Once again I am going to say that I do not own any of the monsters,
characters, and situations from the Resident Evil series (every game). I do this for no profit.
I only own my original characters, like George Stearns and Sandra Marshall. Well, I think that's
it for the legal talk.
Dark Stalker
by Eve
Chapter 1: George Stearns And How He Met His Fate
September 27th, 1998
All hell had broken loose! In only a few short days things had gone from bad to worse to
terrible and then to hell. George Stearns life had collapsed all in a matter of days, almost
hours even. A few days before, he had been a manager at the Grand Union only a few blocks away.
Now, he was packing his bags to leave Raccoon City before it was too late. There had already been
a police barricade that was broken through recently, and George had heard word of a total
blockade of the city. However, since the deterioration of the city had started, news came from
less reliable sources. The shining metal buckles on George's suitcase clasped shut, a lone sleeve
of a dark blue shirt sticking out like a tongue.
Hastily, he grabbed the suitcase off his large bed and ran past a nearby window. Suddenly,
George stopped and looked outside to take one last look at the city he had lived in for so many
years. Outside, there were a few people running down the street frantically, screaming in terror
as another wave of the walking undead lumbered down the street in droves. George was having an
incredibly hard time dealing with the fact the recently deceased were now back and walking the
streets of Raccoon City, hungry for the flesh of the living. It was the zombies that had
destroyed the police barricade elsewhere in the city. If the police could not stand up to this
evil opposition, what chance did George have of escape? He mulled over this thought, the chances
for living through the night seeming to disappear into nothing.
George turned, about the leave his spot near the window, except that something had caught
his attention. A tall figure, nearly eight feet in height, or what looked like that tall from
George's perspective, was standing on the roof of a building across the street. The figured was
covered in shadow, disabling George from seeing what the figure looked like. Whoever it was, it
was tall, and was carrying a large weapon in his hands....the silhouette of what looked like a
large bazooka...or even a rocket launcher. The moon behind the figure was large, nearly full,
making the figure seem like some strange symbol. George was hypnotized by this strange
silhouette, watching it intently, making sure it was alive and not an odd gargoyle. The figure
stayed motionless, as did George, nearly forgetting everything that was going on around him. He
stayed at the window, watching the figure, until he saw the figure move, walking towards the end
of the building in large, clunking strides. It stopped at the end of the roof, looking down on
some man that was running down the street. George followed the figure's gaze to a man running
down the street in an incredibly fast pace. He was wearing camoflauge pants in green, with a
yellow vest, seemingly stained with crimson blood, and a white t-shirt underneath. There was a
small patch on the t-shirt's sleeve that George could not make out, but whoever he was, he had
caught the interest of this strange figure. In one swift movement, the figure jumped down from
the roof onto the street, landing just in front of the running man. The man stopped dead, letting
out a surprised yell.
That was enough for George. The hypnotic effect the figure had on him had worn off in an
instant. Seeing him jump off a building, landing with being unfazed at all, was enough to break
off their odd connection. Taking the heavy suitcase, and carrying it with nearly all his might,
George rushed out of his apartment for the last time. He would never again see this place, work
at his job, or see his loved ones. As Raccoon City was heading towards oblivion at this sped up
pace, so was George. Raccoon City was heading towards destruction as fast as George sprinted down
the stairs of his apartment building. George almost knew his end was near. Maybe it was the way
the air hung heavy, smelling the faint stench of death, and carrying the occasional screams of
the lost souls who had already met their fate. Or how the moon's light was shining strangely,
letting off a glow that seemed cold and unforgiving. Whatever it was that had made George feel
that his end was near, that death might be waiting around the corner for him, he pushed to the
back of his mind, where he hoped to keep it. He did not need to believe in his imminent death
while trying to survive this nightmare. He needed to believe, to hold on to the one faith that he
would make it, that he would live to tell the tale of the darkest nightmare the city had come
across. George rushed out of his apartment building and onto the street, landing quite hard on
the cold concrete sidewalk.
'Oh no, not a civilian!' thought Brad "Chicken-heart" Vickers as George Stearns hit the
sidewalk with his suitcase, making a loud clumping sound. Sure, Brad was not known for his
bravery. In fact, it was he who left his fellow Alpha S.T.A.R.S members to die out in the field
a few months earlier. But Brad had tried to make up for it by circling around the mountains and
throwing down his rocket launcher to aid his teammates. And while they had said they forgave him,
Jill Valentine being the least forthcoming with her forgiveness, he still felt that deep down
inside, they would never forgive him. Ever. There was nothing he could do to make up for it. Now
that this large creature had jumped in front of him, all he could think about was his wishing for
his home, and that this civilian who had just landed on the street would not help him at
all. It wasn't that Brad did not care about others, but above all to him, he wanted to stay
alive. He was a coward, he knew it. That's why all his teammates had called him "Chicken-heart",
that's why he flew from them when danger struck, and that's why he felt that this civilian with
the suitcase, was more of an inconvience to his conscience than anything else. He hated his
cowardly nature, but it was too late for him to change now. It was too late for him to do
anything else, but try to survive as long as he could, as he watched the world he knew fall apart
before his very eyes. Brad had hoped that when George had hit the sidewalk, that this lumbering
creature that stood before him would turn around, letting Brad escape. But the loud clumping
noise made by George's suitcase fell on deaf ears as the creature paid no heed to it, walking
menacinly towards Brad.
