(no subject)
Title: The Umbrella Conspiracy
Author: atrocious_x
Band: Avenged Sevenfold
Rating: R (Later to Change)
Pairing: Wait For It
Summary: Enter the world of survival horror -- Resident Evil, A7x style.
Disclaimer: Not real, dur. Capcom owns Resident Evil.
00a-01][02][03][04][05][06-07
Note: Kenneth Sullivan is a real character from Resident Evil, and since his part is minor, he'll be known as Kenneth Sullivan. No relation to Jimmy's character, it's not like there's only one person in the world named Sullivan.
The Umbrella Conspiracy
Chapter 08
-The Moonlight Sonata-
Johnny placed the star-engraved copper crest into its position on the diagram -- it settled with a light click, fitting smoothly and flushing against the metal plate. He stepped back, a small smirk of triumph on his face.
As he'd walked through the hall of paintings, the crows had watched, never moving, and crying out occasionally in an almost threatening way as he solved the simple puzzle. Equally, there'd been six portraits, cradle to grave -- newborn baby to old man. Johnny'd never seen a picture of Lord Spencer, but he assumed that they were portraits of him. The final painting, a death scene, had fallen from the wall when its switch was flipped, pushed out by tiny metal pegs at each corner. Behind the painting had been a small, velvet-lined opening were the crest had been. He'd left without any trouble, not wanting to see if the crows had been disappointed that he'd figured it out.
He took a lasting breath of the warm, night air, and went back into the mansion. As he stepped over the corpse of one of the fallen monsters, he pulled the map out and studied it. He went back the way he'd come, according to the map, the single door across from the room with the crows led to a tiny, square of a room, which opened into a larger room.
He shook off his tension as best he could as he grabbed the cool knob, and pushed it open. Like the S.T.A.R.S. had been trained to do, he trained his Beretta around the room. The room was more of a closet, and was completely empty.
Johnny let out his breath, entering the room fully and glancing at the elegant marble floor tiles, as he neared the door to his right. The room had a high ceiling, and the walls were marble flecked with gold -- proof of what money could buy.
Readying himself, he grabbed the doorknob, and quickly pushed the door open, once more sweeping his Beretta swiftly. He relaxed, realizing that he was alone. There was a fireplace to his right beneath an ornate tapestry, and a modern couch in the center of the room, an oval-shaped coffee table in front of it. Johnny felt a surge of excitement at what hung on the back wall -- a pump-action shotgun, mounted on dual hooks and gleaming in the antique light from above. He quickly walked over to it, trying to believe his luck, and praying that it would be loaded.
He stopped in front of it, and though guns weren't his specialty, he could recognize the make. A Remington M870, five shots -- the same that the S.T.A.R.S. used. Holstering his Beretta, Johnny reached up, grabbing the shotgun with both hands.
But as he lifted it, there was a click as the hooks rose, released from the weight of the weapon. There was also a bigger sound from behind the wall, like balanced metal changing position.
Johnny spun, searching the room quickly for any sign of movement or change. But nope, it was still the same as earlier, no screaming murder of crows, no insane dogs, or anything of the sort. Letting out a breath of relief, he checked the gun, satisfied when he found it fully loaded. The gun'd been taken care off, the barrel shiny, and smelling vaguely of cleaner.
After searching the rest of the room, Johnny holstered the Remington -- S.T.A.R.S. vests all had a back holster for a shotgun or rifle, thus he wouldn't have to tie up his hands with the gun.
Nothing else was in the room, and he walked to the door, somewhat excited to get back to the main hall and share his findings with Brian. He'd already checked out every room on this side that he could open, at least on the first floor. If he'd managed the same, they could both head up to the second floor.
He closed the door behind him and strode through the small square room, hoping that Brian'd found Jimmy or Matt -- if not both.
Johnny frowned -- the door was locked. He turned the knob back and forth a few times, stomach sinking. It rattled but there was no give. He quickly looked at the crack where the door met frame, and felt a small sense of desperation set in at the sight of the large, powerful dead-bolt -- reinforced completely.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of gears echoed off the walls, followed by a clatter of metal from somewhere behind the walls. Johnny glanced up as dust particles rained down on him, and his heart stopped for about a minute, breath hitching in his throat. The high ceiling was moving, the dust coming from the grinding of stone against stone. And it was coming straight for him.
