Each chapter will be a scenario from the point of view of a different survivor. I watched some videos of their ad-libs and whatnot (sadly they don't have it in the European version of the games), so I feel like I have a decent idea about their personalities. Enough to try this story, anyway! There aren't really any pairings, just a bit of ship-teasing.

Disclaimer: Any medical/scientific/computer babble is pulled from my butt, I know literally nothing about it. Possibly some Google magic.

...

Outbreak

...

Everyone was panicking. Mark knew that he should be doing something to help – he had years of army service to recommend him for high pressure combat situations. All he could think about at the moment was how grey and ashen Bob looked. His friend was hunched over in pain, wheezing and frail. Bob had always been the more energetic and jolly of the two of them, while Mark had been the calm, stoical one. What had happened to him in the space of one evening? Mark hadn't even realised his friend was sick.

He looked around for someone to help, but the man who seemed to be a doctor was helping the waitress, Cindy, with the bartender's gaping neck wound. Meanwhile the cop was yelling at a white woman in red and a subway worker to get away from the windows, while he pushed the barrel tables to keep the door shut.

That was when Mark actually noticed the bodies at the window. It was like nothing he had seen in 'Nam. Decaying, gangrenous people pressed up against the glass, thumping it with their hands as they tried to get in. The door rattled as the barricade resisted them, but it cracked open enough to admit their groaning and snarling.

What the hell were they?

"Maybe if we turn off the lights and stay quiet, they'll leave us alone?" squeaked the subway worker.

"Screw that," said the woman in red, who Mark was sure he recognised from the local newspaper. "We need to get out of here right now."

The cop moved to the waitress, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Miss, do you know if there's a way up to the roof? We'll be safer up there."

"Will… he's injured…"

"Leave me behind, Cindy, I can't make it," the bartender groaned, one hand uselessly trying to stem the flow from his neck. "We all know it... but you can still be safe... the cops must be doing... something to stop this."

She nodded reluctantly, seeming slightly dazed. "I'll get the keys, we can get to the roof from the staff room. I'm so sorry, Will."

Mark wrapped an arm around Bob to help the man to his feet. The doctor finally approached, leaving the bartender behind. "Could I take a look at your friend, please? My name is George Hamilton, I'm a doctor."

He shone a pen light into Bob's eyes as he inspected the man, asking him questions about his breathing and whether it hurt to move. Bob seemed barely able to respond, as though his mind was wandering.

"How long has he been like this?"

"Just this evening. Why, what's wrong with him? Is he alright?"

George looked pensive. "We should hurry upstairs. I don't have much in my medical kit but I could at least check him over."

"Isn't there anything you can give him?"

"Without knowing his medical history, I could inadvertently make it worse. I wouldn't want to cause a heart attack or allergic reaction." The doctor sounded evasive, like he was just putting Mark off. Then he asked Bob if he was experiencing intense hunger. What a strange question.

The doctor helped Mark navigate his friend upstairs, whilst the cop locked and barricaded the door behind them. By the time they arrived upstairs, the others were all in action. A man in brown overalls was gathering pieces of wood to nail across the staff room's open entryway. The journalist in red had recruited a young East Asian woman to help her find possible weapons. The subway worker was looking for a key to get them up to the building's next level – and therefore the roof. Cindy meanwhile seemed to have composed herself remarkably well, and was tearing leaves off plants and inserting them into a small case.

She glanced up at Bob as they brought him through and lowered him onto the couch. "Oh, I have something here that should help if you're in pain!"

"Is that… strictly legal?" the doctor asked.

"Yes!" she said defensively. "They're just herbs, but some of them have antiseptic properties, can draw out poisons–"

"My apologies, I admit I know precious little about herbal remedies. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, please continue while I talk to this gentleman."

Cindy smiled, laying out her case next to Bob and carefully selecting some combination of herbs. George drew Mark off to the side until they were out of earshot. The doctor dropped his voice until Mark could barely hear him over the sound of the handyman's nail-gun.

"I'm afraid I don't have good news. Your friend shows every sign that he's dying."

"What?! How is that possible?"

"He showed no prior signs of illness, never referred to anything of the sort?" George asked. Mark shook his head. "It's as I feared. Over the past couple of days, we have seen a sudden increase in people with strange illnesses with no diagnosis. I had heard of a similar occurrence some time ago at an abandoned hospital, but nothing in Raccoon itself. All victims seemed to be dying of no particular cause, and the further along they got, the more intense their hunger."