Clothing was everywhere. That was what had happened to George's suitcase when he had
landed on the pavement. The small, gleaming metal clasps had unlocked, allowing a deluge of
clothing to explode out of his suticase, spilling itself all over the pavement. George fell to
his knees, trying to collect all his articles of clothing, when he noticed the immensely large
shadow covering himself and most of his clothing. He jutted his head upwards to look at what was
there, and when he saw it, the sight was one he'd never forget for the rest of his quickly ending
life. It was the shadowed figure that had jumped off the roof across the street. It had turned
out to be eight feet tall, but from George's kneeling position, it looked like the figure
stretched all the way up to the heavens, his height neverending. The glowing moonlight reflected
softly off the figure's black leather jacket that stretched nearly down to his feet, the said
feet being covered in black boots. It held the rocket launcher in one of its hands, the other
being clenched into a tight fist. Gazing up at the head, George obsevered that it had no hair,
the skin having a disturbing greenish-yellow tone to it. And then he noticed the large silver,
luminating staples that adorned its head, going around to the front. Only one thought entered
George Stearns' mind at that very moment; Death. This imposing dark figure standing in front of
him, staring at the man in the yellow vest, was none other than Death. He had come to life, taken
a form, and was the thing that had been the bane of the city for the past weeks, months even.
Death had finally taken shape and what a terrible shape it was. The deathly behemoth did not turn
around when George landed, nor did it turn around when George gasped at it, letting out a small
squeak in the process. George then decided that it had not come for him, it had come for the man
in the yellow vest, who's patch on his t-shirt was now visable. It was the unmistakable symbol
for the RPD's special S.T.A.R.S unit. Just then, George heard the creature utter a single
solitary word in what sounded more like a deep growl than a voice, "S.T.A.R.S...." The yellow
vested S.T.A.R.S member's face turned to one of sheer terror as he turned, running in the other
direction. This was enough for George. Leaving his clothing behind, George ran as fast as his
legs could carry him down the street, as far away from that thing as he could get. Occasionally,
he glanced back to look at it as it quickly persued the S.T.A.R.S member, repeating its chant
every few seconds.
George ran down the street as fast as his legs could carry him, his breathing becoming
harder and more shallow the faster and harder he pushed. He never wanted to see something like
that again. To him it was more horrifying than all the zombies in the city, worse than any
nightmare he could ever have dreamed. He thanked to God that it hadn't been after him, and that
it had been after the S.T.A.R.S member instead. If anyone was able to handle that walking
nightmare, it would be a S.T.A.R.S member. George kept running, passing other helpless souls,
running and screaming like chickens with their heads cut off. He ran past the city hall, and
past the newspaper office, until he found the way he needed to go blocked off. The screams of
the dying still filling the air, George had to think quickly on how to get away. Suddenly, an
idea came to him, to cut through the building nearby that was undercontruction. If he was lucky,
he could cut through it and it would get him to the garage, that would hopefully be unlocked.
After taking a breif moment to collect himself and allow a good amount of oxygen into his lungs,
George continued to run, his feet pounding on the pavement as he went, quickly running to the
building under contruction.
A cold draft blew through the empty building that night, a crate suspended in air
swinging gently with the wind. Plastic gray covering spanned over all the walls, the floor metal
grating. The building was as far from complete as you could get, even a map of a portion of the
city was hung up on one of the walls, and metal pipes leaned against the walls precariously. But,
something evil lurked in the shadows of the unfinished residence. A creature that was almost like
something out of a child's worst nightmare. It crawled on the unfinished walls, waiting in the
darkness for its next prey. Another creature crawled on another wall nearby, strange insect
noises coming from the two creatures. One of the doors suddenly swung open, revealing George
sprinting inside.
He slammed the door shut behind him, pressing his back against the cold metal and panting
for air. His eyes searched around the premises, looking for the door out. George took in some of
the area quickly, noting the gently swinging crate, metal grating floor, and pipes leaning
against the walls. He let out a deep breath and walked towards a T intersection not too far from
him. The soft insect chattering that came from above suddenly got louder, and closer, finally
grabbing George's attention. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for the source of the
noise, but did not see a thing. Then he heard a loud chattering noise above him and he looked up
to see a creature he would never had even though up in his entire lifetime. To George, it looked
like a large insect, and almost like the new version of the Fly. Yes, that's what it looked like
to him, the Fly. From its mouth area dripped down a sticky siliva like substance onto the floor.
George watched the disgusting liquid fall and hit the floor, making a small muffled splashing
sound. The thing had no wings like a fly, but it did have an insects' eyes, that stared into
George's blankly. Deep, black eyes, that seemed to look into George's soul, searching him
throughoughly. This time, George would not just stand there in horrified awe of what he was
seeing. Although, he did not truly believe what he was seeing, he quickly ran and grabbed a spare
metal pipe that was leaning against one of the walls. The creature on the ceiling flipped down,
landing on four legs. It make a hissing, chattering insect like noise, coming after George with
astonishing speed. Lifting the metal pipe with all his strength, George swung it at the creature.
It came in contact with the creature's head, making it shriek in pain, green blood flowing out of
a wound the blow had created. With it being temporarily disabled, George ran down to the T
section, and was heading straight, the path vearing left ahead of him. He sped towards it, but
was stopped when another creature landed in front of him, hissing and chattering with evil
intent. In a split second, George was facing the other direction, heading towards his left, where
he really needed to go anyway, but in front of him, the first creature was crawling menacinly
towards him. This one moment, George knew it was over. All that he had seen, all the people he
had met, all the things he had done, flashed in his mind in a moment, his entire life playing out
like a movie in his mind as the creature in front of him got on its hiend legs, charging for him.