He ran for the room where he'd found the shotgun, but it'd been locked as solidly as the first. Mentally cursing and trying to ignore his panic, Johnny ran to the other door again, glancing up at the ceiling. It moved at least two to three inches a second, and it would hit the floor within a minute.
He raised the shotgun, aiming at the door to the hall, and trying not to think about the waste of shells this would take. The picks were useless on that kind of lock, but maybe he could blow apart a steel dead-bolt.
The first round sent chips of wood cascading to the tile floor, revealing that the metal plate supporting the bolt was extended halfway across the door. Johnny tried to think of something -- anything, only his brain couldn't process the fact that he was going to be crushed into mince meat if he didn't hurry up.
Deciding he'd try and weaken the door, he fired again, this time at the frame. The explosion of the shell tore the wood apart, chipping marble, but not even close to enough, and the ceiling continued to descend -- it was now less than ten feet above him, and he was going to die.
"Jesus." he felt himself say in a small, defeated voice, eyes darting back up to the ceiling as he praying that he wouldn't die like that.
"Johnny? Is that you?"
There was a muffled voice from outside in the corridor, and more desperation settled in the young man, as he threw himself against the door.
"Brian, help me!" was all he could think to say at first, his voice now slightly high-pitched and shaky. "Can you break the door down?"
"Get back!" there wasn't even a pause before the other S.T.A.R.S. member answered.
Johnny stumbled out of the way, holding onto the wall to support his legs which had suddenly turned into jello. A heavy blow struck the door, and the wood shuddered, but held. Johnny ran his hand through his hair, fighting the urge to let out a low groan of frustration mixed with primal fear, as his gaze darted between the door and the ceiling.
Another hit to the door, and the ceiling was now five feet overhead. The third blow was joined by the splinter of wood, and the door flew open. Brian, standing in the doorway, quickly reached for Johnny, face red and sweaty from his effort. Johnny lunged forward, and the older man grabbed his wrist harshly, yanking him from the closet-like room. The two of them crashed to the floor, and behind them, the door was crushed from its hinges, as the ceiling continued down, snapping the door and filling the hall with fierce snaps and groans.
There was a final boom of impact, and the ceiling met the floor. The house fell silent again. Breathing deeply, Johnny realized that he was laying on top of Brian, his Remington on the floor a few feet away from them where he'd dropped it, and they were both clinging to each other for dear life. He hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt, he felt like he was going to start sobbing in Brian's arms, just so grateful towards his friend at that moment.
"Are you alright?" Brian asked when he'd caught his breath, his voice dramatically low.
Johnny nodded slowly, taking large gulps of air, and trying to regulate his own breathing. He suddenly felt his face heat up at Brian's intense stare, and he looked away, feeling sheepish and inexpert that he'd gotten himself into a situation like that.
Brian's calloused fingers were suddenly on his chin, lifting his face up so their gazes met. And as the two of them stared at each other, they instinctively moved forward until their lips touched.
Jimmy paced the carpet in front of the stairs as Zacky stood by the banister, nervously wringing his hands. Jimmy couldn't understand where the other S.T.A.R.S. were, and the fact that everything seemed silent just didn't help. They'd both heard a loud rumbling sound from deep in the mansion, something like a giant door being slammed, but then it stopped, and was over with -- Jimmy hadn't even been able to tell where it was coming from.
He tried to throw a comforting smile at Zacky, but he was sure it didn't come out as good as he wanted.
"Guess we have to go onto plan B." he said lightly.
Zack's brow furrowed, giving him an insanely adorable expression. "What's plan B?"
Jimmy gave a sigh looking around slightly. "Well," he began, searching his mind. "I guess we can go to the room with the sword key. Try and find some more information or something."
Zack nodded, and without another word, Jimmy led him back through the dining room. Jimmy was inwardly scolding himself, Zack was still weapon-less, and neither of them knew what lay behind the locked door -- it could have certainly been their deaths. But something in his gut told him not to leave Zacky in the main hall, it just didn't feel safe.
They were passing the grandfather clock when Jimmy felt something crunch beneath his boot. He glanced down to find he'd treaded on a broken piece of plaster, and there were a few more pieces scattered around next to it. He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Zack.
"Did you notice this when we came through here?" he asked.
