Resident Futa 0

The new HVAC system keeps the shooting range under the Raccoon City Police Department HQ from becoming too choked with smoke and gunpowder, but only when it works. Tall and wiry, Berry Burton leans in with both gloved hands on her gun. Her hunched stance is as old-fashioned as the revolver she holds. A scrunchie keeps her wild, auburn hair out of her face as she fires one last shot, then straightens and breaks open the gun. She gives the plunger an absent bop with the palm of her hand, and empty casings pour out with a musical tinkling.

Beside her, Kendall Sullivan leans on a long-handled squeegee. She still looks pretty, even in this light, even wearing a STARS polo with ear protection on her head. She has skin the color of milk chocolate, and however much work she puts into straightening her hair is worth it, because it never fails to make everyone else feel like they aren’t trying hard enough.

Berry doesn’t try at all these days. She removes her headset and leans on the button to bring her target in. “What I’m saying is that most departments don’t have one person with a PhD, let alone two. We have two in our unit. You’d just think that would make something different, is all.”

Kendall shrugs and uses the squeegee to push the casings downrange. “You’re saying I’m overqualified?”

“Do I have to?” Berry considers her handiwork.

“Maybe I like working for a department that doesn’t need a whiteboard somewhere that says ‘days since last unarmed Black person shot for holding a cell phone.’” Kendall puts the squeegee aside and folds her arms. “Although when I see these groupings, I see it as a projection of how badly you want to be popping heads, and then I have second thoughts.”

“God blessed me with a steady hand,” Berry says modestly. “Besides, there aren’t any unarmed people in Raccoon anymore, no matter what color they are. Kendo gives away two guns a month with her little sweepstakes.”

“You won one yet?”

“I have a good feeling this month.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something you already have three of?”

Berry twists a speedloader, then snaps the cylinder back in. “As god intended.”

“Do your girls play with guns like other kids play with Barbies?”

Berry shakes her head. “They have Nerf guns for that. My wife plays with the real guns when I come home late.”

“I don’t think she’s playing, Berry. Good thing you didn’t marry a Latina. But seriously. What are we gonna do about Jill?”

Berry shakes her head. “Don’t look at me. I’m not gonna stop you kids from doing serious policework. Far as I’m concerned, Jill should be running this outfit.”

“That is a terrifying thought, and this serious policework is going to get us all into trouble.”

“Are you scared of Wesker, Kendall?”

“I’m scared of Umbrella. And you should be too. She pisses off the wrong person, and we’re out of a job. I’m the one with a PhD, remember? Why don’t you people ever listen to me?”

“What do you mean, you people?”

“Gimme that gun a second.”

“But you’ll be fine, right?” Berry grins at her. “You have a doctorate.”

Kendall rolls her eyes. “I’m gonna have Carla talk to her.”

Berry looks at her watch. “Not while Vickers is on shift, you won’t.”

RF0

Pants and underwear around her ankles, Bradlee Vickers holds on tightly to the red, rolling metal cart full of tools. She moans softly, and the cart rattles as Carla Marini fucks her steadily. The maintenance storage shed behind the helipad isn’t a conventionally romantic spot, but that doesn’t slow them down.

“Oh my god, yes,” Bradlee gasps softly. Her hands move with no agenda, and an adjustable wrench clangs to the floor.

“Shhh,” Carla hisses, grabbing Bradlee’s clothed breast and squeezing.

Bradlee laughs, and her breath catches. “Oh my god. Fuck me.”

“Working on it,” Carla growls into her neck.

Bradlee bites her hand to keep from laughing. “Mm. Mmm. Mm!”

“Yeah? Is that good?” Carla nips her earlobe and reaches around, pushing her hand down between Bradlee’s dripping thighs. The blonde shivers, her short, shaggy bangs in her eyes.

“Slow down. Slow down.”

Carla grunts and goes in, hugging her and resting her chin on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to go back to work.”

Carla scoffs. “You drive me crazy.”

“In a sex way or because I always fuck up my timesheet?”

“Both.” Carla kisses her neck and squeezes her. “Mmm. Come over tonight.”

“We’re on tonight. Team Leader.”

“Fuck. At least let me do it in your mouth.”

Bradlee chuckles. “Ask me real nice.”

Carla squeezes. “Please?”