The last thing George Stearns saw was the blank, black eyes of the creature as it attacked him,
and the last image he thought in his mind was the hulking figure of what he had called Death
coming after the S.T.A.R.S member like a homing missle, and hearing himself scream like he never
had done before, feeling the seering pain as the creature killed him. Then nothing. George
Stearns was dead, a pool of dark crimson blood slowly forming under his body. The two creatures
let out more insect sounding chatter before quickly scurrying back up the walls, dragging his
body along with them, ready to wait for their next prey.
Chapter 2: Chicken-heart Gets Some Courage
Blurred vision, like a camera doused with water, infected Brad Vickers eyes from
exhaustion. To get away from that behemoth, Brad had ran all the way to the newspaper building,
weaving and ducking in out of the way alleyways and climbing over wrecked metal that used to be
cars and trucks. People were still running in the streets, the place a panic. Cars were crashing,
people letting out blood curdling screams, and then the low hungry moaning of an undead ghoul,
searching for its next meal. For Brad, this was terrible. People were causing more problems left
and right, making the disaster even worse. Things going from horrible to hell. Brad knew deep
down inside, he should try to help them. His live seemed to be over, the least he could do is
help these poor people and try to give them a second chance. Brad believed that he would never
get away from Umbrella. Although he had had a very small hand in the whole mansion incident,
Umbrella was out to get him ever since he had returned to the city.
He had never seen all the horrors that were inside that old mansion, but Chris, Jill,
Barry and Rebecca had told him the whole thing. Telling him of the Hunters, zombies, the demonic
dogs, the killer Plant 42, the giant spiders, the bees, the huge poisonous snake, the creatures
that clung to the ceiling, Wesker betraying the S.T.A.R.S, Wesker forcing Barry to work for him
by threatening to kill Barry's family, all of the terrible things that Umbrella was responsible
for, and of course, the Tyrant. Brad had seen that for himself. The only horror that he had seen
that whole night, although he had seen the dogs...it hadn't been clearly seen to his eyes in the
darkness that night. Tyrant was something he had really gotten a look at. The terrible disfigured
hand brandishing deadly claws instead of fingers. The exposed heart beating its unearthly beat in
a disgusting gushing sound. A lipless grin, gleaming white teeth uncovered by flesh lips, the
evil grin that was left. The discoloration, the lack of any sex organs, or any real gender for
that matter, Brad had seen the Tyrant in its full glory. Able to withstand all regular gunfire
making mearly small holes in it, able to break through a concrete ceiling as if it were just
cardboard. Tyrant defied all of nature, all that was sane. When it came down to it, to Brad,
Tyrant was the very symbol for chaos, destruction, insanity, and evil. The epitomy of evil. Where
was Brad going with these wandering thoughts and remincing? That behemoth he had just seen that
utter a growl that sounded like S.T.A.R.S seemed so familiar to him. The same fear that he had
felt when laying his eyes on the Tyrant were the same feelings that he had felt when he looked
into the blank white eye of the behemoth he had encountered. Except this time, he fear was
tenfold. Standing in the middle of the street near the newspaper office, without hearing the
screams and sirens going off around him, Brad had come to a realization; this behemoth he had
seen, this dark stalker, was a Tyrant. There was no way around it to him. It was different-very
different- but the feelings were the same. It was huge, it was an abomination of mankind, and it
would kill anything that got in its way. Just like a Tyrant. It was as if it was a Tyrant, but
not at the same time. Horror filled Brad's soul, infecting all parts of him until he wish all he
could do was collapse on the ground, begging for someone to save him. Someone to come and take
him back home, where he could see the fields of flowers he had loved as a child.
But no one would come. Brad realized this now. No one would help him. In this situation,
the panicking citizens of the city were looking to a police officer to save them. Guess who fit
the bill? That's right, good ol' Chicken-heart Vickers was the one people would look to for
salvation in this. Brad had to come to a decision; either he could run, keep running for the rest
of his life, which seemed to be getting shorter by each passing moment, or he could try to help.
He could make up for the wrongs he had done. Save someone; anyone. Do his job like he should have
all along. Admist the chaos in the street, Brad Vickers had realized what he had to do. If he was
to die, he wanted to die as a hero, not a coward. Save someone if he could not save himself. At
least that would make him feel better about dying. This was his last chance, his salvation.
Taking no heed to Brad, people ran in a panic around him, heading for shelter, heading
anywhere that would seem safe. Some wanted to get to the police station, thinking it as a safe
haven. Some wanted to get home, taking a last look at all they had and get their loved ones. Some
wanted to find a way to get out of the city, despite the blockades around it. All this terrified
commotion was interrupted by a loud noise, resinating throughout the area. The next second an
explosion rocked the street, body limbs flying everywhere, red blood spraying all around onto
other horrified people. A rocket had been shot from somewhere, missing Brad and hitting several
people in front of him, splattering their insides on the street with wet squishing sounds.
Intestines stewn all over the pavement like dead snakes, smacking the ground with a sticky
sounding dull thud. The smell of burnt flesh and smoke filled the air, the people around
beginning to panic even more, wondering what the hell was coming down on them now. Then, an
angered roar sounded through the air, and a dark figure landing on the street with a loud thud.