Zack shook his head, honestly unable to remember. And it appeared that Jimmy couldn't either, and he crouched looking under the table for more. On the other side of the room was the pile of crushed fragments, where the actual breaking of whatever it was had taken place. The two of them quickly went around the long table, and stopped in front of the pile. Jimmy nudged at the fragments with his boot, coming to the conclusion that it'd been a statue (obviously).
"Do you think it's important?" Zack asked, tone low as though it were some kind of secret.
"Beats me." Jimmy answered. "Doesn't seem like it, but in a situation like this, you never know."
As they reached the door to the corridor that smelled of death, Jimmy pulled the silver key from his pocket, and turned right into the hall, but he froze, drawing his Beretta, and stepping in front of Zack. The door at the end of the hall was closed -- they'd left it open.
They didn't feel like they were being watched, and there was no movement in the hall -- someone had come through when they'd been out in the main hall.
"Come on." he whispered, moving slowly towards the locked door with Zack right on his heels.
He unlocked the door with ease, and gently pushed it open, preparing himself for the worst. He stepped in slowly, and aimed the Beretta around, searching for any movement, any sign of life -- well, death. There was nothing. It was a small, piano bar, a baby grand was across from a built in counter which was complete with stools bolted to the floor. It was by far, the nicest room he'd been in, there was just a calm stillness to it.
He motioned for Zack to follow, and the Bravo quickly stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly. Jimmy walked around the room some more, thoroughly examining every crevice, and Zack brushed off the corner of the piano bench, before perching on the edge. Behind the wall where the piano was, there was a small table and a tiny alcove, a couple of wooden bookshelves in the back. There was only the one entrance -- it was an ideal spot for the Bravo to hide out.
Putting his gun away, Jimmy returned to Zack. He gave one of his tried smiles again, and chose his words carefully.
"How would you feel about staying here for a while?" he asked. "So I could search the rest of the house."
Zack looked less than happy with the suggestion, but he kept his jade gaze on Jimmy's steel, and he gave a short nod. "Makes sense." he replied slowly. "I'd probably just slow you down..."
"I just don't want to put you in danger." Jimmy answered, "Maybe I can find you a gun or something."
Zack nodded again, and a small silence filled the room, one of those awkward silences. Jimmy cleared his throat.
"I'll be back as soon as I can." he said. "I want you to lock the door behind me, and stay here."
Zack nodded, standing, and the two went to the door. He pulled open the door, and started to step out.
"Hey." Zack said, getting him to look at him. "Be careful."
Jimmy offered a grin. "Will do, sir." he said.
Zack blushed, he'd almost forgotten that he was technically under Jimmy. The older man, still grinning, pulled the door shut. He waited until he heard the door lock, and he drew his gun, smile fading completely.
He started down the hall, towards where the zombie he hadn't killed was laying dead. He stepped over the creature, looking to see if the hall continued, and stopped dead in his tracks. Lying on the floor was a body, a headless corpse wearing a blood covered S.T.A.R.S. uniform -- which was almost unrecognizable except for the bottom of the emblem on the sleeve showing. The head lay a few feet away, and Jimmy felt his throat tighten as he recognized Kenneth Sullivan, a Bravo. A kind of anger swept through his body as he learned to breathe again, this wasn't right, too many people had already died -- how many more had to suffer because of some stupid accident.
Willing himself to turn away, he went towards the door that would lead into the dining room. He was going to go back to the main hall, and search every possible way that the S.T.A.R.S. could have gone. He'd kill anything that got in his way, and he'd put a stop to the madness. No more of his teammates were going to die, he was sure of it.
After Zack'd locked the door, he decided to search the room himself. He walked past the baby grand and glanced around the opening to his right. Two empty bookshelves pushed to one side, the one in front was completely empty. He walked closer, and put his hands on either side of the end piece, sliding the outer shelf forward. The bookshelf that'd been hiding had nothing but some dusty candy dish, stupid knickknack vases, and some piano sheet music propped up in a tiny holder. He picked up the sheet, and remembered when his mother had made him take piano lessons as a child -- one of his favorite pieces had always been Moonlight Sonata.
He snorted, remembering he'd never exactly been able to grasp the song, he'd ended up butchering it every time he'd tried. But he took it out to the baby grand, and studied the piano for a few moments. He was bored out of his skull, and there wasn't anything else to do. Hell, maybe if he started playing one of the other S.T.A.R.S. would be able to hear it and try to find out what the horrible sound was.
