I'm still alive, here is a short chapter to prove it.

Chapter 19."Countdown."

In the corner of the gloomy room, Nighthawk waited, again calling upon his ally to return and tell him what he sought. In the darkness the white sections of his combat uniform could be seen in the darkness and the red lens stared at the doorway like a sentinel. His leaned forward with his left elbow on top of his left kneecap, energy to burn, the front end of his foot went up and down to ease the anxiety.

At the cold ground, he sat for him there and ran an interested eye through the old rusted space. The feel of the whole room reminded him fondly of the past, with some deviation. Under the modified red lens goggles, Nighthawk's eyes combed the room over.

It brought back so many memories, much more than the pilot could say. The best of times, and were the worst of times… Strange, the way things turned out, he never foresaw any of it.

The two children returning to their place of nightmares. There have always been some hellhole in the past, but returning to an Umbrella inspired facility made Nighthawk's hands twitch and jumpy to sound. But, somehow... It did not feel wrong.

As James would remind Nighthawk, it's the only life they know.

Nighthawk turned his head to his right and wondered what Kristen would say to James at a time like this. The pilot reminded himself that he could be paranoid and that is the worst of his concerns.

Laying down the paper, given by Claire, Nighthawk glanced out the stained window for the machine. Slowly, the place was getting empty from, some kind of a liquid. He remembered that time, the way things were. Out from the old day's mists, images rekindled, though their luster faded. From muscle memory, Nighthawk unclasped his pistol's holster to quick draw if something attacked.

"Now I am the one being uptight." Nighthawk mumbled as he pressed his back against a wall.

James having the usual brightest smile that would give life to the whole room, wearing his favorite black T-shirt, with the sports shoes and a hat to match. That would be when they were on vacation from training and all the hard work they put them through.

"I must say, you're one of the most amusing individuals I've ever 'the pleasure to know." Nighthawk remembers Hunk telling her this, sounding older than his face let on.

"Ahehe, who could've imagined? You of all people complimented someone." She laughed, just as she would laugh, gentle, almost like they had lives outside of Umbrella.

Unfettered by time, the persona, at its core, was just the same as those long gone days.

...

In the distance and hallway, there was several frantic footsteps. Nighthawk's goggles darted at the sound and stood up and positioned himself to see his potential enemy enter first and get the first shot. His right hand with his handgun and left hand cupped over the fingers.

Claire entered in a hurry at last, "Sorry I'm late."

"It's quite all right." Nighthawk lowered his weapon in an unusually serious manner, "What did you figure?"

She took a seat next to him on the ground. This close proximity made him feel somewhat uncomfortable. The pilot didn't know if he could control himself, something nagged at the back of his mind that she could attack him at any moment. Ever since Umbrella was legislated out of existence, Nighthawk and James drifted as Mercenaries. Never settling down. Now, nothing else mattered.

Thankful for his helmet, goggles, ballistic chin and mouth guard so Claire could not see that Nighthawk experienced fear. No need to show it, now is not the time.

The fear he felt right now, could cripple him for good if he was not careful. It took all that the pilot had to maintain this tranquility, to not be like his brother...

He was able to find Claire a little way back… heading his way. But hunters got to her first.

...

Trudging forward, it grasped her head and hoisted her up.

Well, what now? What was she supposed to do?

Before its hand closed, a sudden presence overtook them. It was beyond good and evil, feeling like it came from a different space altogether. At least to Claire, it was happy feelings.

The man fired non-stop until the two Hunters lay dead. The scaly hide had to burst apart first in order for the bullets to do serious damage to vital organs.

The strange Hunter's eyes widened, and it dropped her crumpled form to the ground. Nighthawk was not going to let their nonsense complicate the situation and put five bullets in the back of their skulls.

Claire spat out blood as she lifted herself onto her side. Once more, as she stumbled, her brain flummoxed from the sight of these horrible, irritating creatures.

"You look awful," Nighthawk, genuinely concerned for her steadily worsening condition.

"Thank-... -You." She spat out from her damaged lungs. She sensed a smug smirk from under the mercenary's headgear. As she drifted in a dazed state.