It was the dark stalker that was after Brad, and it knew how to fire a rocket launcher, the
weapon being held in its hand tightly. The people around Brad all screamed a scream loud enough
to even wake the dead as the creature eyed Brad intently. It uttered its one word chant,
"...S.T.A.R.S..." and started to walk menacingly towards Brad again.
It had all happened so quickly to Brad. One second, he was coming to a life decision. The
next second, he was staring death in the face. This time Brad did not panic. For the first time
in his life Brad did not panic and run immediately. Taking out his handgun, Brad pumped a few
rounds into the monster, but the bullets did nothing. Brad then took aim at the monster's rocket
launcher, shooting off a few rounds. The bullets at first made a small tinking sound as is
ricocheted off the rocket luncher. The last shot was the one that did it. The rocket launcher
exploded in the creature's face, a roar of pain eminating from within it. The creature stumbled a
little and then once again said its one phrase, "S.T.A.R.S..." as is collapsed on to the pavement.
Brad stood in front of the creature for a few minutes, not breathing or moving. Finally, he
exhaled a large breath and looked around to all the frightened faces of the few individuals who
had stayed behind. All the wide, terror filled eyes were on him while smoke still curled towards
the heavens from what had just occurred.
Brad cleared his throat lightly and began to shout authoritatively, "Listen everyone! I'm
from the RPD S.T.A.R.S unit. Alpha Team Pilot Brad Vickers. I suggest we all get to some place
safe for the time being! I know this small basement area uptown and we can all go there for a
little while! Please, everyone follow me! Stay close, and try not to make too much noise!"
A few minutes passed as all the terrified citizens thought about Brad's statement.
Quietly, three men came forward, nodding in agreement. The rest were too frozen in horror to move.
Not wanting to wait any longer, in case the creature was not dead, Brad nodded back to the three
men and they began running, following Brad to his save haven. Even if it wasn't going to end up
safe at all.
Chapter 3: Sandra Marshall's Last Hours On This Earth
Sweaty hands grasped at the door handle, forcing it with a terrified twisting motion. The
hands were that of Sandra Marshall. She had been working at the newpaper office for a year, and
during that year she had found out only the tip of Raccoon City's corrupted iceburg. Sandra had
been able to find out that the chief of police, Brian Irons, had been accepting bribes from
Umbrella and later on she had found out that the flu that had been plaguing the town was a
virus. But nothing more. There were pieces she couldn't put together, parts of the puzzled that
alluded her until the day she died. She knew that Ben Bertolucci had something along the lines of
what she did, but was never able to talk to him. He had been arrested recently under the order of
the chief. There was definitely something going on in Raccoon City that the higher ups did not
want the reporters, or citizens, of the city to know. Sandra had figured that it had something to
do with Umbrella, one way or another, but besides the bribery from Irons; she had nothing. It was
the one story she had been working on secretly since she had started suspecting something odd was
going on. Unfortunately, she never finished her story.
Sandra had been working at her desk for hours, not only working on her own assignment but
several others the editor had given her. The stories of cannibal murders and vicious wolf attacks
had died down after the Spencer Estate exploded back in July. However, the cannibals began
appearing in scattered intervals until they became rampant; people attacking each other in the
streets. Literal pandemonium. It coincided with the flu epidemic going around the city, linking
this mysterious disease to the attacks. But, before anyone could do something, the police
blockades were decimated, cars were crashing everywhere, and the undead began their rule over the
town. Though the problem had been long in its preparation, the disaster hit Sandra all at once.
One day everything was more or less the same, the next the town had nearly been taken over by
these monsters. Yet, most of the staff on the paper were still around, and all had dedicated
themselves to finding out what was going on, and if it could happen to any other town.
A burning smell filled Sandra's nose suddenly, alerting her that something was amiss in
building. Turning her head up, she saw black curls of smoke twirling against the ceiling in their
own insideous dance coming from her editor's office. As panic from the other reporters swirled
around her, Sandra ran to the entrance of her editor's office, fearing his safety. What she saw
inside haunted her last days; the editor, her editor, one who she had become friends with, was
standing ablaze in the office. It wasn't possible. Her editor had been coughing lately, but
Sandra hadn't imagined that he had the cannibal disease. But, against her judgement earlier,
there her editor stood, his skin singing and decaying all at the same time. It only took a second
for Sandra to break out of the cold grasp of terror and run away. Running at top speed at the
fire began to spread to the other areas of the office, twisted burning blazes and ebony black
smoke starting their takeover of the small newspaper building. Sandra could hear someone remotely
dialing for the fire department to arrive on the downstairs payphone, but she didn't believe
anyone would get there in time. With her sweating, nervous hands Sandra grabbed the doorknob and
twisted it open, the hot air of smoke and burning flesh being her greeting.
Outside seemed even worse to Sandra than the newspaper building as she took in the
surroundings. In all her terror, she had not heard the commotion going on outside. How could she
be that oblivious? Looking at the giant, what only could be described as, behemoth lying flat on
the sidewalk; a multitude of body limbs on fire strewn about like branches on a tree, the only
word that fit what she saw was horror. The worst kind of horror there was. It was a kind of
horror she was immediately lost in, gatching only a glimpse of the man in the yellow vest leading
a few men towards the resturant nearby. This horror before Sandra was consuming her very soul the
more time she spent standing there, staring at it with awed terror. She wanted to throw up and
collapse all at the same time, but somehow nothing happened. All she could do was stand and stare
as the severed body limbs quietly smoked and the giant on the sidewalk stayed still.
characters, and situations from the Resident Evil series (every game). I do this for no profit.
