Disclaimer: I STILL do not understand the reason for a disclaimer…but what the hell. The Resident Evil series was not created by and is not currently possessed by myself or any of my affiliates, at the time of this chapter's publication…
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…or is it?
A/N: Call me TTA, I really hate this username.
RESIDENT EVIL
OUTBREAK: DARKNESS FALLS
Everybody likes to drink, right?
So everybody goes to J's bar, because they have beers dating back from the Civil War…and they're still FRESH. In fact, they are SO hardcore they use untouched beer kegs as tables and just let the customers stick straws through the top. Or so the rumor goes.
It's easy to understand, then, why our story begins here.
J's Bar, Downtown Raccoon City
September 27th
7:00 PM
I'm REALLLYYY drunk right now.
True to form, Kevin Ryman drowned the thought with a shot of…well, something. He HAD asked Will to be creative today, and Will always came through when it came to mixing alky. Good man.
He sat at the bar and drowned his troubles with another hit off his mug. He had failed the S.T.A.R.S application test for the THIRD time running, and with the current member's sudden suspension it was likely he wouldn't get another chance for some time. But no time for that now. Beer is good.
Jack's Bar was a popular hangout for all sorts of people, he mused through his booze. People of different status and income came to hang out and share a beer. Even in his extremely smashed state, he could see the diversity of the crowd. Pity none of his officer friends were present…
A shattering sound could be heard through the fog.
"Ah!" An exclamation of surprise was heard throughout the bar. A rat had surprised Cindy, the popular waitress, to the point where she had dropped Kevin's spent shot glass on the floor. Too bad was the only thought Ryman could summon through his delirium, as he signaled for another drink. As he did, he let his gaze wander only to fall on a pretty-but-busy lady, looking intent at her expensive Dell notebook. Man, I'd tap that in a HEARTBEAT was the thought that came to mind. Out of his league, he supposed sadly. Will slid another glass down the table, theatrically, and THAT drove the pretty lady from his mind in a hurry. Things were going too damn fast at the moment for him to make sense of it without the aid of Samuel Adams. And when the Asian girl stepped on his foot on her way to the bathroom, he didn't even notice.
Mark Wilkins, meanwhile, was merely trying to breathe some life into his friend.
"Aren't you eatin' anythang?"
No response.
"Hey…Bawb, where's your mind at?"
Bob stirred slowly.
"W-what?"
Before Mark could speak more, it happened. The door creaked open with practiced bravado, a sign of things to come. Through the entranceway lurched a man, hair hanging low over his inverted face. He smelled like death.
"Huh…what a weird customer…" Will was young and stupid, not recognizing danger like a more experienced bartender might have. Opting to leave the firearm stored under the bar behind him, he took measured steps towards the newcomer.
Kevin frowned. Who-
His thought was unintentionally voiced from the other side of the bar.
"Who is this guy?" Mark said, his honed danger sense whooping like a police siren. He too was interrupted, this time by falling mass. "Wha-"
Bob slid off his stool and crashed to the floor, in a heap.
"Bawb! He's unconscious!" The older black man said after a moment of frenzied movement. "Are ya all right!" he said, unnecessarily.
The customer still hadn't moved. Will made as if to peer closer at the intruder-
-and at that moment, the…THING…raised its head. It had been human, once. Now, it was a twisted mockery of humanity, shreds of flesh and blood covering his face, even some splattered on its one good eye. The other had been clawed out violently, perhaps by one of its victims.
An living corpse.
It lunged then, suddenly and with grim intent. It grabbed the young bartender with surprising strength and bit heavily into his neck.
"AHHH!!" Will screamed. Using all of the presence of mind he had left, Will threw the creature back out the door from whence it came. He turned the key in the door and locked it before falling to the ground, dazed from blood loss.
Kevin had already leapt to his feet, the alcohol burned from his system by the horrific attack. What the FUC-
"AH!"
The young woman he had noticed earlier had leapt backward, away from the massive window pane and onto her ass. Her reaction was understandable.
We're deader then shit, aren't we?
More of the zombies. No other description fit. They pressed against the thin pane of decorative glass hungrily, desire written all over their rotten flesh.
Inside the bar, pandemonium.
"We're going to die, we're going to die!"