...

Nighthawk was able to take her away and help her recover from the pain and bandage her... the pilot both felt confused and like he is doing the right thing by making her tag along with him in this. What was the name? The signature was somewhat challenging to read.

"Thank you Miss Redfield, I don't know what else to do," Nighthawk whispered.

"It doesn't matter, I would've stayed even if you didn't ask me," Claire replied and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I never imagined it would come to this." Nighthawk continued. "I thought we broke free."

From there, Nighthawk remained kneeling down as Claire used his shoulder to help boost herself back on her feet. Once she was able to stand, Nighthawk monitored her condition.

Silence dominated the room for a moment, neither one of them wanted to talk. Both of them have their own thoughts and questions that seek to find an answer for.

Claire broke the silence and spoke impatiently: "Well nothing really makes sense. I found this message from someone named 'Saint...' Or something like that."

Nighthawk put his fingers to his head and sighed in exasperation at her slow movement.

"Just get in the subject already!?" He said flatly.

"According to this, the creation is still not yet completed" She replied, deadpan. "Please tell me what-what do you know about this?"

"There are some things I know inherently, this place speaks to me. This so-called creation is supposed to be the ultimate weapon, I know this for certain. He's been there for a long time."

"He?" Claire questioned. "Enough with the word games!" Claire almost wanted to punch him.

Nighthawk felt uncomfortable, as his subtle relation with this whole mess left him feeling like one of those old coots who was too invested or afraid that they would fail to act, despite being charged with this duty.

He couldn't tolerate this dynamic, feeling it picked on his every moral. How was he, unable to stop their sorry excuse of a father from taking Hunk away? He'd failed in his duties.

Perhaps that's what this was. It was some sort of elaborate punishment against him, resolving to destroy his every thread of sanity in return for the failure to save his brother who was there to help him always; his legacy.

This was consequence's nature, picking away at the host with guilt till they went insane from the pain they surely were familiar with.

He knew he was headed for the bottom at this rate, the bleeding on his soul making his stomach knot.

"A giant, who uses a human to power him up." Nighthawk whispered. "That's where Hunk and I come along. The only survivors of the Human Unit Never Killed program. The 'He' I referred to was our father. I was deemed a failure from the training and experiments. I was demoted to a combat helicopter pilot. Hunk however, was a success from the start. Excelling at mental conditioning and combat, my brother became Umbrella's best Enforcer."

Claire was silent for a moment, thinking about everything she had known in such a short time. But what most surprised her is how Nighthawk, just like that told her this piece of information. Sure he laughs and jokes with her, but this is new.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked.

In a defeated shrug, Nighthawk looked at Claire. "There is a saying: How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world." While Claire stared at Nighthawk's goggles, she could see her reflection. "Why do you care so much about a Merc? If there was someone who wanted you dead. We would be the kind of people to do it."

Claire smiled back. "I know, but, this is not Raccoon City, and you're on the run too." She took a deep breath. "Lead on, we need to get Hunk back."

...

The two went into the opposite side of the locked door where Hunk vanished.

The two found themselves outside, this time.

The snow stopped.

Now, only a matte black canvas: No stars to be looked upon.

The darkness was abnormally thick, the lights in the place hardly lit the path, allowing them to see, at most, about an arm's reach forward. Other than the darkness and the two of them, all that seemed to exist was the chilly wind that tested pride. It had a harsh bite, felt through any clothing rather easily.

Nighthawk could feel the hairs on his arms raise, and the bite of the wind had left its mark on Claire's cheeks of small bumps, though they soon faded. The effect was more than flesh-deep.

A shattered goal-filled his soul with a ruthless cry. His blood ran gelid through his veins, and his bones chilled themselves to the marrow.

What the hell is going on here? He does remember this path supposed to lead to the other side of the facility, where they can find a way inside and find Hunk.

Claire shivered as she walked slightly behind him. "I'm so not ready for weather like this."

"Try Siberia, now that is cold." Nighthawk replied.

"It's not a competition." Claire rolled her eyes.