I only own my original characters, like George Stearns and Sandra Marshall. Well, I think that's
it for the legal talk.
Dark Stalker
by Eve
Chapter 1: George Stearns And How He Met His Fate
September 27th, 1998
All hell had broken loose! In only a few short days things had gone from bad to worse to
terrible and then to hell. George Stearns life had collapsed all in a matter of days, almost
hours even. A few days before, he had been a manager at the Grand Union only a few blocks away.
Now, he was packing his bags to leave Raccoon City before it was too late. There had already been
a police barricade that was broken through recently, and George had heard word of a total
blockade of the city. However, since the deterioration of the city had started, news came from
less reliable sources. The shining metal buckles on George's suitcase clasped shut, a lone sleeve
of a dark blue shirt sticking out like a tongue.
Hastily, he grabbed the suitcase off his large bed and ran past a nearby window. Suddenly,
George stopped and looked outside to take one last look at the city he had lived in for so many
years. Outside, there were a few people running down the street frantically, screaming in terror
as another wave of the walking undead lumbered down the street in droves. George was having an
incredibly hard time dealing with the fact the recently deceased were now back and walking the
streets of Raccoon City, hungry for the flesh of the living. It was the zombies that had
destroyed the police barricade elsewhere in the city. If the police could not stand up to this
evil opposition, what chance did George have of escape? He mulled over this thought, the chances
for living through the night seeming to disappear into nothing.
George turned, about the leave his spot near the window, except that something had caught
his attention. A tall figure, nearly eight feet in height, or what looked like that tall from
George's perspective, was standing on the roof of a building across the street. The figured was
covered in shadow, disabling George from seeing what the figure looked like. Whoever it was, it
was tall, and was carrying a large weapon in his hands....the silhouette of what looked like a
large bazooka...or even a rocket launcher. The moon behind the figure was large, nearly full,
making the figure seem like some strange symbol. George was hypnotized by this strange
silhouette, watching it intently, making sure it was alive and not an odd gargoyle. The figure
stayed motionless, as did George, nearly forgetting everything that was going on around him. He
stayed at the window, watching the figure, until he saw the figure move, walking towards the end
of the building in large, clunking strides. It stopped at the end of the roof, looking down on
some man that was running down the street. George followed the figure's gaze to a man running
down the street in an incredibly fast pace. He was wearing camoflauge pants in green, with a
yellow vest, seemingly stained with crimson blood, and a white t-shirt underneath. There was a
small patch on the t-shirt's sleeve that George could not make out, but whoever he was, he had
caught the interest of this strange figure. In one swift movement, the figure jumped down from
the roof onto the street, landing just in front of the running man. The man stopped dead, letting
out a surprised yell.
That was enough for George. The hypnotic effect the figure had on him had worn off in an
instant. Seeing him jump off a building, landing with being unfazed at all, was enough to break
off their odd connection. Taking the heavy suitcase, and carrying it with nearly all his might,
George rushed out of his apartment for the last time. He would never again see this place, work
at his job, or see his loved ones. As Raccoon City was heading towards oblivion at this sped up
pace, so was George. Raccoon City was heading towards destruction as fast as George sprinted down
the stairs of his apartment building. George almost knew his end was near. Maybe it was the way
the air hung heavy, smelling the faint stench of death, and carrying the occasional screams of
the lost souls who had already met their fate. Or how the moon's light was shining strangely,
letting off a glow that seemed cold and unforgiving. Whatever it was that had made George feel
that his end was near, that death might be waiting around the corner for him, he pushed to the
back of his mind, where he hoped to keep it. He did not need to believe in his imminent death
while trying to survive this nightmare. He needed to believe, to hold on to the one faith that he
would make it, that he would live to tell the tale of the darkest nightmare the city had come
across. George rushed out of his apartment building and onto the street, landing quite hard on
the cold concrete sidewalk.
'Oh no, not a civilian!' thought Brad "Chicken-heart" Vickers as George Stearns hit the
sidewalk with his suitcase, making a loud clumping sound. Sure, Brad was not known for his
bravery. In fact, it was he who left his fellow Alpha S.T.A.R.S members to die out in the field
a few months earlier. But Brad had tried to make up for it by circling around the mountains and
throwing down his rocket launcher to aid his teammates. And while they had said they forgave him,
Jill Valentine being the least forthcoming with her forgiveness, he still felt that deep down
inside, they would never forgive him. Ever. There was nothing he could do to make up for it. Now
that this large creature had jumped in front of him, all he could think about was his wishing for
his home, and that this civilian who had just landed on the street would not help him at
all. It wasn't that Brad did not care about others, but above all to him, he wanted to stay
alive. He was a coward, he knew it. That's why all his teammates had called him "Chicken-heart",
that's why he flew from them when danger struck, and that's why he felt that this civilian with
the suitcase, was more of an inconvience to his conscience than anything else. He hated his
cowardly nature, but it was too late for him to change now. It was too late for him to do
anything else, but try to survive as long as he could, as he watched the world he knew fall apart
before his very eyes. Brad had hoped that when George had hit the sidewalk, that this lumbering
creature that stood before him would turn around, letting Brad escape. But the loud clumping
noise made by George's suitcase fell on deaf ears as the creature paid no heed to it, walking
menacinly towards Brad.
