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It was that time of year… the week of audits in which every department of the BSAA had mandatory overtime for inventorying every item in existence on the property.
Chris Redfield’s second least favorite thing in the world was paperwork. The first was the Director of the BSAA, who considered the Captain to be a smidgen overdramatic and most definitely in the doghouse for redecorating his SUV with office furniture two weeks prior.
Not that he would ever say that to Redfield’s face. He liked his teeth in his head and his eyesight clear, thank you very much. Wouldn’t say it to Valentine either, as she’d rat him out faster than Wesker could run.
Although Piers had been through hell week… or inventory auditing, his fellow squad members were brand new to the BSAA’s counting game. All members arrived early in civvies with lunches packed and plenty of caffeine ready to go, as per instruction of their Captain the prior Friday afternoon. They were not expecting Chris to show up in comfortably worn blue jeans and a slate-colored short sleeve button down that somehow was more flattering than the standard issue BSAA combat compression top. His weathered black combat boots were still in place, as they seemed to be the most comfortable footwear he owned.
Being met with blinks and silent staring, he cleared his throat and began to address them in a slightly more gravelly voice than usual.
“Morning All. Day one of inventory, we have two sections assigned to us today that must be completed before anyone is permitted to leave. Overtime is mandatory, as you were informed last week. The only leeway I have to offer is for you to pick which section to begin counting first; the supplies here in our office, or the HWS Ammunition Locker. Which will we start with first?”
Looks were exchanged both between the Squad and their Captain, a lot of silent conversation engaging before they voted. The Captain can speak full sentences at 8:30 a.m.?
“Sir, we’ll start here in the office.”
“Alright. Here are the packets for the count. Why they are still insisting on doing this on paper first before uploading to digital, I’ll never understand. Probably the Director’s fault. Look them over, pick your section, and ask any questions needed.”
He set the paper packets out on the kitchenette’s table before moving aside with the one assigned specifically for his own office. Giving them a few minutes to peruse, he sipped on a large cup of mint tea he’d brewed earlier and leaned against the counter. He looked over when Tundra cleared her throat and looked tentatively up at him with papers in hand.
“Yes?”
“So there are two columns for supplies… We can’t count all the boxes of paperclips together that are both partial and full?”
“Correct. One column for partial, one column for full. And they will not accept an estimate. I tried that once ten years ago and I had to re-count every single section assigned to me because the pencil pushers didn’t trust anything else I’d written down.” Seeing their faces pale, he chuckled softly. “But it’s not that bad. Just count what we have, check to make sure unopened supplies are fully sealed so that you won’t have to count individual units. If you aren’t certain something is correct, ask for verification from either myself or your teammates. I’m starting in my office, then will pick up a packet that hasn’t been completed yet. Black or blue ink only needs to be used. When you complete a packet, I must sign off on it. Any other questions?”
“No, Sir.”
“Let’s get to it. I’m sure you’d all love to be home by dinnertime if possible.”
The moment Redfield went to his office, the Wolves scrambled to get to work… and to their phones for messaging.
Umber Eyes: He owns jeans?!
Night Howl: And a button down. Didn’t know Captain owned civvies.
Tundra: I mean… he has to, right? He lives off base and has a sister, I heard. Can’t be in gear 24/7.
Umber Eyes: Tell that to his boots. Same boots as always. How long before he loses a couple of buttons? That shirt is a little tight…
Fenrir: I saw him once out for dinner with Valentine and Oliveira. He had a t-shirt and cargos that day.
Tundra: So he has two outfits. I give it until we get into the Locker.
Canine: Does the Crate of Shame in his office count as a chair?
Fenrir:….That’s a legitimate question. Best leave that up to him. I’m betting three crates into the Locker, as he’ll be moving them around more than the rest of us. Bear Strength Engaged.
Umber Eyes: Crate of Shame lmao. Who came up with that? I’m guessing halfway through the Locker, Tundra.
Lobo: Kennedy, while you were in the bathroom. I thought Alpha was going to send him through the wall.
Canine: Was that a mug of tea?
Tundra: Mint. Think he’s feeling okay? We got full sentences, a chuckle, and nobody has broken limbs or furniture to account for. Who body-snatched our Captain?
Fenrir: No idea, but we’d better get to work. He’s gonna notice nobody has started counting soon.
Scattering to their chosen areas, the Wolves began the painstaking process of counting everything in the office. From printer paper to thumbtacks, pencils to the number of computer monitors, everything was counted in a mere three and a half hours with the help of their Captain. Redfield had finished his office in half their time, coming out to sign off on packets after verifying each would pass inspection by the auditors. How he had that much stuff in that small of a space was a mystery to all.
“Lunch hour. I’ll submit these to the auditors after you’ve all initialed. Enjoy the break, you’re going to need it.”
There was a collective hard swallow as they broke for lunch. Piers was the first to break the silence.
“That didn’t go too badly… I saw his top page though. No chair inventoried for his office.” He snickered, “That’s gonna piss off somebody in the auditing team.”
