Resident Evil A Hard Day's Night

**Disclaimer: **Resident Evil Outbreak and all of its characters are property of Capcom. Yay.

The usual cacophony of boisterous, drunken voices, clinking glasses and background music seemed oddly muted as George Hamilton sat at the bar, lost in his own dismal thoughts. As a rule the good doctor didn't drink unless it was a special occasion, and tonight, though far from special, was a definite occasion. Shrill words echoed in his head, mixing with fragmented memories, threatening to drive him insane. When your entire life fell apart in one afternoon, coping was not an easy task.

How things had gotten so far, he hadn't a clue. He had never realized his wife was unhappy with their marriage; Emily had never mentioned anything. But then again, George knew she was the smiling, cheerful type that bottled up her less desirable emotions. Apparently, to remedy the stress, sleeping with another man was just the cure.

It was difficult to believe that mere hours before George had arrived at J's Bar that the doctor had been extremely happy with his wife, blissfully incognizant to any dissension in their marriage. Though nothing was more difficult to deal with than coming home early only to discover your wife in bed with someone else—and a someone else whom you knew at that.

George had been tired, getting very little sleep the previous night. As the day wore on, he had managed to keep himself aware, functioning normally and performing exceptionally well at his job, as always. However, nobody wants an exhausted surgeon operating on them.

Going home early was a good idea. There were no more surgery appointments at that hour, and if there were any emergencies, there were people to cover. George didn't feel right about leaving like that, but his colleagues persisted and eventually his boss just told him to get out of the hospital and get some damned sleep.

So he left.

The sky had become a montage of medium blues and purples by the time George reached his house in the suburbs of Raccoon, the evening taking on a slight autumn chill. It was still early, only about six-thirty, but George needed to get some rest. Some nap—a chances to rest his eyes—would undoubtedly do wonders for him. Unfortunately, he would come to discover he did not have that opportunity.

Inside the house, the lights were all off, the living room bathed in pale blue light from the windows. At first it appeared that no one was home; Emily parked her car in the garage, so George would not have known immediately if she were around or not. It wasn't until he heard movement upstairs that he understood Emily was still home.

George started upstairs, running one hand over his face and thinking about how nice it would be to just lay down and relax. One he reached the landing at the top of the stairs he stopped, listening as new sounds broke through his abstraction. He paused to listen for a moment, gray-green eyes suddenly wide and heart racing. A soft cry from the nearby bedroom put his breathing on hold.

Reluctantly and with dread gnawing away at his stomach, George approached the bedroom, already knowing what he would see. Trying to convince himself otherwise wasn't going to work and absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he reached that bedroom door.

"Emily . . . Oh my God . . . "

He had barely spoken above a whisper, but Emily had managed to hear him, her breath catching as she gasped in surprise and shock. She wasted no time in shoving the other man off of her, pulling the burgundy bed sheets around her as she quickly got out of bed, blonde ringlets tousled. The man, who had nearly fallen off the bed and into the night stand had gotten his bearings and had the good sense to put his pants on.

"George!" Emily cried miserably, glancing between her lover and husband, as though she fully expected the older man to snap and attack. She, however, knew that George was not the type to do something like that. "You . . . you're home early!"

The doctor merely stared at her as though he could do nothing else, confused and hurt, a pain beyond anything imaginable clawing away at his insides. He was too shocked, too _injured _to even shed a tear. It was just incomprehensible; didn't Emily love him anymore?

"Why . . . ?" George asked, his voice breaking. "Emily . . . " Words were failing him, his mind refusing to accept what was happening.

Emily cast a quick look at the other man and adjusted the sheet around her, stepping forward to take George's hand.

"George, you know I love you," she explained. "I honestly do, but . . . well, I don't know how to say this. Lately I've just felt like I wanted something _more, _something . . . _fun _you know? You're a real sweetheart and you're so damn cute, but I need more excitement in my life. Jordan can give me that."

For the first time George registered the other man's appearance; he was a young trainee at the hospital. George had shown him around, gotten to know him. The guy couldn't be over twenty-five and he was very handsome to boot. It was little wonder why Emily turned to him for excitement.

"How long has this been going on . . . ?" George asked, his eyes beginning to sting. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Emily sighed, hating to see him looking so hurt. "About two months. I met Jordan at our anniversary party. We just clicked. He likes to go out and do things, he's protective of me, George. He'll go to clubs and dance, let loose and have fun. I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid of hurting you. . . ."

"So you're saying he's everything I'm not."

"No! No, that's not it . . . not really. Oh, George!" Emily shot him an exasperated look, tucking flyaway strands of hair behind her ears. "I was happy living with you, but you just didn't give me what I needed. I want to be with Jordan. I'm sorry. . . ."

"A woman gets bored, George," Jordan said, finally speaking. He walked over to George, placing what would be a reassuring hand on George's shoulder. "Are you gonna be all right?"

George was astonished by the man's audacity, pulling away from him quickly. How could he be so calm after being caught in the act like that? Hell, how could he be so calm after _doing _that with his _friend's wife_?

"Don't . . . just . . . just don't," George said, backing toward the hall. He couldn't stand to stay there any longer, unable to handle what was happening. The person he loved most in the world was leaving him, he just couldn't deal with it right now.

Emily obviously was having coping issues herself, abruptly turning and marching off to the bathroom, where she locked herself in. Jordan watched her for a moment, looking back at George once the door was closed as if trying to offer the older man a silent apology. Jordan liked George and hated hurting him like that, but the other man's feeling obviously didn't mean that much if he could sleep with Emily.

George called out softly, hoping Emily would hear him. "I love you, Emily . . ."