Clothing was everywhere. That was what had happened to George's suitcase when he had
landed on the pavement. The small, gleaming metal clasps had unlocked, allowing a deluge of
clothing to explode out of his suticase, spilling itself all over the pavement. George fell to
his knees, trying to collect all his articles of clothing, when he noticed the immensely large
shadow covering himself and most of his clothing. He jutted his head upwards to look at what was
there, and when he saw it, the sight was one he'd never forget for the rest of his quickly ending
life. It was the shadowed figure that had jumped off the roof across the street. It had turned
out to be eight feet tall, but from George's kneeling position, it looked like the figure
stretched all the way up to the heavens, his height neverending. The glowing moonlight reflected
softly off the figure's black leather jacket that stretched nearly down to his feet, the said
feet being covered in black boots. It held the rocket launcher in one of its hands, the other
being clenched into a tight fist. Gazing up at the head, George obsevered that it had no hair,
the skin having a disturbing greenish-yellow tone to it. And then he noticed the large silver,
luminating staples that adorned its head, going around to the front. Only one thought entered
George Stearns' mind at that very moment; Death. This imposing dark figure standing in front of
him, staring at the man in the yellow vest, was none other than Death. He had come to life, taken
a form, and was the thing that had been the bane of the city for the past weeks, months even.
Death had finally taken shape and what a terrible shape it was. The deathly behemoth did not turn
around when George landed, nor did it turn around when George gasped at it, letting out a small
squeak in the process. George then decided that it had not come for him, it had come for the man
in the yellow vest, who's patch on his t-shirt was now visable. It was the unmistakable symbol
for the RPD's special S.T.A.R.S unit. Just then, George heard the creature utter a single
solitary word in what sounded more like a deep growl than a voice, "S.T.A.R.S...." The yellow
vested S.T.A.R.S member's face turned to one of sheer terror as he turned, running in the other
direction. This was enough for George. Leaving his clothing behind, George ran as fast as his
legs could carry him down the street, as far away from that thing as he could get. Occasionally,
he glanced back to look at it as it quickly persued the S.T.A.R.S member, repeating its chant
every few seconds.
George ran down the street as fast as his legs could carry him, his breathing becoming
harder and more shallow the faster and harder he pushed. He never wanted to see something like
that again. To him it was more horrifying than all the zombies in the city, worse than any
nightmare he could ever have dreamed. He thanked to God that it hadn't been after him, and that
it had been after the S.T.A.R.S member instead. If anyone was able to handle that walking
nightmare, it would be a S.T.A.R.S member. George kept running, passing other helpless souls,
running and screaming like chickens with their heads cut off. He ran past the city hall, and
past the newspaper office, until he found the way he needed to go blocked off. The screams of
the dying still filling the air, George had to think quickly on how to get away. Suddenly, an
idea came to him, to cut through the building nearby that was undercontruction. If he was lucky,
he could cut through it and it would get him to the garage, that would hopefully be unlocked.
After taking a breif moment to collect himself and allow a good amount of oxygen into his lungs,
George continued to run, his feet pounding on the pavement as he went, quickly running to the
building under contruction.
A cold draft blew through the empty building that night, a crate suspended in air
swinging gently with the wind. Plastic gray covering spanned over all the walls, the floor metal
grating. The building was as far from complete as you could get, even a map of a portion of the
city was hung up on one of the walls, and metal pipes leaned against the walls precariously. But,
something evil lurked in the shadows of the unfinished residence. A creature that was almost like
something out of a child's worst nightmare. It crawled on the unfinished walls, waiting in the
darkness for its next prey. Another creature crawled on another wall nearby, strange insect
noises coming from the two creatures. One of the doors suddenly swung open, revealing George
sprinting inside.
He slammed the door shut behind him, pressing his back against the cold metal and panting
for air. His eyes searched around the premises, looking for the door out. George took in some of
the area quickly, noting the gently swinging crate, metal grating floor, and pipes leaning
against the walls. He let out a deep breath and walked towards a T intersection not too far from
him. The soft insect chattering that came from above suddenly got louder, and closer, finally
grabbing George's attention. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for the source of the
noise, but did not see a thing. Then he heard a loud chattering noise above him and he looked up
to see a creature he would never had even though up in his entire lifetime. To George, it looked
like a large insect, and almost like the new version of the Fly. Yes, that's what it looked like
to him, the Fly. From its mouth area dripped down a sticky siliva like substance onto the floor.
George watched the disgusting liquid fall and hit the floor, making a small muffled splashing
sound. The thing had no wings like a fly, but it did have an insects' eyes, that stared into
George's blankly. Deep, black eyes, that seemed to look into George's soul, searching him
throughoughly. This time, George would not just stand there in horrified awe of what he was
seeing. Although, he did not truly believe what he was seeing, he quickly ran and grabbed a spare
metal pipe that was leaning against one of the walls. The creature on the ceiling flipped down,
landing on four legs. It make a hissing, chattering insect like noise, coming after George with
astonishing speed. Lifting the metal pipe with all his strength, George swung it at the creature.
It came in contact with the creature's head, making it shriek in pain, green blood flowing out of
a wound the blow had created. With it being temporarily disabled, George ran down to the T
section, and was heading straight, the path vearing left ahead of him. He sped towards it, but
was stopped when another creature landed in front of him, hissing and chattering with evil
intent. In a split second, George was facing the other direction, heading towards his left, where
he really needed to go anyway, but in front of him, the first creature was crawling menacinly
towards him. This one moment, George knew it was over. All that he had seen, all the people he
had met, all the things he had done, flashed in his mind in a moment, his entire life playing out
like a movie in his mind as the creature in front of him got on its hiend legs, charging for him.
