Feed The Wild

Steve entered the sub shop. He walked in as kept his head low. Anyone seeing the color of his eyes would get very concerned trying to explain it to a person who doesn't speak English would be complicated. Hell, ordering a sub was going to be complicated alone!

Steve stood in line. He realized there weren't many customers. There was only one guy after him. Steve figured the town was just a quiet place that enjoyed its silence. Anyone who would go out of their house was either getting food or going to work.

The man's sandwich was quickly made as they spoke what sounded like Spanish. The accent was noticeably thick. Upon listening harder, Steve stood there in awe as this was the first time he had ever heard Chilean be spoken. He felt anxiety wash over him as he figured that the two languages had to be similar in some ways. Steve dug way back to Spanish class in Junior High to remember what to say and how to say it.

The old man at the back of the counter then glanced at Steve. Steve kept his eyes lowered. The old man walked to Steve and spoke, "What can I get for you, young man?" His accent was thick but easy to understand. Steve gave a look of relief as he then chuckled, glad he was not going to make a fool of himself. Steve ordered a large sub. Italian bread. Provolone cheese. Ham and turkey. Lettuce spinach and olive oil. The sandwich was not as expensive as he expected. He purchased his order and walked out with a full sub wrapped in wax paper. He felt excited as he could smell the meats and the bread both being very fresh, he expected farmland not so far from here if the meat smelled this fresh. With Steve's heightened senses he expected the food to not smell as amazing but it seemed it only amplified how much he wanted to eat it. Steve knew what he was. He did not like the idea of constantly being hungry.

He walked more uphill and stumbled across a small town center park. Some kids were playing in the play area, but it was mostly quiet. Steve sat at a bench that was next to the sidewalk. Silently he unwrapped his sub and began eating. The chilly air mixed with occasional sunlight made the place feel so calming and natural. The sub mixed with all of the flavors in his mouth perfectly.

It felt rare to relax this much after everything. Not just the Umbrella facility, but everything. The prison, then the Arctic facility, then death, then life. Hiding for several weeks. Claire, Ada... Yumi. The boy he murdered. Steve gave a soulless and lifeless chuckle as he realized that he never knew the boy's name. He did not remember any of the names that infiltrated the facility. Just their faces.

He continued to eat. It was clear that he did not enjoy thinking about this stuff. he barely ate the sandwich but he felt ill knowing he killed a living person. Steve felt conflicted and did not want to think about it any longer. It's the past now. No use dwelling on it.

Steve glanced around and took in the sight of the town. He really could relax here if he really wanted to, but he knew staying here for too long would end in disaster. This town was too quiet for him. Not enough of a crowd to hide in. Billy was right. Staying any longer than had to would just cause more deaths.

A seagull landed in front of Steve. Its eyes pondered at the bread before it called at him. Steve gave a soft grin and mumbled, "Sorry buddy. I need this more than you do," Steve then continued to eat. He felt his stomach fill. Before his infection, he would have never felt his stomach so well. Steve would just eat until his plate was empty and continue on his day until the next meal. He never realized how much of a privilege it was to have a mother and father that could feed him so well.

Every thought that he pondered, seemed to bring Steve down. The seagull stood there as it stared at Steve. Steve gave in. He broke a piece of the bread in his sub and tossed it over to the seagull. It jumped slightly before it bolted to the bread on the ground. It pecked and bit at the bread until there was no bread left on the sidewalk. The moment the seagull was finished it stared right back at Steve. Steve shook his head as he laughed softly, "Sorry pal. I'm not that nice."

A set of soft footsteps walk to the bench and sat next to Steve. An old voice with the same Chilean accent spoke, "Well, it's a good thing that I am the nicest person in town," the man teased. Steve quickly averted his gaze at the man. He looked in the opposite direction. Steve did not want his eyes revealed to anyone especially someone who is old. The old man wore casual clothes under a thick grey jacket. In his hand was a bag of birdseed. That was why the seagull was so eager and annoyed at Steve.

