This is my first Resident Evil fanfic, actually my first fanfic on this site. I'm not expecting anyone to take it easy on me but just consider that it's my first one. This story takes place in the ten year lapse between Resident Evil 4 & 5 (I researched Resident Evil 5 and yes there is a ten year lapse), to be specific five years after Resident Evil 4. The main character is not based off Leon S. Kennedy, he's just another U.S. agent. Hope you like reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Capcom or Resident Evil, and if I accidentally stole the name of a character from the series then it was completely by coincidence. It's kinda difficult to remember all the names in the entire Resident Evil universe if ya know what I mean.
Chapter 1 – "Meeting the Informant"
"Accueillir au Paris Aéroport International ! Nous espérons que vous avez apprécié votre vol et apprécierez votre
visite � beuatiful France ! Au revoir !" an intercom blared through the airport. It had rained for the past forty-five
minutes and a thick haze was beginning to gather. Outside of the airport, there was a man standing in the shelter of a
bus stop by himself. He was averagely tall, had broad shoulders and was fairly skinny, though he had some muscle in
him, obtained from vigorous hours of training and multiple assignments. He had emerald green eyes and chin-length,
midnight black hair, his left eye barely visible through the thick bangs. His face was rather young-looking for a
twenty-seven year old despite being rather gaunt and sallow, and he could easily pass for twenty-two, possibly
twenty-one.
He was clothed in a brown, rough leather jacket with the S.T.A.R.S logo embroidered on each shoulder and dirty white
fur around the cuffs and collar. Underneath this he wore a black skin-tight shirt that went right up to his neck and was
standard for his line of work, and his brown leather shoulder straps were worn over it. On his left side on his rib cage,
pointed downward, was the holster containing his KP90 and in the same spot on his right were two vertical pockets
for a few handgun clips. Below the waist he wore black hiking boots, and pale, smoky green cargo pants held up by a
black leather belt that had his agent's I.D. attached along with two more horizontal pockets for a few more handgun
clips. A small thigh attachment on his left leg held an empty holster and under it the final two vertical pockets for his
last few magazines, which rounded off his attire. His line of work could be rather dangerous, and usually was, so he
felt no discomfort in carrying a surplus of ammunition. Also, the attachments were standard so he figured there was
no reason not to fill those pockets.
'Hmm… I doubt it'll be as beautiful with this typhoon pouring down…' Shawn thought to himself after translating the
last few words of the announcement in his head. His fluency in French was one reason he had been recommended for
this assignment. 'And the damn security kept me held up for more than half an hour checking my I.D., andweapons,
andmagazines, and clearance.' He flipped open his cell phone and checked the local weather on the Internet. He
observed rain in the forecast for the next two to three days. A televised news program was being broadcast and the
anchorman was saying something in French. He didn't feel like translating it in his head so he turned on the English
subtitles.
"…disappearances in south-eastern France. No leads yet confirmed on the cause of these abductions."
'So much for the scenic route," he thought while closing the phone, "and it looks like those agents aren't the only ones
missing.' But before he could delve further into his mind the thought left him and he slipped the phone back into his
pocket. He dropped his duffel bag, pulled off his combat backpack, and began fishing through it for his cigarettes and
Zippo lighter. He found them and after putting one in his mouth, discovered that he only had eight left and dropped
the pack back into his bag, lighting the one he drew. "Another incentive to quit while I'm ahead…" He mumbled to
himself, and contemplated throwing away the rest. He took a few long draws off of it before he finally spotted a taxi
and vigorously waved it down. The orange Sedan pulled off the lane and Shawn put the cigarette in his mouth while
hastily putting the backpack back on and hefting up the duffel bag. He dashed into the rain and threw his bags into the
back door that the driver had opened for him, and then got in.
"Où voulez-vous aller ?" The cabbie asked once he returned to the front.