“How long do you think the Director will make him go without an office chair before HR gets involved? Any takers for a bet?” Umber grinned.
“Depends on if anyone lets Dr. Chambers know he’s without a chair.” Lobo offered.
“So… is anyone going to let her know? That wooden crate is empty and has a little give to it, but it can’t be good for his back.” Canine.
“Or his hips.” Night Howl quipped, “All buttons still intact too so far.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t mind one of those new ergonomic standing desks? We’ve seen him stay upright for 12 hours at time.” Tundra offered between bites of pasta salad.
“Should look into it. I know some of them convert between sitting and standing, might make it easier in the long wrong on future chairs.”
“If he ever gets one again.” Canine finished.
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By the time five o’clock rolled around, the team still had half of their Ammunition Locker to go. The definition of half was approximately 45 crates filled with an assortment of calibers because not a single member of the receiving team had bothered to organize anything since the previous year’s audit… and there had been some over-ordering by the Accounting Department in order to use up the excess funding before term end to avoid losing the funding altogether.
Hungry and getting tired, brains slightly melted from numbers, numbers, and more numbers, the Wolves had started to droop despite gratuitous caffeine, water, and snacks throughout the day. As each crate was opened, every single box of ammo had to be organized into proper groupings before being counted and carefully stored back in the rightful place. Captain Redfield had disappeared for nearly half an hour before he arrived back with a fresh round of juice and water for all involved.
“Dinner break soon.”
Raised eyebrows greeted him, as all had been a little too optimistic that they’d be finished by perhaps six p.m.; not one of them had brought dinner. Twenty minutes later, music suddenly broke the monotony of the counting and quickly generated equal parts of alarm and intrigue in the Wolves.
“Baby I’m preying on you tonight, hunt you down, eat you alive! Just like animals! Animals! Like animals-mals. Maybe you think that you can hide, I can smell your scent for miles-”
The music came from none other than Chris Redfield’s back pocket, he answering the call.
“Hey. Yeah, they’ll buzz you through. Mmhmm. Fourth floor, hallway on the left, past the atrium. If they ask for clearance, drop my name. Yep. See you soon. Thanks West.”
A few minutes later, the Squad paused as they heard soft footsteps coming down the hallway. Quieter than anyone would suspect, like the owner was making a conscious effort to make actual noise instead of ghosting. The small smile that appeared on Redfield’s face indicated he knew exactly who was coming, he made his way to the entryway.
“Thanks for doing this, West. Their eyeballs were starting to glaze and I think a hunger strike was about to be declared.”
West popped into the Locker as Chris moved backwards to let the mysterious guest have room, taking two heavy bags from one of the large hands that offered them. Heads actually tilted backwards a tad as they took in the 6’9”, very built male figure that stood before them, both taller and broader than their Captain. Greeted by an amused expression that stretched the full lips and eyes the same blue as a husky, they were a little awestruck.
“Team, this is West. We go back a long way. West is a mean cook and was gracious enough to not only make dinner, but to deliver as well. West, this is the Hound Wolf Squad. Emily, John, Rolando, Charlie, Dion, and I believe you know Piers?”
“Pleasure to meet you. Good to see you again, boy.” A wide smile from West greeted them all.
Piers froze slightly, a hazy memory coming to the surface.
“Lanshiang? At the end?”
West nodded.
“Good to see you again, Mom.” Piers grinned.
West burst into bright and deep belly laughter, shaking his head and ruffling Nivans’ hair. He turned and looked to Chris.
“Well, I gotta get back out there. Things to do, bodies to disappear, zombies to play with. See you next week?”
“I’ll be there. Thanks again, West.” Chris smiled as his guest waved to the Squad and headed back out. Turning to the group, “Alright. Dinner is served, Chinese buffet in the break room, let’s go.”
He headed out, leaving the Hound Wolves to trail like ducklings in his wake.
“Didn’t know they made people bigger than Alpha.” Umber Eyes muttered.
“Or that they can apparently cook with little notice in large batches.” Lobo spoke softly.
“Zombies to play with? I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not…” Canine puzzled.
“Piers… Mom? What the hell was that about?” Night Howl asked, “I know the old insult goes on about your mother wearing army boots, but seriously? Something you ain’t telling
us?”
“It’s…. it’s a long story.”
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After a rousing and very filling dinner, the entire Squad was energized to get back to work. Breaking into two-person teams, they chose to divide and conquer the room with much more vigor than any had demonstrated earlier in the day. By 8:30, they had miraculously finished, Redfield moving full crates around as needed and verifying full completion and signing off. All buttons intact, much to the bafflement of the team.
“Excellent job today. Tomorrow’s sections are smaller and a lot easier to count. Get some rest, you’ve earned it. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sir. And for dinner as well.”
Each member headed out with noticeable enthusiasm. Beds and pajamas would feel good tonight, and day one of hell week was over. As they departed, they couldn’t help but wonder a tad more about their Captain… and the fact that Operation Feed Alpha was still a clear success.
Apparently feeding your Captain makes paperwork bearable enough that he decides to feed you in return.