RF0

The heavy door clangs shut. The northside precinct, unlike the big RPD HQ, was never a museum. It’s a dingy building on the verge of collapse. Jill Valentine ignores the cockroach that scurries under the vending machine and leans against the door.

Marvin Branagh stands in front of the glass, gazing at the woman sitting alone in the interview room. She wears a gray RPD sweatsuit, eyes red from crying.

“Where’s Rochelle, LT?” Jill asks, joining Marvin.

“She remembered something and ran off. I thought she was supposed to be looking after your rookie.”

“She’s supposed to do a lot of things. What do you think?”

“I think what she’s saying sounds crazy.”

Jill nods, chewing her lip. She can’t argue with that. “What do we know about her? Is she on paper?”

“Possession a few years ago. Quick probation, no issues. I went ahead and pulled the report. High school party. She’s no criminal, Valentine.”

“And she’s not a drug addict.”

Marvin glances over. “You sure?”

“I said she’s not an addict. I didn’t say nobody gave her anything,” Jill mutters, taking the file and flipping through it. “We got an employer?”

“Nothing I can find. She says she’s with Green’s Landscaping. I called and spoke to the owner. They have no contracts on that side of town. We’re already in trouble if she won’t tell us the truth about why she was there.”

“Same as the other two.” Jill closes the file and narrows her eyes. “Hold on, LT. Did any of these women call 911?”

“No.”

Jill’s expression turns sour. “The first one wandered into the road. The second one got called in by that Karen. This one—utility workers brought her in. What were they doing out there in the forest?”

“They were cutting back trees from the lines.”

“This time of year? And what lines? We have to get out there.”

Marvin shrugs. “Valentine, you got some pieces here, but it isn’t a picture. Everything up there is Umbrella or someone connected to Umbrella. I’m not going to tell you that you can’t go at these guys, but if you do, you can’t miss.”

“Three reported attacks in that area is a picture,” Jill insists.

“These women are not good victims. They’re holding something back.”

“They’re scared of Umbrella. Rochelle! Get over here!”

Rochelle Aiken hurries down the hallway. “Sorry. What’d I miss?”

“Same as the other two. She described a woman with gray skin, red eyes, and—you know.”

Rochelle looks skeptical. “Big dick? Like Adella Salazar?”

“Guess so,” Jill grumbles. “I thought you stopped watching that trashy shit.”

“Don’t judge. Not gonna lie, I kind of want to meet this woman,” she says.

“Be serious. We just noticed something that we should have noticed before,” Jill says, nudging Marvin.

Aiken folds her arms. “What? That these women are full of shit?”

“They aren’t, Rochelle. They’ve obviously been attacked. None of them wanted to come forward. We only know about them because people keep spotting these women who are obviously in distress and calling it in. There are probably more who made it home and never picked up the phone. One last week and now two within 48 hours. Something’s going on. Where did you go, by the way?”

“Oh. Bridgitte got me coffee this morning, so I sent her some flowers.”

“You’re very cute,” Jill says dryly.

“Yes.” Rochelle tosses her hair. “Do you think we have enough?”

“For what?” Marvin asks sharply.

“A warrant for the property that the Spencer Mansion sits on,” Jill says, gazing at the woman in the interview room.

“That is hundreds, shit, maybe thousands of acres. It’s all Umbrella land, but you will never get a warrant for those buildings. The grounds, maybe.”

Jill puts her hand on her hip and looks up at him. “Then I won’t go in there. As long as I don’t hear someone calling for help.”

Marvin grimaces. “Jill, this is a bad idea.”

“I’m not afraid of Wesker. Or Orlova.”

“Not just them. If you don’t stick the landing, Umbrella will hit back and accuse you of harassment. If they get you fired and blacklisted, it’ll be a long time before you work again.”

Jill doesn’t blink. “Well, I’m good at picking locks. Guess I can always fall back on that.”

Marvin shakes his head.

Jill starts off briskly. “Rochelle, talk to the prosecutor and get this woman into a shelter. It’s not safe for her to go home.”

“Got it,” Rochelle replies.

“Valentine,” Marvin says.

Jill stops with a sigh. “What?”

“If you’re on your way to talk to a judge, at least take off the shoulder pads.”

{ New chapters on Sundays~ Obligatory Patreon plug: https://www.patreon.com/cw/CCLViking }