"Ohmigod, ohmigod, this can't be happening…"
"I don't know what to do…"
"Bawb! Bawb! Wake up!"
"They gotta send in S.T.A.R.S!"
"Dear god!"
"We have to get out of here!"
Some stood immobile, in horror. Others ran from one side of the bar to another, like chickens at the block. Still others were talking to themselves, pleading, shouting, crying…
"QUIET!"
The bar suddenly became dead silent. It took Kevin a moment to realize that the passionate speaker was, in fact, himself. The sound of zombies pounding against the rapidly-weakening door was deafening in the silence
8 faces were pointed at his direction, all of them asking the same thing in a completely non-spoken manner. What do we do? What do I do?
His mouth went dry. I…have to say something…
They NEEDED him to talk to them, to get them moving, to keep them alive, to give them the spark they needed to seek survival on their own. The gravity of the situation had momentarily driven them insane, and it was HIS job to return their sanity to them.
And suddenly, the words he needed to say, the words he HAD to say, finally sprung forth.
"You and you!" he said, pointing at a terrified-looking black man and a calm, composed working man. "Push those barrels in front of that door!" The barrels had been placed there for use as tables, but they were heavy and could help barricade the door…for a moment. They moved to carry out their orders.
"Cindy!"
"Y-Yes?!" she managed. The shock had left her worse for wear.
"Is there another exit from this building?"
"…um…"
"We don't have all day, dammit!" he swore.
"…there is a way, through the staff room, but we need to go through THAT door…" she pointed at a heavy door set behind the bar, "…but it's locked, and I don't have the key."
"Then, you and…" he paused for a moment.
"I'm Yoko, Yoko Suzuki." the Asian girl said quickly.
"Kevin Ryman. Ok, Yoko, you and Cindy find that key." The bashing was getting louder at the door, but it seemed to be holding at the moment. A well-cultured voice was talking over the din.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not equipped to help you at the moment. Please, allow me to help the young man there…I do have some trauma supplies that could aid him."
"'s okay, doc. I'll be fine. Just do what you can with the kid." Bob said, holding his stomach and looking anything but fine. Perhaps the food disagreed with him. The doctor paused over the crouching form of the bartender, and shook his head. The cartaroid had been completely severed; how the boy could still be alive seemed to baffle him.
From the doorway, the horrific sound of shattering hinges set the stage for the next act, the Invasion. The zombies had arrived.
"NO!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!"
They crawled over the barrels and descended hungrily upon the prone bartender. Feverishly, they ripped flesh from the bone and spattered his juvenile blood across the (relatively) virgin floors.
"Will!!!" Cindy tore away from the group, and dashed towards her coworker with suicidal intent. What could one waitress do against the Black Plague of the Undead?
Fortunately, a Mr. Mark Wilkins had a more level head. Death and destruction were the demons that plagued him constantly, and one more horror just couldn't do much against his iron shield. Or so he lied to himself. In any case, he managed to keep the distraught women from certain death.
"Go go go!" he shouted.
"I'm trying! The door won't open!" Yoko cried, twisting the doorknob again and again.
"Try putting the goddamn key in first!" Mark shouted. The zombies had noticed the grouping of live prey in the corner, and were advancing speedily.
"Got it!", Came the triumphant cry. A mad scramble ensued, with everyone finally making it through just as the creatures reached the door. They beat on it furiously. It, too, wouldn't last long.
Kevin's mind was a whirl. They had to get to the basement, no, the roof, and then they needed to get a chopper, no, the police had to be called…and then what? Sent out onto the streets to die? So ends the life of a policeman? It didn't seem very-
"Hey."
They all turned to face Cindy.
"Wasn't there another women with us? That reporter lady?"
As of on cue, it came from the direction of the door:
"God, somebody help me!!"
They looked at each other warily. Nobody wanted to go back into that hellhole.
"I think we should-" Cindy began.
"I'm going." Kevin had already drawn his favorite sidearm of choice, his .45 semi-auto, and was loading it manually, bullet-by-bullet. "If I don't come back in one minute, wait another four. Then go. Sound fair?"
"Kevin, wai-"
But the intrepid police officer had already thrown the door open, shot the closest creature with his pistol, and closed the door before she could continue.
Playing the hero is his forte', after all.
END CHAPTER ONE
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