September 26. Raccoon City. Jill's Apartment. 10:20 AM
Jill, her face still red with embarrassment, pulled on the door handle, making sure the latch, as broken as it was, at least managed to catch. She didn't dare to look at John, who, impassive, stood in the middle of her chaotic apartment.
Oblivious to her shame, he dedicated himself to observing. His eyes, used to finding order in the midst of the most brutal disorder, moved slowly around the room. It wasn't just a mess; it was a warrior's mess.
On the living room table, next to the remains of the coffee table, was a map of Raccoon City, splattered with markers and notes in a personal code. One of the windows was slightly ajar, with an improvised lookout point. The kitchen drawers, wide open, revealed not only utensils but also ammunition and grenades, carefully labeled with color markers. In one corner, on a chair, was a shotgun. It didn't look like a home, but a base of operations, a nest for survival.
John noticed something else. There was a palpable loneliness in the air, a sadness that emanated from Jill's personal belongings. The family photos, the memories she had set aside, were covered with a layer of dust. John saw a trace of a life that had been left behind, of a woman who had been forced to become a ghost. Jill wasn't running; she was waiting. Waiting for an end, whether it was death or victory. And in the silence of that disorder, John felt a respect for her.
Finally, Jill dared to look at him. Her face was red, but her expression was no longer one of embarrassment, but of frustration. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Mrs. Peterson, she... sometimes she's too much".
John, with his deep voice, interrupted her. "Don't apologize. It's a misunderstanding. I get it".
"No, you don't," Jill insisted, her eyes fixed on the floor. "She thinks... well... that you're my boyfriend".
An imperceptible smile appeared at the corner of John's lips. A smile that wasn't for amusement but a slight, bitter acknowledgment of the situation's irony. John, who had spent his days killing and evading death, was now being mistaken for a suitor.
"John," he introduced himself, holding out his hand, with a movement as fluid as his gun. "My name is John".
Jill, still with a flushed face, shook his hand. The touch of his fingers, cold and firm, was a reminder that John wasn't a police officer or a civilian. He was a professional, like her.
"Jill Valentine," she replied, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.
"Jill," John said, his voice calm and emotionless, "we have a problem. And it's not your neighbor". Jill's eyes became serious. The embarrassment and dark humor disappeared, replaced by a seriousness that John recognized immediately.
"The police officer outside is unconscious," John continued, his voice low and emotionless. "Your door is smashed in. At any moment, someone could come to investigate. We have to hide the body, and we have to talk. Now".
Jill nodded, her mind already in combat mode. She was no longer the embarrassed woman, but the S.T.A.R.S. member who had fought against the T-Virus. "Yes," she said. "Let's do it".
With a silent synchronicity, John and Jill left the room. John dragged the unconscious police officer by the legs, while Jill, with the strength that adrenaline gave her, lifted him by the shoulders. No words were needed. John nodded toward the kitchen door, and together, they took him inside. With a rope that Jill took from one of the drawers, they tied him to a chair. The officer, still unconscious, didn't resist. With a cloth covering his face, the man was now just another obstacle in the mission.
"Now, the conversation," John said, returning to the living room. His gaze, cold and penetrating, was fixed on Jill. "Tell me what you know about Umbrella".
Jill, who was busy picking up the remains of the coffee table, stopped. Her gaze, full of resentment, met his. "Why are you asking? Who are you? Are you from a covert agency? The feds?".
John didn't answer immediately. His silence was an answer in itself. Jill understood. He was neither one nor the other.
"Umbrella killed someone I cared about," John replied, his voice low and emotionless. "I want to kill them all".
John's words were simple, but the fury they hid was palpable. Jill felt it, she understood it. It was the same feeling that had consumed her since she had discovered the truth about Umbrella.
"I understand," Jill said, her voice a murmur but filled with a contained rage. "Umbrella... they are responsible for all of this. For the dead. For those monsters I call zombies".
Jill told John everything: the mission at the Mansion, the discovery of the T-Virus, Wesker's betrayal, and how the corporation had managed to hide its guilt. John listened attentively, his face impassive, his eyes fixed on hers, unblinking. Every detail she gave him, every name she spoke, was absorbed by him.
After Jill finished speaking, John paused. A long pause that made the tension in the apartment almost unbearable.
"When I arrived in Raccoon City, my goal was to find a refuge, a quiet place. Something that would give me some peace. But after two days, I heard a rumor," John began, his voice barely audible. "The gunsmith, at his shop, the Kendo Shop, told me that something strange, something dirty, was brewing in a church. I didn't know anything about viruses, nothing about Umbrella. Just that it was a complicated place".
"The Kendo Shop!" Jill interrupted, her eyes wide. "I know Robert Kendo, he's a good friend. He told you that?".