The last thing George Stearns saw was the blank, black eyes of the creature as it attacked him,
and the last image he thought in his mind was the hulking figure of what he had called Death
coming after the S.T.A.R.S member like a homing missle, and hearing himself scream like he never
had done before, feeling the seering pain as the creature killed him. Then nothing. George
Stearns was dead, a pool of dark crimson blood slowly forming under his body. The two creatures
let out more insect sounding chatter before quickly scurrying back up the walls, dragging his
body along with them, ready to wait for their next prey.
Chapter 2: Chicken-heart Gets Some Courage
Blurred vision, like a camera doused with water, infected Brad Vickers eyes from
exhaustion. To get away from that behemoth, Brad had ran all the way to the newspaper building,
weaving and ducking in out of the way alleyways and climbing over wrecked metal that used to be
cars and trucks. People were still running in the streets, the place a panic. Cars were crashing,
people letting out blood curdling screams, and then the low hungry moaning of an undead ghoul,
searching for its next meal. For Brad, this was terrible. People were causing more problems left
and right, making the disaster even worse. Things going from horrible to hell. Brad knew deep
down inside, he should try to help them. His live seemed to be over, the least he could do is
help these poor people and try to give them a second chance. Brad believed that he would never
get away from Umbrella. Although he had had a very small hand in the whole mansion incident,
Umbrella was out to get him ever since he had returned to the city.
He had never seen all the horrors that were inside that old mansion, but Chris, Jill,
Barry and Rebecca had told him the whole thing. Telling him of the Hunters, zombies, the demonic
dogs, the killer Plant 42, the giant spiders, the bees, the huge poisonous snake, the creatures
that clung to the ceiling, Wesker betraying the S.T.A.R.S, Wesker forcing Barry to work for him
by threatening to kill Barry's family, all of the terrible things that Umbrella was responsible
for, and of course, the Tyrant. Brad had seen that for himself. The only horror that he had seen
that whole night, although he had seen the dogs...it hadn't been clearly seen to his eyes in the
darkness that night. Tyrant was something he had really gotten a look at. The terrible disfigured
hand brandishing deadly claws instead of fingers. The exposed heart beating its unearthly beat in
a disgusting gushing sound. A lipless grin, gleaming white teeth uncovered by flesh lips, the
evil grin that was left. The discoloration, the lack of any sex organs, or any real gender for
that matter, Brad had seen the Tyrant in its full glory. Able to withstand all regular gunfire
making mearly small holes in it, able to break through a concrete ceiling as if it were just
cardboard. Tyrant defied all of nature, all that was sane. When it came down to it, to Brad,
Tyrant was the very symbol for chaos, destruction, insanity, and evil. The epitomy of evil. Where
was Brad going with these wandering thoughts and remincing? That behemoth he had just seen that
utter a growl that sounded like S.T.A.R.S seemed so familiar to him. The same fear that he had
felt when laying his eyes on the Tyrant were the same feelings that he had felt when he looked
into the blank white eye of the behemoth he had encountered. Except this time, he fear was
tenfold. Standing in the middle of the street near the newspaper office, without hearing the
screams and sirens going off around him, Brad had come to a realization; this behemoth he had
seen, this dark stalker, was a Tyrant. There was no way around it to him. It was different-very
different- but the feelings were the same. It was huge, it was an abomination of mankind, and it
would kill anything that got in its way. Just like a Tyrant. It was as if it was a Tyrant, but
not at the same time. Horror filled Brad's soul, infecting all parts of him until he wish all he
could do was collapse on the ground, begging for someone to save him. Someone to come and take
him back home, where he could see the fields of flowers he had loved as a child.
But no one would come. Brad realized this now. No one would help him. In this situation,
the panicking citizens of the city were looking to a police officer to save them. Guess who fit
the bill? That's right, good ol' Chicken-heart Vickers was the one people would look to for
salvation in this. Brad had to come to a decision; either he could run, keep running for the rest
of his life, which seemed to be getting shorter by each passing moment, or he could try to help.
He could make up for the wrongs he had done. Save someone; anyone. Do his job like he should have
all along. Admist the chaos in the street, Brad Vickers had realized what he had to do. If he was
to die, he wanted to die as a hero, not a coward. Save someone if he could not save himself. At
least that would make him feel better about dying. This was his last chance, his salvation.
Taking no heed to Brad, people ran in a panic around him, heading for shelter, heading
anywhere that would seem safe. Some wanted to get to the police station, thinking it as a safe
haven. Some wanted to get home, taking a last look at all they had and get their loved ones. Some
wanted to find a way to get out of the city, despite the blockades around it. All this terrified
commotion was interrupted by a loud noise, resinating throughout the area. The next second an
explosion rocked the street, body limbs flying everywhere, red blood spraying all around onto
other horrified people. A rocket had been shot from somewhere, missing Brad and hitting several
people in front of him, splattering their insides on the street with wet squishing sounds.
Intestines stewn all over the pavement like dead snakes, smacking the ground with a sticky
sounding dull thud. The smell of burnt flesh and smoke filled the air, the people around
beginning to panic even more, wondering what the hell was coming down on them now. Then, an
angered roar sounded through the air, and a dark figure landing on the street with a loud thud.
