Chapter Text
HUNK had never questioned his orders. He was more machine than human, a perfect creation to carry out Umbrella’s orders with no complaints. He always put his mission before himself and his comrades, the integrity of his assignments meaning much more than human life. Perhaps it was a callous outlook, but it made HUNK good at his job, so he found that he didn’t really care about that. No matter what, he succeeded. He had to succeed, nothing else mattered to him. It was all for nothing if he failed, so he pushed himself. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until he broke through the pitiful human barriers his other squadmates whined about. It was unhealthy, they cried. He’d wear himself down into nothing, they pleaded. He brushed them off. It didn’t matter if the irritating words came from a squadmate, a doctor, even his superiors. He was greater. He would push through. He would survive. That’s what he was, a forgotten survivor.
He had gotten assigned to a mission in South America, to retrieve a stray U.B.S.C. member. They were nothing but useless, disloyal mercenaries. He wasn’t surprised one of them left. He had orders to exterminate the traitor cleanly, and then return. It was a solo mission, which he found he was relieved about. He didn’t have to deal with anyone else fucking it up, or ruining their chances on getting the target. The NESTWRECKER mission still weighed heavily on his mind. It was a shame that the team assigned to him had been slaughtered by Dr. Birkin, he’d even been willing to try and cover for Martinez’s folly in the laboratory. But it had ruined their chances of making it out alive, and had left HUNK stranded in the sewers with the mutated monster and hordes of the infected. He could work better on his own, a well-oiled cog in a worn down and rusty machine.
He pushed through the dense foliage around him, squeezing through branches and bushes. He was lucky to acquire night vision in his kit, because the darkness of night enveloped him like a blanket. The target, Carlos Oliveira, had been hiding out in a small village, one that he had reportedly lived near before he had been recruited. But one slip, and he had accidentally outed himself. HUNK wondered distantly if he was getting any closer. He checked the coordinates of where the village was, and felt a wave of relief when he saw that he was getting close. It would be an easy in-and-out mission. Kill the target, gather any important information, and then make his way to the evac site. Easy. It was a nice dull mission in between the other missions he’d get sent on, whether that be transporting a dangerous bioweapon or disposing of any loose ends Umbrella left in their wake. He was going to murder someone if they had deliberately decided to leave him in the dark again on this mission, but he hoped they’d been informed with his clear displeasure of that scenario happening again.
Leaves and twigs crunched underfoot as he walked, hand resting steadily on his gun as he crept through the brush like a wildcat. The foliage had begun to clear out, leaving a few scraggly trees and bushes as it began to transition into a rural area. A dirt road stretched out, and if HUNK squinted he could see buildings in the distance. He sped up, using the darkness to his advantage. His nearly pure black uniform helped him blend in, looking like a walking shadow in the cool night. He felt almost like a ghost, a frightful thing with a taste for blood drifting through the living world, cursed to continue in an endless cycle. At least the repetition of his life was enough to keep his mind occupied, no matter what.
“I’ve reached the location,” he spoke into his mic, listening to command reply to his report. He exhaled, continuing on. He had been informed that the target was possibly armed, and dangerous. He was no stranger to the danger, but he had hoped that he could make it in quickly with no fighting. Despite the rush that he got from the missions, he preferred to do them quickly and efficiently.
The dirt road became cobbled, his boots clicking against the stone as he drifted into an alleyway, navigating through the maze of connected paths and roads in an attempt to reach the correct house. It was a cozy little place, tucked into the middle of the village. He’d have to be sneaky if he didn’t want to alert local law enforcement to his presence. If he could catch the target off guard, then there’d be little to no conflict. He had specifically requested a silencer on his weapon for this mission, but he could also use his hands if necessary. He was trained in most forms of combat, so it would be difficult to subdue the target. He was confident in his own abilities.
There. He spotted the house, the windows open to let in the chilly breeze and a dim light cast onto the cobbled streets outside. He slunk forwards, glancing around. He quickly entered the house through the window, landing quietly on the inside. He made note of his surroundings; the house seemed well-kempt despite a few personal belongings left around. He knelt down, picking up a small scrap of paper. He flipped it over, scanning the words — ‘BEHIND YOU’ — he whirled around, but before he could move something struck his helmet. It felt like his skull rattled from the hit. He bit his tongue, scrambling back as he raised his gun. Just as he pulled the trigger, the gun was kicked out of his hand. The shots peppered the roof instead of the target, and HUNK quickly regained his composure and got up. He clenched his fists, taking in his target. He was holding a handgun, expression wild and looking unkempt. He surged forwards, grabbing his wrist and slamming it to the wall. He twisted, bones creaking until Carlos dropped the handgun. He reared back for a punch, but Carlos kneed him directly in the crotch.
“Fuck!” HUNK cursed under his breath, his grip on Carlos’ wrist loosening. Before he could regain control of the situation, he got punched in his partially exposed throat.
He staggered back, wheezing painfully as he tried to suck in air. He lunged forwards, wrapping his hands around Carlos’ neck. He squeezed, watching the other man writhe underneath him. He bucked up, thrashing desperately. Hands reached up, wrapping around HUNK’s helmet and slamming him to the side. Their positions swapped, Carlos wrapped his hands around HUNK’s throat and slammed his head against the floor again. He grunted in pain, gripping Carlos’ wrists in an attempt to keep himself from being strangled to death like he had planned to do to the other just moments prior. He grabbed Carlos’ face, trying to force him to get off. HUNK gasped for air, growing lightheaded, elbowing him as hard as he could. The grip lessened just enough for HUNK to rear back like a wild animal, headbutting him. He managed to get the hands off of him, moving back and slamming into a table. He groaned, the noise distorted by the filter on his mask.