Steve spoke as his eyes only looked at the gull, "If I'm stealing your seat, I apologize. I didn't know anyone sits here often."

The old man chuckled softly as he threw seeds to the bird, "Clearly, you're new here in town. I come here often to feed Lil' Fidget right here. Also, Birds don't digest bread that well. Best to feed them what they commonly eat every day."

Steve was somewhat enjoying the conversation so far. He continued on, "I thought seagulls were the rat of the sky. Don't they eat whatever they can get their beaks on?" Steve slowly turned to face the old man but kept his gaze lowered at the white bird who pecked down on the seeds that the old man tossed down.

The old man's eyes were fixated on the bird as he chuckled at the comment Steve gave, "I believe you have mistaken seagulls for pigeons. Sure, they may consume whatever they can, but much like young children, they must be shown what is best for their diet," he tossed more seed around the bird and more gulls surrounded the pile of seed.

Steve sighed heavily as he thought about it. He did mistake seagulls for pigeons. The old man continued, "My favorite bird is the crow. No matter what situation they end up in, they always seem to survive whether adapt or flee," he tossed another handful of seed to the gulls, "What's your favorite bird, young man?"

Steve gave a thought as he relaxed somewhat. He stared into the grey clouded sky as he recalled his past, "In junior high, I had to write an essay about my favorite bird. The Least Flycatcher," the old man gave a confirming groan as he listened, "These grey-olive tiny birds that have such a distinct song. They're very common in America. They puff their feathers up whenever they feel threatened and they often fight with bigger birds when they enter their territory. When I was younger I used their song as a way to escape," Steve leaned against the bench's backrest as he continued, "In my hometown, there was a forest at the edge, that would lead the highway. whenever I would have a bad day at school, I would walk over to the forest and I would constantly hear them singing. The sounds of cars, construction, and machinery going crazy would just end up being washed over in their song. I would just sit in the forest and relax. I remember begging my-... My mother to get me one to keep in my room. She always gave me the same answer every time I asked. Too noisy."

The old man chuckled at the story and found Steve amusing. Steve glanced at the old man. He had short pure white hair and had wrinkles around his eyes and cheek. He was a thin man with green eyes. The old man stared directly at Steve, eye to eye. Steve quickly adverted his gaze once again as he confirmed that he blew his cover to this town. no more waiting then, it was time for him and the team to leave this quiet town, "You don't need to hide those eyes from me, young man. I can tell you mean no harm to me or anyone else here."

Steve froze as he slowly turned to face the old man who gave Steve a kind smile to reassure his safety. Steve spoke softly unsure if he should even continue to speak, "You don't even know what I'm capable of. Why are you so kind?"

"Hm... You say that as if I need a reason to be kind to a young stranger," Steve's eyes widened as he listened to the old man, "I try not to judge anybody from how ugly they can be. Those are the type of people who look out for themselves, which under the right circumstances, is not a bad thing."

This old man knew how people act. Just by how kind and understanding he sounded, Steve felt completely safe around him. Just by a few statements, this man was able to convince Steve that he could and possibly should stay here a little longer. Steve spoke softly, "I don't think everyone is as nice as you."

"Mm... That is true. I don't think anyone in this town really minds you and your friends. As long as none of you cause any trouble for the town, you can stay as long as you need," Another toss of seed to the birds. Steve felt a pit in his gut after he realized they were not the best at keeping themselves hidden.

Steve stared at the old man only to feel a rush of kindness from his words. He gave a sigh and nodded, "I appreciate you being so kind 'n all, but I don't think one man's words will accommodate for the whole town."

The old man gave a soft nod as his gaze has not yet left the Gulls, "Even if that's the case, the town will have to. After all, I run the town," he extended a hand to Steve as he looked over to him, "My name is Vincente Noah Pizarro."

Steve's eyes widened as a look of shock and confusion painted his expression. His eyes darted at his hand and then the smile that Vincente gave. Steve was hesitant to reach over. This was too good to be true. The governor of the town? Steve had to see him with suspicion. He slowly reached over and shook his hand, "I'm Steve... Just Steve."