Without another word, George left the house, though when he reached his car he found he couldn't drive, his vision obscured by tears. He hurt so badly he thought he would die from the pain. He was lost without Emily; he didn't know what he would do. He needed time to think, to calm down a little. The only places he could think to go were back to the hospital or the bar several of his colleagues frequented. Needless to say the bar won.

So George found J's bar, ordering himself a drink the moment the cheerful, blonde waitress wandered over to him. She didn't seem to sense his anguish, for which George was thankful. He didn't really feel like talking about his problems right now.

He let his drink sit on the counter for some time after it was delivered, eyes fixed on the scuffed surface of the bar. The sounds around him provided no distraction, allowing the fresh memories haunt him relentlessly. George always used to wonder how people could commit suicide, how they could so easily take their lives. After experiencing the pain of losing Emily, he knew what drove those people.

George sighed heavily and rubbed his temple, unable to stop thinking. "Damnit . . . "

"Something wrong?"

George started, looking up quickly at the man watching him. The man looked bored, his raven hair pulled back into a ponytail, several locks hanging loose and falling around his face. He resembled one of those so-called rebellious guys, the ones who thought they were really cool and better than others.

It took George a moment to realize he had been staring, dropping his gaze to the glass resting in front of him. "I suppose you could say that."

The other man was silent for a few moments, idly sipping his drink. It seemed as though he was satisfied with George's answer and did not need to hear anything more. However, a moment later, he spoke again.

"Name's David. If you need to talk about something, I'm a good listener." At least when he was interested he was.

It was George's turn to fall silent, surveying the other man warily. George could ascertain from his attire that David was a plumber, and by the dull tone of his voice and expression, he was merely talking to George just to talk. And perhaps be polite.

But his eyes were sincere, and that was enough for George.

"I suspect that it would be wise to tell someone," George explained, "rather than hold it all in and allow It to tear away at me." He paused then, already certain that David could probably not care less about his problems. "I...I came home from work early today and I discovered my wife, Emily, in bed with another man . . . "

George trailed off, feeling the familiar, unwanted stinging in his eyes. It was hard enough thinking about it, but when he actually saying it was a hundred times worse. He felt close to breaking down, but he could not allow himself to fall apart like that. Not in front of David.

David scowled, drained his glass and tossed his bangs out of his eyes. "I see nothing wrong with you. You look like a nice enough guy to me.'

"A nice enough guy," George echoed. "That is precisely what she did not want. I was not exciting enough for her."

David watched the older man carefully, as if attempting to discern George's profession. The older man looked important, like a businessman or something. And that meant he probably had money, which was what women wanted. Maybe he was just really bad in bed or something.

"Can I ask what you do?"

"I'm a doctor," George answered. "A surgeon, to be exact, at Raccoon General." He gave David a strange look. "Why?"

The other man smirked a little, catching Cindy's attention to inform the waitress that he was in need of another drink. "Just curious. I thought women liked doctors; rich, and all that."

"I suppose. But the man she was . . . well, _with_ . . . is in training at the hospital right now. He won't become a surgeon, but I daresay he'll earn a fair amount of money regardless," George explained.

The clink of a glass alerted David to the presence of his second drink and he nodded curtly to Cindy, who smiled faintly and wandered off to collect empty glasses. A bottle or something of that sort shattered in the background, but David couldn't be bothered to look. George, however, noticed that one of the RPD cops had just slung his bottle at the dart board, where several darts were sporadically stuck into the wall.

"You sonuvabitch! Stop movin' the fuckin' dart board!"

David snorted softly, taking a sip of his drink. "Idiot. Anyway, I like doctors. Saved my life a fair few times."

George was spared having to answer as the bell on the door jingled, a very unkempt man stumbling in. He already appeared to be drunk, his dark, lank hair obscuring his face. Will, the bartender, seemed concerned about the customer's well-being. He approached the man cautiously, placing a hand on one dirty shoulder.

"Excuse me? Sir? Are you all—ahhh!"

Drawn by the scream, the customers within the bar turned to see the drunken man sink his teeth into the soft flesh of Will's throat. The young bartender screamed in pain as he tried to throw off his attacker, flesh ripping during the struggle. Blood splashed heavily onto the floor, but Will managed to get the man outside before collapsing to the floor.

"Oh, my God! Will!"

Cindy was at his side in an instant, a bar towel clutched in her hands. She pressed the cloth to Will's bleeding throat, her blue eyes wide and fearful. Everything had happened so fast that she hadn't had time to register it all. George hadn't a clue had he had just witnessed either, but he hurried over to Cindy, desperate to assist her.

"Someone call an ambulance, quick!" George commanded. A blonde reporter snatched her cell phone up from the table, quickly dialing 911.

"What the hell? I can't get a signal!"

The young Black man at the barrel-table in front of her got up, looking absolutely terrified, but determined to help. "I'll try the payphone!" He ran past the trio on the floor and over to the payphone in the corner. "Shit, there's no dial tone . . . "

Will was struggling, now laying on his back on the floor, the towel clamped tightly to his wound. He made strained, gasping noises, his eyes sliding in and out of focus. George could see they were losing him fast.

"Hold on, you're going to be all right," George told him, knowing that he needed help _now. _He couldn't wait.

"Holy shit. . . ."

George looked up quickly as David spoke, quickly discovering their problem. Several more of the sickly looking people had gathered outside of the bar, one of them plastered against the large window near the door. George could see the color of his skin was a mottled gray-green, like he had begun to decompose, and that he had milky white cataracted eyes. As the man moved, a large hunk of skin sloughed off, sticking to the window.

"Dear God," George breathed softly. "What's happening!"

No one replied as several of the decaying people began pounding on the door and windows. No one _could _reply. The customers were in different degrees of shock, unable to process the events. Though moments later panic set in as they came to realize what was happening.

Zombies had taken over Raccoon City.


End file.

Resident Evil, Angst, Horror