He forced himself back up, head throbbing as the two circled around each other like wolves, each waiting for the correct time to strike. He finally moved, striking as quick as a serpent and punching Carlos straight in the nose. He cried out, eyes watering as he staggered back. HUNK felt a sense of sick satisfaction at finally getting the upper hand. He wasn’t sure why he was struggling so much in this particular fight, and he was quite displeased with himself for dragging this on longer than necessary. He prided himself on his quickness, as well as his efficiency. However, this mission so far had been anything but quick and efficient. He struck once again, forcing Carlos back against the wall. He pinned him with his forearm, watching as blood began to drip from Carlos’ nose. He felt disconnected from the moment, as if he was watching a video tape. It didn’t feel like he was there.
Suddenly, another voice called out in a foreign language and startled HUNK. He whipped around, still on guard. An older woman who looked startlingly at Carlos was shouting something HUNK couldn’t understand, and before he could react he was getting hit upside the head with a vase. It shattered, and luckily his helmet protected his scalp from getting shredded but it hurt like hell. He let go of Carlos, stumbling back as he held up his fists. Carlos shouted something at the woman, and he watched as she hurried out of the house. He lunged at Carlos again, but got batted aside like some sort of pest.
“You thought they would’ve sent someone better, if they were going to try at all,” Carlos finally spoke, looming over HUNK. He didn’t reply, pride wounded by how easily Carlos threw him around.
He got back to his feet for the third time, head pounding. He was sure that he had a concussion at this point, the incessant head trauma seeming absolutely unnecessary. With a small window to breathe, he unsheathed his knife and fell back into a defensive position. At the unspoken threat, Carlos lunged for his handgun that had been knocked out of his hand in the fight. At the same time, HUNK struck, lashing out with the knife and catching Carlos’ bicep. It was too late; Carlos reached the gun, pointing it at HUNK while blood oozed from the gash on his arm. Survival instinct kicking in, HUNK dashed forwards, raising his knife — white hot agony tore through him as Carlos fired, a bullet ripping through his shoulder. He dropped the knife, gritting his teeth underneath the mask in pain. They were both breathing heavily, blood spattered across the floor.
“What do you want?” Carlos demanded, getting to his feet and circling around HUNK while he clutched his shoulder, muscles pulled taut as he waited for that second shot.
HUNK felt like a sitting duck, unable to go for his knife without getting shot to death. He didn’t answer Carlos’ question, soulless red eyepieces pointed at him. The room was silent, other than the silent dripping of blood and both of their breathing. He slowly reached up, watching as Carlos tensed and put his finger on the trigger, and wrapped his hand around the bullet wound in an attempt to keep the bleeding to a minimum. He’d have to get that sorted out after he slaughtered Carlos, but unfortunately he was now down an arm to fight with. He had brought a knife to a gun fight, and now was paying the price of that mistake. His mind ran wild with all sorts of different scenarios of how he could win, but most of them ending with him riddled with bullet holes and dead. He had fought bioweapons, for Christ’s sake but he was losing to a man who’s only training was from guerillas and the U.B.C.S. He had been one of the best in his class at the training center on Rockford Island. He was sure his teachers were looking down on him from wherever they ended up after they died. Well, they were probably looking up if he was being honest with himself.
“Don’t want to talk, that’s fine. That’s fine,” Carlos continued, and HUNK wondered if he ever stopped talking or if that was just a charming personality trait of his.
HUNK’s hand twitched, and he was wishing that it was wrapped around Carlos’ throat so he’d stop fucking talking. Carlos took a step forward, and HUNK took a step back. It was like a dance, for every foot of space that Carlos moved, HUNK moved a foot back. They reached the wall, and Carlos pointed the gun directly between the haunting red eyes of HUNK’s gasmask. He watched Carlos despondently from behind the red tinted material, realizing in horror that he was going to lose his first fight. After so many years of successful missions, he’d die because of a simple fluke. He wasn’t careful enough, and Carlos knew he was coming. He cursed himself silently for being so careless with his mission. Years of success and caused him to grow cocky, like a cat that kept catching the canary.
That cockiness had died down, but his fighting spirit sure hadn’t. In a second, he slapped the gun away from his head with his uninjured arm. Catching Carlos by surprise, the shot barely missed his brain, blowing a hole in the wall next to his head. He punched Carlos as hard as he could, forcing the man out of his space. He grabbed him by the hair, throwing him to the ground and straddling him. HUNK wasn’t ready to die. He didn’t earn the name by giving up and accepting his fate. No, he fought and fought until the world bent to his wishes. He punched Carlos again, for good measure, trying to subdue him.
As he was about to strike again, Carlos dug one of his fingers directly into the bullet wound on HUNK’s shoulder. The pain ripped a shout out of him, body instinctively jerking away from the intrusion. More blood gushed from the wound, and Carlos shoved him as hard as he could. He tumbled back, head slamming against the floor. He wondered distantly if he could catch a break from his skull getting treated like a kickball, but that thought was cut off by Carlos punching him. One of the eyepieces shattered, the jagged pieces digging into HUNK’s face. He grunted in pain, kicking out at Carlos.
“You wanna play dirty, we can play dirty,” Carlos snarled, voice stuffy from the damage to his nose. He wiped blood from under his nose, and reared back for another punch. HUNK didn’t even bother trying to dodge, head feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton.
“Let’s see how you like this,” Carlos punched him directly in the face, and everything went black.