He dusted the rest of the bench off, and sat down at the piano, propping the sheets on the music holder. Reading the opening notes, he put his fingers in place almost robotically, and it felt like he'd never given up the piano. He started slowly, and as the first few notes filled the air, he felt himself relax just slightly, it was a warm nostalgic feeling, something that got his mind off of the horrors of the mansion. His tempo was off, but at least he was hitting the right notes, and the strength of the melody made up for the horrid playing.
Something suddenly moved behind him, and he jumped up, knocking the bench to the floor. The wall was moving. A small panel of the bare wall to his right was sliding upwards slowly, and it came to a gentle halt within moments.
Zack stared, unable to move for a moment. He was waiting for something terrible to happen -- something to come charging out of its hiding spot, but it felt like an eternity of silence, and the room still was quiet. The keys of the piano had been extremely stiff, no doubt it was some kind of mechanism.
He took a few steps towards the narrow opening, and found that it was about the size of a closet, and he was filled with horrible mental images of what would happen if he stepped inside. But he'd rather show some backbone than cowardice, so he pushed the consequences from his mind, and neared the opening some more.
The only light in the small chamber came from the window into a tiny greenhouse to his right, where behind the dirty glass lay dead plants. There was a pedestal in the back, and on top was a stone statue of Beethoven's head. The pedestal itself bore a thick gold emblem about the size of a dinner plate, in the shape of a shield or a coat of arms. Zack immediately recognized it, he'd seen the design somewhere else.
He crouched down, studying it some more, and he felt a smile creep to his face when he remembered he'd seen one about the same size and shape above the fireplace in the dining room. He reached out and traced the emblem, before grabbing it from its hole and pulling. As soon as it was free, the wall behind him came down again slowly. Without hesitation, he replaced it, and the wall came up.
He couldn't be sure, but he was thinking that he needed to switch them, putting this gold one above the mantle piece, and the wooden one from the dining room to in the pedestal to keep the door open. He stood again, and headed towards the door smiling -- Jimmy'd told him to stay there, but it wasn't as if he'd be gone that long. And besides, when the Alpha came back, Zacky wouldn't feel so useless after all.
Author: atrocious_x
Band: Avenged Sevenfold
Rating: R (Later to Change)
Pairing: Wait For It
Summary: Enter the world of survival horror -- Resident Evil, A7x style.
Disclaimer: Not real, dur. Capcom owns Resident Evil.
00a-01][02][03][04][05][06-07
Note: Kenneth Sullivan is a real character from Resident Evil, and since his part is minor, he'll be known as Kenneth Sullivan. No relation to Jimmy's character, it's not like there's only one person in the world named Sullivan.
The Umbrella Conspiracy
Chapter 08
-The Moonlight Sonata-
Johnny placed the star-engraved copper crest into its position on the diagram -- it settled with a light click, fitting smoothly and flushing against the metal plate. He stepped back, a small smirk of triumph on his face.
As he'd walked through the hall of paintings, the crows had watched, never moving, and crying out occasionally in an almost threatening way as he solved the simple puzzle. Equally, there'd been six portraits, cradle to grave -- newborn baby to old man. Johnny'd never seen a picture of Lord Spencer, but he assumed that they were portraits of him. The final painting, a death scene, had fallen from the wall when its switch was flipped, pushed out by tiny metal pegs at each corner. Behind the painting had been a small, velvet-lined opening were the crest had been. He'd left without any trouble, not wanting to see if the crows had been disappointed that he'd figured it out.
He took a lasting breath of the warm, night air, and went back into the mansion. As he stepped over the corpse of one of the fallen monsters, he pulled the map out and studied it. He went back the way he'd come, according to the map, the single door across from the room with the crows led to a tiny, square of a room, which opened into a larger room.
He shook off his tension as best he could as he grabbed the cool knob, and pushed it open. Like the S.T.A.R.S. had been trained to do, he trained his Beretta around the room. The room was more of a closet, and was completely empty.
Johnny let out his breath, entering the room fully and glancing at the elegant marble floor tiles, as he neared the door to his right. The room had a high ceiling, and the walls were marble flecked with gold -- proof of what money could buy.
