Chris Redfield, Alpha Team

Nobody said he wouldn’t make enemies.  It was quite the contrary; Chris (“The Legendary”) Redfield had made plenty, gained a certain level of notoriety and become visible enough to be painted with the metaphorical red target.  Of course it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he might be in danger of an attack at the hands of a party with malicious intent, and there had certainly been warnings.

But what sort of reckless person might orchestrate and successfully execute the kidnapping of an important figure of the BSAA from within the immediate vicinity of its headquarters? Had he the cognizance to consider the facts, Chris would surely doubt the legitimacy of the events that had unfolded on the morning of his disappearance.

Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception. 

A familiar face had knocked on the doors to his apartment at oh-Jesus-Christ-it’s-early-hundred hours of the morning and dramatically beckoned him to action.  All it took was the magic words of “Captain, it’s an emergency! C’mon!” to trigger the man’s near-sprint out the door.  Had he been less frantic, Chris may have noticed sooner that the newly-reinstated Lieutenant was lacking his battle gear, a detail his perception hadn’t caught until they were long off the premises.  It also occurred to him only as his sluggish and tired mind grew more awake just how irregular other aspects of these circumstances were- first of which being that there was a strange absence of activity on the base he lived beside.  No matter what ungodly hour it was, if there was action to be had there would undoubtedly be other men up and at 'em. What’s more- typically in the event that he and Alpha needed mobilization there would have been no way Piers would be alerted before he, the Captain who always kept his mobile phone on by his bedside just in case.

This reminds him.

 “Shit, Piers, I left my phone.” Piers has already reached his car and unlocked it.  “Toss me yours, I’ll get the rest of the boys on their feet.”

The car’s engine revved and his lieutenant ignored his Captain’s order to drive the two of them out of the lot.  His second-in-command explained their supposed emergency throughout the ride,  each detail only further raising the suspicion in Chris’ mind.  What exactly would they accomplish by busting into some previously unheard of lab in their civilian clothes and completely unarmed?  Piers continued them to their destination with an urgency that he thought to be very unlike the ace.  Even as Chris appealed to his sensibilities with the suggestion of turning around and rethinking their plan, Piers relented, and soon enough they’d arrived.

That was the end of Chris’ consciousness, lost to an abrupt and unexpected pain and a sensation of disorienting tiredness dragging down his limbs and mind.  As his reflexes gave up and his body got heavier, the most he could do was look into the face of his apparent betrayer with earnest eyes and plead for answers, hoping for the response to be that this all was not as it appeared.   There were some words from his teammate, but he was troubled to grasp all of them amidst the discordance of his struggling awareness and the fast-acting serum in his bloodstream.  While he could comprehend little of the speech, Chris could see the sympathetic eyes Piers had while speaking to him, but before much longer there was blackness, followed by nothingness.

Time found the Captain unaware to its flow, weeks passed.  Entire months moved without recognition from the man sedated and trapped. 

  And then one morning he simply woke up.

His drowsy eyes cracked open, and even before they focused the first thing that registered was the beeping in his ears; the second was the weight on his limbs.  

Where the hell am I?

Chris’ body felt heavy and weak from the long passage of time without a solid meal or physical activity.  There was no way for him to know exactly how long he’d been here (wherever “here” was) and the more lucid he became, the more fear and urgency crept into his brain.  As always, he had to fight his more frantic instincts to rationalize as he’d learned to do in all dire situations.  Whoever put him here—

--and a spectre of a person eluded his memory, but it was someone he knew and might identify once he got his head back on straight—

--Whoever put him here had been lazy that day.  The drip that kept him in stasis hadn’t been replenished and the bindings on his left arm seemed poorer than the others, just some loose bandages.  It was possible that the arm’s ties were left more lax to allow necessary flow to the tubes, which appeared to be attached to equipment administering nourishment and whatever else in his bloodstream.  Taking this one opportunity, Chris exerted some force to tug it free from the bindings.  The tape of one of the IV tubes snagged on the way through and painfully tore from his skin, but now one limb was free and that was all he needed to facilitate the steps of his escape.  With a grunt, he shifted his weight so he might be able to rend his right arm’s restraints off.  Unfortunately, it was proving rather difficult—the device locking his wrist in place wouldn’t budge. 

Now he had to think.  He could continue trying to force his way free- which wasn’t terribly successful thus far due to his weakened body… or he could hold on and wait for that person to come back and check on him.  If he could somehow catch them in a way that they might be convinced to set him free...  Seemed unlikely.  His options were severely limited when three fourths of his body were tied down securely and his usual tools were unavailable to him. 

The locks seemed as if they were mechanically powered, and like all devices reliant on electricity, they had to have a plug to pull somewhere, right?  Chris’ neck craned to look around.  It seemed that this whole setup was one big transportable unit… So there had to be a power source.  His free hand grasped around at what it could feasibly reach, and sure enough he soon located a thick electrical cord running along the side of his bed.  Tugging on it, he felt it halt with tension as if attached to something a short distance away.  His head’s movement was limited, but he’d seen this sort of makeshift medical bed before; out on large-scale field missions that required medical tents far from the luxuries of their headquarters.  While the bed he was on was a bit higher tech than one the BSAA’s, he knew it had to have a portable power source.   Chris gave the cord another tug…ah, it must follow along the side of the bed and across the room to a generator against an adjacent wall.  Eureka!  Sever this cord and the electrical locks might lose power and come open.

Mustering what strength he could in his disadvantaged state, he directed all his weight onto his right.  With the momentum and sudden unbalance the bed clattered onto its side, and the abrupt pull on the power cord had achieved exactly what Chris had hoped: the electronic locks popped open, freeing his limbs and making him flop onto the floor.

 “Agh…” He pushed himself upright onto wobbly legs and tried to better orient himself with where he was.  Aside from the little IV unit that had held him, the place was as barren and nondescript as could be.  So for now he would focus less on the “where” and more on the “why” and “who”.

And what about the “when”? Chris sure as hell didn’t know what day it was. 

“Goddamn, how long was I out…” Stumbling out of the building, he shivered in the cold air and was greeted with snow-carpeted pavement.  Shit, so pretty damn long, then.  Startling his senses and nearly causing him to dart for cover, he heard a distant whizz and pop, but when he looked upward it was… Fireworks.  Fireworks illuminating a D.C. skyline.  That’s right, he was just on the other side of town—?

Things were piecing slowly into place, but he’d have a chance to think later.  Right now he needed to get someplace safe.