Leon's getaway, an RE story( Futa/M)

Story by rough_neck_9_1

Alright I kind of slapped this together in a few hours, a quick proof read and it’s off. As far as my other story, I’ll more then likely throw another stab at it. But personally there’s something about that new story smell.

I don’t own Resident Evil and as such stand to make no profit from my labors.

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Never let it be said I’m an impressionable twenty eight year old government agent. If I took on every assignment, viral outbreak and other such other worldly adventures of big explosions and gun fire then I’d never have time to mainline the heroine necessary to keep from putting a gun between my teeth. No that’s a lie, at least with the heroine. At the alarming rate of times I am called out to save the day from this weeks super villain, even the mere dream of tossing in a high would only result in an adventure annoyance and failure. Now I’ve sort of forgot where I was going with this...

Oh yeah, as a result of the near constant adventures with smart mouth talking dogs, I pulled the ever sacred “Fuck you Mr. President” card and took the weekend off without informing my respective agency I was leaving. Odds are there’s at least seven government agents out to find me, throw a black bag over my head and toss me in a white van. But let’s face it there’s a reason I’m awesome and always off on a mission, while your average black bagger is best some ex-army pigeon with a flashy suit and a pair of sunglasses. Some might say I’m being a bit selfish, some might say saving the day is its own reward, but some can shut their fucking mouths. I’m taking a well deserved break because I love my job and know if I keep jumping out of planes with the speed of a pneumatic drill I’ll be too burnt out to remember to kill the bad guy and not some kitten caught in the crossfire.

So here I am, in a hotel room in Lima, Peru. A pair of jeans and grey wife beater being all that I’m wearing, well that and the gun and knife hidden on my person. I have to admit, grabbing that stack of hundred dollar bills about a foot in height from the evidence locker was the way to go. Now don’t get all Nancy on me over such a simple things as stealing evidence from a federal case of bio-terrorism. The exact amounts already been noted in several reports, including my own, and it’s not like the government was going to hand over the cash to a bunch of amputee orphans. Odds are it was just going to get locked away behind three inches of bullet proof glass before being burned away in an incinerator.

Having taken the opportunity to snag the cash during my brilliant escape, by walking out of my office mid Thursday and walking to my car nonchalant. I know, you’d think it wouldn’t be that easy, but hell you forget the reputation that proceeds me. All I have to do is drive out forty minutes in the wrong direction, hail a cab with a false name getting a ride back to my apartment to grab a fake passport and a gun. Take a different cab to the airport, Fed-Ex the gun to Peru and I’m off.

Now here I am, and I have a rather luxurious room to myself for the time being. Having had the previous night to piss away some money on booze, some half decent food and even a rather sizzling whore that could suck the moon through a drinking straw and the cleavage that could hold up a fucking Christmas tree. No before you spaz out again, I made sure she was over age I’m not a pedophile you tit. I even gave her an extra grand so she’d not feel so ashamed about selling her body to a tourist like myself. Not that it matters anyway, odds are she just handed it all over to a pimp or something...wait is prostitution legal in the country?

The summer breeze broke my thoughts of the legal status of hookers in Peru, as I had yet to open a window in this place. Silently snapping to my feat, barefooted on the hotel carpet I made my was over to the side of the bedroom window. Peaking out into the street to see if any spotters or sitting vehicles on the street. The setting sun filled the city, people coming and going and not a unmarked van in site.

Reaching to my back to pull free the Glock 38, bringing the weapon in front of me to pull back the slide brass checking the handgun. Holding the weapon out chest high and close, I began to creep around the perimeter of the room. Swiftly and quietly making my way around the edge of the room till coming just to the right of the open door frame. Letting my free hand drop from my weapon to reach into my pocket and pull out the folding karambit, a quick flick of the wrist causing the curved edge of the weapon gleam against the setting sun light drifting through the room. Holding the edged weapon in a reverse grip in one hand, the Glock in the other.

My eyes scanning over the small visual window from my respective hiding place against the wall. Stretching out my other senses, the feel of the cool night breeze, the natural sounds of the hotel room. Coming up with nothing out of the ordinary other then the breeze blowi

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