John nodded, his gaze emotionless. "Yes. And I went to investigate. I found her in the basement of that church, an innocent girl with blonde hair and a youthful face, tied up. A man, Father Ben, was about to inject her with something. I saved her. Or at least, I thought so. I thought that with my intervention, nothing would happen to her".
John's voice cracked for an instant, a glimpse of pain that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "But the needle had already touched her skin," he continued, his voice returning to its usual tone, cold as ice. "I saw her transform in an instant. From a human being to a wild beast. Her eyes... for a brief glimpse, I saw Sarah. She pleaded with me, begged me to kill her. I didn't recognize her. She was a creature, without logic. Only in that final second, she asked me to kill her. And I did".
Jill was stunned. The story left her breathless; her own fury at what Umbrella was capable of doing mixed with a feeling of helplessness.
"A church? A place of worship?" Jill said, her voice full of indignation. "No, it can't be. They have no respect for anything, not for life, not for sacred places".
Jill's rage at what Umbrella had done mixed with a somber curiosity. "And that Father Ben? And the others who were there? What happened to them?".
"I killed them," John replied simply, as if he were talking about the weather. The coldness of his voice, the ease with which he uttered those words, sent a shiver down Jill's spine. The man felt no remorse. Only a brutal coldness.
"And... how did you find out I was here?" Jill asked, trying to understand the context of everything that was happening. "No one knew I was under surveillance".
"In the first few days in Raccoon City, I went to the police station to get a map of the city," John replied, his voice monotonous. "I heard that a police officer, a certain Jill Valentine, was being detained in her apartment. She was under surveillance. Then, some Umbrella agents chased me after I had saved Sarah. I led them to an alley, and before they could do anything, I killed everyone, leaving only the leader, who gave me the necessary information, with a bit of... stimulation".
"Stimulation?" Jill said, her voice a whisper. "Haven't they sent anyone after you? Haven't they pursued you?".
John, with a logic that chilled Jill's blood, smiled for an instant, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've killed every person who has linked me to Umbrella. I don't leave loose ends".
The revelation surprised Jill a little. She realized that this man, with his stone face and monotonous voice, was the only person who understood the hell she was going through.
"So, you're in this to kill them," Jill said. "For revenge. And I... I'm in this to expose them. To let the whole world know what they did".
John, with a look in his eyes that was a mixture of sadness and rage, nodded. "Exactly," he said. "But to expose them, we'll have to kill them first".
Jill fell silent, processing the brutality of John's story. The "stimulation" he had mentioned, the coldness with which he spoke of killing his pursuers... this was not a police officer, not a federal agent; he was something completely different.
A predator that hunted other predators. Her mind, still rattled by the revelation, couldn't help but be surprised by the calmness with which John spoke of violence. To him, it was as simple as breathing. His brutality was his logic, his code of honor.
Suddenly, an idea ignited in her mind. She remembered one of the news reports she had heard this morning on the radio before the signal was completely cut off. The police station, the reporters, everyone was talking about a pattern of strange deaths and a devastating fire at an Umbrella pharmacy warehouse on the outskirts of the city. She turned to John with a look that was no longer one of shock, but of a new and cautious curiosity.
"The news... this morning... they've been reporting deaths in the area. And a fire at an Umbrella pharmacy warehouse. Was that you?".
John, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, didn't blink. "Yes," he replied, his voice as monotonous as the air conditioning.
"And were all the people who died Umbrella agents?" Jill asked, almost out of breath, as if she feared the answer.
"Everyone, except for a group of thugs in a warehouse," John replied calmly. "The rest were linked to Umbrella".
Jill, despite everything she had seen, was stunned. The ease with which John spoke of killing twenty people left her speechless. It was as if he were talking about getting a coffee.
Silence took over the room again, but this time, Jill filled it with her own thoughts. Unconsciously, her mind went to a place she had tried to avoid since the nightmare had begun.
Brad Vickers. Her partner. He was also in the city, but he seemed to have vanished, not answering calls, not showing up to help anyone. Coward, Jill thought, the word felt bitter in her mouth. Like that time at the mansion. He abandoned us. He left us to our fate.
Jill realized that John, despite his brutality and lack of remorse, was more than Brad Vickers had been in a long time. He was a man of action, a man who didn't hide, a man who didn't abandon others. Jill felt a strange respect for John.
Yes, he was a killer. But he was a killer who had killed to save a girl, who had fought against a corporation that had ruined his own life. And, somehow, that made her feel less alone.
"We have to get out of here," John said, his voice interrupting the flow of Jill's thoughts. "Before the other police officers start looking for their partner. It's a waste of time. We're exposing ourselves".
Jill nodded, her mind already in planning mode. "You're right. But where are we going? By now, everyone will be looking for me around the city. As much as I'm armed, it's better to be invisible to the enemy".
John stared at her. "I'm at the Raccoon City Hotel. The room next to mine is empty. I'll be willing to pay for the room for a few nights".