Readying himself, he grabbed the doorknob, and quickly pushed the door open, once more sweeping his Beretta swiftly. He relaxed, realizing that he was alone. There was a fireplace to his right beneath an ornate tapestry, and a modern couch in the center of the room, an oval-shaped coffee table in front of it. Johnny felt a surge of excitement at what hung on the back wall -- a pump-action shotgun, mounted on dual hooks and gleaming in the antique light from above. He quickly walked over to it, trying to believe his luck, and praying that it would be loaded.
He stopped in front of it, and though guns weren't his specialty, he could recognize the make. A Remington M870, five shots -- the same that the S.T.A.R.S. used. Holstering his Beretta, Johnny reached up, grabbing the shotgun with both hands.
But as he lifted it, there was a click as the hooks rose, released from the weight of the weapon. There was also a bigger sound from behind the wall, like balanced metal changing position.
Johnny spun, searching the room quickly for any sign of movement or change. But nope, it was still the same as earlier, no screaming murder of crows, no insane dogs, or anything of the sort. Letting out a breath of relief, he checked the gun, satisfied when he found it fully loaded. The gun'd been taken care off, the barrel shiny, and smelling vaguely of cleaner.
After searching the rest of the room, Johnny holstered the Remington -- S.T.A.R.S. vests all had a back holster for a shotgun or rifle, thus he wouldn't have to tie up his hands with the gun.
Nothing else was in the room, and he walked to the door, somewhat excited to get back to the main hall and share his findings with Brian. He'd already checked out every room on this side that he could open, at least on the first floor. If he'd managed the same, they could both head up to the second floor.
He closed the door behind him and strode through the small square room, hoping that Brian'd found Jimmy or Matt -- if not both.
Johnny frowned -- the door was locked. He turned the knob back and forth a few times, stomach sinking. It rattled but there was no give. He quickly looked at the crack where the door met frame, and felt a small sense of desperation set in at the sight of the large, powerful dead-bolt -- reinforced completely.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of gears echoed off the walls, followed by a clatter of metal from somewhere behind the walls. Johnny glanced up as dust particles rained down on him, and his heart stopped for about a minute, breath hitching in his throat. The high ceiling was moving, the dust coming from the grinding of stone against stone. And it was coming straight for him.
He ran for the room where he'd found the shotgun, but it'd been locked as solidly as the first. Mentally cursing and trying to ignore his panic, Johnny ran to the other door again, glancing up at the ceiling. It moved at least two to three inches a second, and it would hit the floor within a minute.
He raised the shotgun, aiming at the door to the hall, and trying not to think about the waste of shells this would take. The picks were useless on that kind of lock, but maybe he could blow apart a steel dead-bolt.
The first round sent chips of wood cascading to the tile floor, revealing that the metal plate supporting the bolt was extended halfway across the door. Johnny tried to think of something -- anything, only his brain couldn't process the fact that he was going to be crushed into mince meat if he didn't hurry up.
Deciding he'd try and weaken the door, he fired again, this time at the frame. The explosion of the shell tore the wood apart, chipping marble, but not even close to enough, and the ceiling continued to descend -- it was now less than ten feet above him, and he was going to die.
"Jesus." he felt himself say in a small, defeated voice, eyes darting back up to the ceiling as he praying that he wouldn't die like that.
"Johnny? Is that you?"
There was a muffled voice from outside in the corridor, and more desperation settled in the young man, as he threw himself against the door.
"Brian, help me!" was all he could think to say at first, his voice now slightly high-pitched and shaky. "Can you break the door down?"
"Get back!" there wasn't even a pause before the other S.T.A.R.S. member answered.
Johnny stumbled out of the way, holding onto the wall to support his legs which had suddenly turned into jello. A heavy blow struck the door, and the wood shuddered, but held. Johnny ran his hand through his hair, fighting the urge to let out a low groan of frustration mixed with primal fear, as his gaze darted between the door and the ceiling.
Another hit to the door, and the ceiling was now five feet overhead. The third blow was joined by the splinter of wood, and the door flew open. Brian, standing in the doorway, quickly reached for Johnny, face red and sweaty from his effort. Johnny lunged forward, and the older man grabbed his wrist harshly, yanking him from the closet-like room. The two of them crashed to the floor, and behind them, the door was crushed from its hinges, as the ceiling continued down, snapping the door and filling the hall with fierce snaps and groans.