The two traversed the path to the front until they saw a ghastly building, it's prosperous light shining like a twisted beacon that lures everyone to hell. It was something horrid to those wicked few, whose borders could not be crossed for fear of true damnation.

Strange sounds crept up on their way.

It was more like a vacuum sucking the air backward, robotically chipping the gusts away.

"Did you hear that?" She asked him.

"Yeah, I have no idea what that supposed to be." He whispered, his eyes glancing around, trying to make sense of what is happening here!?

"Okay, you are scaring me now." She commented. "At least let me know what I'm getting myself into?"

Nighthawk stopped in his tracks for a moment. "Redfield, we cannot waste time. If this creation is awakened, Hunk is dead, and we are all doomed."

A chill ran down Claire's back, Nighthawk was not joking about this at all.

"Not even your brother and his group of morons can put a stop to it." Nighthawk continued, and he moved forward to their destination.

Their panicked stroll continued till the sound grew so loud they could find no solace.

The man stopped, his outfit looking positively unearthly in the dark.

"Here he is, arrest him now." A man screamed as light shined the place...

Like a wave, some armed men appeared and drew their guns. The metal and clacking sounds. Each enemy soldier split apart in strategic positions to box Nighthawk and Claire in.

"Not again," Claire whispered. Dreading her arrest once again... perhaps this time they will kill her and be done with it.

With a single hand, the crimson mercenary unsheathed his knife slowly.

"Cute. You will regret ever crossing my path." Nighthawk's voice turned deep and thick, like the sound of a monster. Like something caged and finally let free.

"What!?" Claire shouted, fear evident in her voice.

The first man inched forward to peer through the darkness. Nighthawk raised his index finger in front of his gas mask's chin guard. Claire took the hint and lowered her head as he would make the first move. The enemy lifted his head high enough for Nighthawk to fire at him, a clean shot. The enemy's head snapped back violently as he fell over.

Another enemy witnessed the death of his comrade as he looked onward to see Nighthawk's red uniform move out from the darkness. In retaliation, the enemy lifted his handgun and fired rapidly at the pilot.

One of the bullets passed through Nighthawk's flesh, but the Mercenary barely felt anything. He kept standing in place, looking down as if he did not notice the wound.

The unblinking visor reflected the terror of the enemy, the man took a step back... afraid. The man's backup were in the back positioning themselves to get a better angle against the crimson terror.

Out of ammunition, the man frantically pulled out a fresh magazine but in his jittery movement, dropped it. Nighthawk angrily paced forward as he was several feet away from the man.

Within a mere millisecond, the crimson man released a kick upward into the stout man's midsection.

He sailed into an old-world spire, splattering against steel-rusted bricks before falling back to earth over thirty feet.

With a single swipe of his hand, he batted four away back into the rest of their comrades, carved right in two through their masks.

They were nothing more than rag dolls to him, idiotic primitives in a lame outdated armor.

Nobody had told them that the 90s were long gone now, no need for sluggish weaponry.

One man drew in behind him, bringing a hand grenade down towards Nighthawk's mask. Calmly, without even looking, Nighthawk kicked it off the man and placed his hand back over his shoulder, blocking the gun strike with his small knife. His arm bled, but it did not matter to him.

He sparked the blade and the gun together with a twist, forcing the sub-machine gun back, and the soldier off his feet.

Nighthawk shifted back and brought his knee into the soldier's ribs.

They cracked open, the metal chest plate splitting from the force as he traveled back to the ground sixty feet away.

The other men, were so horrified by this, they chose to run away...find an escape or maybe report back, he wasn't sure, and he really didn't care.

"Holy shit," Claire muttered, and in that very moment, she realized what happened.

Nighthawk allowed the monster within him to come out.

But he didn't really care, he had enough of these people, he had to get through.

"What are you?" Claire asked, still won't come close to him.

"What they made us." He casually replied to her. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine." Still though, she did not try to come near him.

It's obvious to him, she is afraid of him.

"If I wanted to kill, you would've been dead by now. Let's keep moving." He urged her to start walking again, and he went ahead of her.

...

To be continued.

...Thank you for reading..I hope you liked this... Will, there is more to come. Next chapter will be much longer and hopefully even better than this.