Jill considered the idea for a moment. An ironic smile formed on her lips. "My apartment is already quite wrecked, thanks to our little misunderstanding. And you've already knocked out an officer who was watching me. It would be stupid to stay". Her gaze softened. "I accept".
John nodded, moving to help her gather her things. "Good. The less...".
Just as he bent down to lift one of the boxes, the officer who was tied up with his tie in a corner of the room began to stir, groaning and with his eyes half-open. John and Jill looked at each other, the newly formed alliance about to be tested for the first time.
The tied-up officer on the floor began to moan, shaking his head with a dazed movement. John, with the stillness of a predator seeing its prey awaken, slid his hand toward his suit. His fingers were already brushing against the grip of his pistol. The logic was simple: a witness was a problem. A witness who could identify him was a problem to be eliminated.
"No!" Jill exclaimed, stepping between John and the officer. She put a hand on John's arm, her palm facing outward, with a firm gesture. "Lower your weapon".
John looked at her. His eyes, cold and emotionless, met Jill's. "Why?" he asked, his voice as monotonous as marble. "If we leave him alive, he can say what I look like. This is unnecessary".
"Not everyone works for Umbrella," Jill retorted, in a firm tone of voice with a hint of frustration. "Yes, he's a police officer. But that doesn't mean he knows what's going on at Umbrella. Brian Irons is the perfect pawn for that corporation, but this man... he's just doing his job".
John frowned. His eyes moved from the dazed officer to Jill's. After a long moment of silence, his hand moved slowly, releasing the weapon and putting it back in his suit. Jill exhaled a sigh of relief that she hadn't even known she was holding.
"Good. Wait. I'll change and get what I need. I'll be ready in a minute," Jill said, and she hurried into her room, closing the door with a soft click.
John was left alone with the officer. Jill's words echoed in his mind. Was she a stupid woman or was she right?. It wasn't a question he would have cared about before. But now, with her in his way, the rules of the game had changed.
He quickly shook those thoughts out of his head. He couldn't kill him, but at least he could take what was useful to him. He approached the officer, who still had the cloth on his face, and took his gun and radio. He put the pistol in his suit, then turned on the radio out of curiosity. Several routine voices filled the air.
"Unit 7 to 4. Do you copy? Over".
"This is Unit 4, I copy. What do you need? Over and out".
"Unit 7, just a routine check. All quiet in sector 4".
John was about to turn it off when a new voice interrupted the chat, a voice that seemed to be the officer's partner. "Brad? Unit 20, do you copy? I've been calling you for a while. Everything okay over there? Over".
John cursed inwardly. The voice was persistent, full of concern. He didn't respond, immediately turned off the radio, and put it in his inner pocket. It was a valuable tool, a source of information in case things got ugly.
With a new sense of urgency, he headed to Jill's bedroom door and knocked several times. "Jill! Hurry up! The cops downstairs are starting to get suspicious. We need to go now!".
"Almost ready!" Jill shouted from the other side, her voice muffled by the door.
John grew desperate. He thought of the different ways to escape without being seen, but the shadow of Jill and her words got in the way of his thoughts. It seemed that killing all the police officers was no longer an option.
While he waited, John's mind worked at a frantic pace, a machine calculating risks and escape solutions. If the police officers downstairs came up to check, he wouldn't have many options. Going unnoticed would be almost impossible, unless they were just a couple of agents. If they arrived in a group, the situation would become a massacre.
And with Jill by his side, the massacre became a complication. He couldn't kill them all and get out of there as if nothing had happened. Jill's words echoed in his head, complicating his single instinct. He had to think of an alternative, a momentary hiding place. Could there be another empty apartment that Jill knew about?. It was the most viable option, but he didn't have time to find out.
The other option was riskier, but it could work: asking Jill to talk to a neighbor and invent an excuse to stay in her apartment for a while. But that would require perfect coordination, one that depended on a factor he controlled. The police officer's radio. It was the only way to know the exact moment the agents would come up.
The radio he had saved was his only advantage. The only way to know if the police had arrived in the lobby, if they were already in the elevators, if they had set out. It was his only way to know how much time he had left to devise an escape plan without leaving a trail of corpses.
Just then, Jill's bedroom door opened. John's thoughts came to a halt, replaced by a silent observation. Jill looked as ready for combat as John himself.
She wore her iconic capri blue tank top with a white shirt underneath. Her legs were covered by gray-blue jeans, the top end of which was folded and unbuttoned, ready for battle. A dark blue shoulder holster crossed her torso, with her iconic S.T.A.R.S. Beretta in place. On her back, a backpack seemed to be full of urgent provisions. She looked like a woman prepared for war, one who refused to be a victim.
"I'm ready," she said in a firm and determined voice.
John nodded, but his eyes didn't leave her. With that outfit, it would be impossible to go unnoticed, but his mind was already working on a new strategy. They would have to be fast.