There was a final boom of impact, and the ceiling met the floor. The house fell silent again. Breathing deeply, Johnny realized that he was laying on top of Brian, his Remington on the floor a few feet away from them where he'd dropped it, and they were both clinging to each other for dear life. He hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt, he felt like he was going to start sobbing in Brian's arms, just so grateful towards his friend at that moment.
"Are you alright?" Brian asked when he'd caught his breath, his voice dramatically low.
Johnny nodded slowly, taking large gulps of air, and trying to regulate his own breathing. He suddenly felt his face heat up at Brian's intense stare, and he looked away, feeling sheepish and inexpert that he'd gotten himself into a situation like that.
Brian's calloused fingers were suddenly on his chin, lifting his face up so their gazes met. And as the two of them stared at each other, they instinctively moved forward until their lips touched.
Jimmy paced the carpet in front of the stairs as Zacky stood by the banister, nervously wringing his hands. Jimmy couldn't understand where the other S.T.A.R.S. were, and the fact that everything seemed silent just didn't help. They'd both heard a loud rumbling sound from deep in the mansion, something like a giant door being slammed, but then it stopped, and was over with -- Jimmy hadn't even been able to tell where it was coming from.
He tried to throw a comforting smile at Zacky, but he was sure it didn't come out as good as he wanted.
"Guess we have to go onto plan B." he said lightly.
Zack's brow furrowed, giving him an insanely adorable expression. "What's plan B?"
Jimmy gave a sigh looking around slightly. "Well," he began, searching his mind. "I guess we can go to the room with the sword key. Try and find some more information or something."
Zack nodded, and without another word, Jimmy led him back through the dining room. Jimmy was inwardly scolding himself, Zack was still weapon-less, and neither of them knew what lay behind the locked door -- it could have certainly been their deaths. But something in his gut told him not to leave Zacky in the main hall, it just didn't feel safe.
They were passing the grandfather clock when Jimmy felt something crunch beneath his boot. He glanced down to find he'd treaded on a broken piece of plaster, and there were a few more pieces scattered around next to it. He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Zack.
"Did you notice this when we came through here?" he asked.
Zack shook his head, honestly unable to remember. And it appeared that Jimmy couldn't either, and he crouched looking under the table for more. On the other side of the room was the pile of crushed fragments, where the actual breaking of whatever it was had taken place. The two of them quickly went around the long table, and stopped in front of the pile. Jimmy nudged at the fragments with his boot, coming to the conclusion that it'd been a statue (obviously).
"Do you think it's important?" Zack asked, tone low as though it were some kind of secret.
"Beats me." Jimmy answered. "Doesn't seem like it, but in a situation like this, you never know."
As they reached the door to the corridor that smelled of death, Jimmy pulled the silver key from his pocket, and turned right into the hall, but he froze, drawing his Beretta, and stepping in front of Zack. The door at the end of the hall was closed -- they'd left it open.
They didn't feel like they were being watched, and there was no movement in the hall -- someone had come through when they'd been out in the main hall.
"Come on." he whispered, moving slowly towards the locked door with Zack right on his heels.
He unlocked the door with ease, and gently pushed it open, preparing himself for the worst. He stepped in slowly, and aimed the Beretta around, searching for any movement, any sign of life -- well, death. There was nothing. It was a small, piano bar, a baby grand was across from a built in counter which was complete with stools bolted to the floor. It was by far, the nicest room he'd been in, there was just a calm stillness to it.
He motioned for Zack to follow, and the Bravo quickly stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly. Jimmy walked around the room some more, thoroughly examining every crevice, and Zack brushed off the corner of the piano bench, before perching on the edge. Behind the wall where the piano was, there was a small table and a tiny alcove, a couple of wooden bookshelves in the back. There was only the one entrance -- it was an ideal spot for the Bravo to hide out.
Putting his gun away, Jimmy returned to Zack. He gave one of his tried smiles again, and chose his words carefully.
"How would you feel about staying here for a while?" he asked. "So I could search the rest of the house."
Zack looked less than happy with the suggestion, but he kept his jade gaze on Jimmy's steel, and he gave a short nod. "Makes sense." he replied slowly. "I'd probably just slow you down..."
"I just don't want to put you in danger." Jimmy answered, "Maybe I can find you a gun or something."
Zack nodded again, and a small silence filled the room, one of those awkward silences. Jimmy cleared his throat.