It was the dark stalker that was after Brad, and it knew how to fire a rocket launcher, the
weapon being held in its hand tightly. The people around Brad all screamed a scream loud enough
to even wake the dead as the creature eyed Brad intently. It uttered its one word chant,
"...S.T.A.R.S..." and started to walk menacingly towards Brad again.
It had all happened so quickly to Brad. One second, he was coming to a life decision. The
next second, he was staring death in the face. This time Brad did not panic. For the first time
in his life Brad did not panic and run immediately. Taking out his handgun, Brad pumped a few
rounds into the monster, but the bullets did nothing. Brad then took aim at the monster's rocket
launcher, shooting off a few rounds. The bullets at first made a small tinking sound as is
ricocheted off the rocket luncher. The last shot was the one that did it. The rocket launcher
exploded in the creature's face, a roar of pain eminating from within it. The creature stumbled a
little and then once again said its one phrase, "S.T.A.R.S..." as is collapsed on to the pavement.
Brad stood in front of the creature for a few minutes, not breathing or moving. Finally, he
exhaled a large breath and looked around to all the frightened faces of the few individuals who
had stayed behind. All the wide, terror filled eyes were on him while smoke still curled towards
the heavens from what had just occurred.
Brad cleared his throat lightly and began to shout authoritatively, "Listen everyone! I'm
from the RPD S.T.A.R.S unit. Alpha Team Pilot Brad Vickers. I suggest we all get to some place
safe for the time being! I know this small basement area uptown and we can all go there for a
little while! Please, everyone follow me! Stay close, and try not to make too much noise!"
A few minutes passed as all the terrified citizens thought about Brad's statement.
Quietly, three men came forward, nodding in agreement. The rest were too frozen in horror to move.
Not wanting to wait any longer, in case the creature was not dead, Brad nodded back to the three
men and they began running, following Brad to his save haven. Even if it wasn't going to end up
safe at all.
Chapter 3: Sandra Marshall's Last Hours On This Earth
Sweaty hands grasped at the door handle, forcing it with a terrified twisting motion. The
hands were that of Sandra Marshall. She had been working at the newpaper office for a year, and
during that year she had found out only the tip of Raccoon City's corrupted iceburg. Sandra had
been able to find out that the chief of police, Brian Irons, had been accepting bribes from
Umbrella and later on she had found out that the flu that had been plaguing the town was a
virus. But nothing more. There were pieces she couldn't put together, parts of the puzzled that
alluded her until the day she died. She knew that Ben Bertolucci had something along the lines of
what she did, but was never able to talk to him. He had been arrested recently under the order of
the chief. There was definitely something going on in Raccoon City that the higher ups did not
want the reporters, or citizens, of the city to know. Sandra had figured that it had something to
do with Umbrella, one way or another, but besides the bribery from Irons; she had nothing. It was
the one story she had been working on secretly since she had started suspecting something odd was
going on. Unfortunately, she never finished her story.
Sandra had been working at her desk for hours, not only working on her own assignment but
several others the editor had given her. The stories of cannibal murders and vicious wolf attacks
had died down after the Spencer Estate exploded back in July. However, the cannibals began
appearing in scattered intervals until they became rampant; people attacking each other in the
streets. Literal pandemonium. It coincided with the flu epidemic going around the city, linking
this mysterious disease to the attacks. But, before anyone could do something, the police
blockades were decimated, cars were crashing everywhere, and the undead began their rule over the
town. Though the problem had been long in its preparation, the disaster hit Sandra all at once.
One day everything was more or less the same, the next the town had nearly been taken over by
these monsters. Yet, most of the staff on the paper were still around, and all had dedicated
themselves to finding out what was going on, and if it could happen to any other town.
A burning smell filled Sandra's nose suddenly, alerting her that something was amiss in
building. Turning her head up, she saw black curls of smoke twirling against the ceiling in their
own insideous dance coming from her editor's office. As panic from the other reporters swirled
around her, Sandra ran to the entrance of her editor's office, fearing his safety. What she saw
inside haunted her last days; the editor, her editor, one who she had become friends with, was
standing ablaze in the office. It wasn't possible. Her editor had been coughing lately, but
Sandra hadn't imagined that he had the cannibal disease. But, against her judgement earlier,
there her editor stood, his skin singing and decaying all at the same time. It only took a second
for Sandra to break out of the cold grasp of terror and run away. Running at top speed at the
fire began to spread to the other areas of the office, twisted burning blazes and ebony black
smoke starting their takeover of the small newspaper building. Sandra could hear someone remotely
dialing for the fire department to arrive on the downstairs payphone, but she didn't believe
anyone would get there in time. With her sweating, nervous hands Sandra grabbed the doorknob and
twisted it open, the hot air of smoke and burning flesh being her greeting.
Outside seemed even worse to Sandra than the newspaper building as she took in the
surroundings. In all her terror, she had not heard the commotion going on outside. How could she
be that oblivious? Looking at the giant, what only could be described as, behemoth lying flat on
the sidewalk; a multitude of body limbs on fire strewn about like branches on a tree, the only
word that fit what she saw was horror. The worst kind of horror there was. It was a kind of
horror she was immediately lost in, gatching only a glimpse of the man in the yellow vest leading
a few men towards the resturant nearby. This horror before Sandra was consuming her very soul the
more time she spent standing there, staring at it with awed terror. She wanted to throw up and
collapse all at the same time, but somehow nothing happened. All she could do was stand and stare
as the severed body limbs quietly smoked and the giant on the sidewalk stayed still.