slightly hard to place. Leon declined with a smile and removed a PSP from his pocket.
All throughout the night before his first day, he couldn't get to sleep. Tossing and turning about, something was wrong, he just didn't know what. After hours of restlessness, a deep sleep washed over him.
He was surrounded. They were everywhere, moaning and groaning, hungering for his flesh. His M4 was resting in his hands and it felt good, felt real. He had let too many of those things get too close, too fast. A flick of the thumb put the rifle in full auto and he blasted away at the closest ghouls.
One after another they fell.
Bullets erupted from the barrel,
cascading into their marks. 30 rounds passed
and he dropped the magazine and pulled another out from his vest pouch. As he slid the mag into the gun, a roar filled his ears.
Turning around, he saw, on top of the Raccoon City Police Station, a hulking monster, veins and tentacles protruding from it, holding high a body. With a deadly force, the monster threw the corpse at him. A split second after he rolled away, the body slammed into the street next to him. The force of the hit sent blood splattering all over his face and clothes among other places. He looked over at the body and saw, staring at him with empty eyes the cold, bloody, face of Jill Valentine.
He screamed. He woke up screaming. By the time he arrived at the White House, the dream had left him but the feeling it carried with it remained.
People were running all about and he was rushed inside. Susan Graham, the first lady, was heard throughout the house, crying hysterically. He walked up to the head of the secret service and asked what the situation was. Unfortunately, history had repeated itself and Ashley Graham was missing yet again.
And now, sitting in the back of a South American policia car, he was wishing, hoping, that history wouldn't repeat itself again in Jimsburg. It was the place Ashley Graham was supposedly seen last. It was also a religious compound lead by one of the surviving members of Jonestown.
He whispered to himself, "Don't drink the kool-aid, Ashley." This statement, which might have been funny in other circumstances, simply dribbled out of his mouth aimlessly in his half accent.
After a couple more minutes of silent contemplation, a fence appeared in the distance. Something was slumped over the top of it. It was tie-dyed red with rust.
As the car neared the fence, the figure atop it revealed itself to be a person. Closer yet, the blades of the razor wire shone into being and it didn't take long to see after that, that the red rust was in fact a crimson blood.
The driver stopped at the fence and said, "Aqui es donde yo pago, señor."
The green and black figure picked up the M4 and stepped out of the car, staring past the fence. He walked up and grabbed the chain link, thinking. After a minute or so, the policia took a U-Turn and started driving away. He'd get an evac chopper when the subject was procured.
He muttered to himself, "Welcome to Jimsburg, Carlos Oliviera."