"I'll be back as soon as I can." he said. "I want you to lock the door behind me, and stay here."
Zack nodded, standing, and the two went to the door. He pulled open the door, and started to step out.
"Hey." Zack said, getting him to look at him. "Be careful."
Jimmy offered a grin. "Will do, sir." he said.
Zack blushed, he'd almost forgotten that he was technically under Jimmy. The older man, still grinning, pulled the door shut. He waited until he heard the door lock, and he drew his gun, smile fading completely.
He started down the hall, towards where the zombie he hadn't killed was laying dead. He stepped over the creature, looking to see if the hall continued, and stopped dead in his tracks. Lying on the floor was a body, a headless corpse wearing a blood covered S.T.A.R.S. uniform -- which was almost unrecognizable except for the bottom of the emblem on the sleeve showing. The head lay a few feet away, and Jimmy felt his throat tighten as he recognized Kenneth Sullivan, a Bravo. A kind of anger swept through his body as he learned to breathe again, this wasn't right, too many people had already died -- how many more had to suffer because of some stupid accident.
Willing himself to turn away, he went towards the door that would lead into the dining room. He was going to go back to the main hall, and search every possible way that the S.T.A.R.S. could have gone. He'd kill anything that got in his way, and he'd put a stop to the madness. No more of his teammates were going to die, he was sure of it.
After Zack'd locked the door, he decided to search the room himself. He walked past the baby grand and glanced around the opening to his right. Two empty bookshelves pushed to one side, the one in front was completely empty. He walked closer, and put his hands on either side of the end piece, sliding the outer shelf forward. The bookshelf that'd been hiding had nothing but some dusty candy dish, stupid knickknack vases, and some piano sheet music propped up in a tiny holder. He picked up the sheet, and remembered when his mother had made him take piano lessons as a child -- one of his favorite pieces had always been Moonlight Sonata.
He snorted, remembering he'd never exactly been able to grasp the song, he'd ended up butchering it every time he'd tried. But he took it out to the baby grand, and studied the piano for a few moments. He was bored out of his skull, and there wasn't anything else to do. Hell, maybe if he started playing one of the other S.T.A.R.S. would be able to hear it and try to find out what the horrible sound was.
He dusted the rest of the bench off, and sat down at the piano, propping the sheets on the music holder. Reading the opening notes, he put his fingers in place almost robotically, and it felt like he'd never given up the piano. He started slowly, and as the first few notes filled the air, he felt himself relax just slightly, it was a warm nostalgic feeling, something that got his mind off of the horrors of the mansion. His tempo was off, but at least he was hitting the right notes, and the strength of the melody made up for the horrid playing.
Something suddenly moved behind him, and he jumped up, knocking the bench to the floor. The wall was moving. A small panel of the bare wall to his right was sliding upwards slowly, and it came to a gentle halt within moments.
Zack stared, unable to move for a moment. He was waiting for something terrible to happen -- something to come charging out of its hiding spot, but it felt like an eternity of silence, and the room still was quiet. The keys of the piano had been extremely stiff, no doubt it was some kind of mechanism.
He took a few steps towards the narrow opening, and found that it was about the size of a closet, and he was filled with horrible mental images of what would happen if he stepped inside. But he'd rather show some backbone than cowardice, so he pushed the consequences from his mind, and neared the opening some more.
The only light in the small chamber came from the window into a tiny greenhouse to his right, where behind the dirty glass lay dead plants. There was a pedestal in the back, and on top was a stone statue of Beethoven's head. The pedestal itself bore a thick gold emblem about the size of a dinner plate, in the shape of a shield or a coat of arms. Zack immediately recognized it, he'd seen the design somewhere else.
He crouched down, studying it some more, and he felt a smile creep to his face when he remembered he'd seen one about the same size and shape above the fireplace in the dining room. He reached out and traced the emblem, before grabbing it from its hole and pulling. As soon as it was free, the wall behind him came down again slowly. Without hesitation, he replaced it, and the wall came up.
He couldn't be sure, but he was thinking that he needed to switch them, putting this gold one above the mantle piece, and the wooden one from the dining room to in the pedestal to keep the door open. He stood again, and headed towards the door smiling -- Jimmy'd told him to stay there, but it wasn't as if he'd be gone that long. And besides, when the Alpha came back, Zacky wouldn't feel so useless after all.