"Fourteenth Persimmon Street, Downtown." Shawn replied while getting comfortable and cracking a window for the
cigarette smoke. When the driver just stared blankly he remembered he needed to speak French in France, not just
listen to it. "Oh, je suis désolé. La Rue quatorzième de Kaki, en Ville." He corrected himself in French. The driver
nodded in understanding and turned on the cab's GPS so he could find the address. Shawn flicked the cigarette stub
out of the cab as it left the airport.
It was about a twenty minute car ride from the airport to the address he had given in a downtown area of Paris, and
the cab slowly pulled to the side of the street. Shawn observed the building they had stopped in front of. It was an
aged, rectangular-shaped two-story apartment building situated on the corner of a three-way stoplight. It had faded
dark crimson paint that was peeling and one small door for an entrance. Three small metal balconies extended from the
upper level, two on the left and one from the right. It looked like it could only house five or six apartments based on
its size from the front. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small unlabeled envelope containing a black
and white photograph. It was a photo of the same apartment building with the exception that it was taken during day,
whereas Shawn was in a thunderstorm, and the building didn't look as aged or worn. He was sure this was the place
and put the photo and envelope back in his pocket while opening the car door.
"Votre facture est 27,75 monsieur." The cabbie said after ringing up the total. Shawn pulled out his wallet and put $50
dollars of French money into the drivers' hand.
"Ne pas soucier de la différence." He said while hefting his bags from the cab.
"Merci." The cabbie said, and pulled away as Shawn darted through the downpour and entered the building. He
dropped his bags once inside and shook off his head. He then drew the small envelope from his pocket again and
pulled out a small slip of paper that read "Room 006… Knock once… slide envelope through slot". After reading
it he placed it back in his pocket again and looked around. He was in a small hallway with a set of stairs on his right
leading forward and up, and on his left two doors evenly spaced down the wall, a third on the wall opposite him. He
peered towards them and saw that they were rooms one, two and three. He lifted his bags and stepped up the creaking
old stairs, slightly louder than the pounding rain outside. He reached the landing and turned the opposite way to see a
wide window at the other end of the hallway being beaten by the rain so he could not see out, and a small table with a
vase of what seemed like extremely old flowers next to it. On the right wall were rooms four and five, and on the left
past the guardrail, six. He walked to the door, removed the envelope once again, and before knocking noticed that both
zeroes were missing and some vandal had carved two six's in their place. He gave one hard, resounding knock, waited
about three seconds, and then stooped to insert the envelope into a conveniently placed mail slot. When he
straightened up he saw that the peephole was also removed and the small hole had a piece of wood inserted into it. He
waited for what felt like an eternity but in reality were only a few minutes before he could hear the faint clicking of the
locks being undone.
The door opened a hair's width and a woman's voice said directly to him, "Agent Shawn F. Crimes of Knoxville,
Tennessee, age 27?"
"Yes ma'am." He replied.
"Mother's maiden name?" She asked.
"Williams." He answered.
"Code?" She asked.
"Foxtrot, Romeo, Zulu, 2154567." Shawn recited. The code had been drilled into him about two days before his
departure.
"Correct, come in please." The woman said and undid the final lock. Shawn lifted his bags and entered the room.
Footnotes:
"Accueillir au Paris Aéroport International ! Nous espérons que vous avez apprécié votre vol et apprécierez votre visite � beuatiful France ! Au revoir !"
-
Welcome to the Paris Airport International! We hope that you appreciated your flight and will appreciate your visit to beautiful France! Good-bye!
"Où voulez-vous aller ?" - Where do you want to go?
"Oh, je suis désolé. La Rue quatorzième de Kaki, en Ville." - Oh, I'm sorry. Fourteenth Persimmon Street, Downtown.
"Votre facture est 27,75 monsieur." - Your bill is 27.75 sir.
"Ne pas soucier de la différence." - Don't worry about the difference.
"Merci." - Thank you.
These translations are not exactly what they mean because translating form English to French then from French to English really changed of the sentences, so if it was altered after translating back to English I fixed it so it could be understandable.