"Any survivors?"

"None, I'm sorry. After differing periods of time, they would all die."

Mark felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He was no stranger to losing people – how many comrades had he seen fall to gunfire or traps in the war? But this was different, it was civilian territory, and the people attacking them weren't soldiers… they were primal, trying to kill people like savage animals.

He didn't know what to do. But he knew what he couldn't do. He couldn't leave his friend behind. Bob had lived through the horror of war too, he couldn't die like this.

"Everybody c'mere!" ordered the reporter." She gestured to the subway worker. "Jim's found the key, but we might as well arm ourselves before we head on up."

"I found a gun in Jack's office," Cindy said. "He always kept it in case someone tried to rob the bar…" Her expression grew sad. "I wonder if he's okay…"

The cop gave her an encouraging smile. "I'm sure he's fine, this can't be happening in the whole city."

She smiled back at him, not even noticing the handyman until he'd taken the gun right out of her hands.

"I'll take that."

"Hey!" she protested.

"Hands off, buddy!" warned the cop, hand flying straight to his own gun. "Give that back to her now."

The handyman gave him a flat look. "Can she use it?" He turned back to her. "You ever fired a gun before?"

"Well, no…"

"The way I see it, we've got a better chance of survival if the people who actually know how to use weapons are the ones carrying them."

The cop fired up. "Oh yeah, and who put you in charge?"

"Calm yourselves," Mark said firmly. He didn't need to shout or get aggressive like the two younger men. There was enough authority in his deep voice to stop the argument immediately. He addressed the handyman. "Son, we are in a war zone right now. You need to work together with the rest of the group and voice ideas if you have them. This isn't the time to think yourself the big man at everyone else's expense. Do you understand me?"

"Sorry," he muttered, having the good grace to look away.

"Now, you did have a good idea," Mark added, wiping the momentarily smug look from the cop's face. Mark hoped he didn't have some trigger-happy cowboy in this man. The last thing they needed was a hot-headed liability. "We need weapons in able hands. Bob can't use his gun, so are any of you others a decent shot?"

"Me," the reporter said immediately. She made a 'give it to me' gesture with her hand.

"You?" the cop asked in surprise.

She smirked. "I've had more hours at the range than you've had haircuts, pretty boy."

The handyman snorted in amusement, and the cop grinned at her. The animosity seemed to have passed for now. Mark handed her the gun, and the remaining four civilians were given the improvised weapons that she and the East Asian girl had found. Those mostly consisted of wood broken off furniture, and bits of piping, but it was a lot better than nothing. Bob wasn't given a weapon. Mark wasn't sure he would even have been able to hold it now. He barely looked as if anything was registering.

The door to the stairway splintered and cracked. The heavy sounds of bodies pouring through reached upstairs, and they knew the wooden barrier they had constructed wouldn't hold long once the mob reached them.

Mark decided to take charge. "Alright, each of us with a gun is going to be protecting those who don't. Conserve ammo and aim for the head."

"The head?" Cindy asked, alarmed. "You're going to kill them?"

"It's kill or be killed," the reporter said flippantly.

"We don't have a choice," Mark assured the waitress. "Hopefully it won't come to that though. You don't need to worry yourself about it, you and George here will be on medical detail." He glanced at the remaining two. "You got anything to offer, Jim and…?"

"Yoko. I'm good with computers," the girl offered quietly. "I don't think that will be much use though."

"Sounds pretty useful to me," the cop said, and she brightened a little. Mark turned to the subway worker.

"I don't know!" Jim cried. "I just want to get out of here!"

"Oh yeah," the reporter said scornfully. "Real handy. None of the rest of us has that."

A loud smack startled them out of their conversation , as the mob reached the makeshift barrier and began battering it. They even clawed at it with their hands like animals. They didn't have any semblance of humanity left.

"Hurry up!" The cop shouted. "Let's move! Move!"

He and the reporter led the way up the next set of stairs, followed by the medics, then Yoko and Jim supporting Bob. Mark and the handyman brought up the rear, though they had nothing to barricade the door with on this side.

The room upstairs was a huge warehouse for liquor. The others were already making their way through the next set of stairs that would lead to the roof, and Mark was about to shift some heavy barrels to block the door. The handyman had other ideas though – he grabbed a few bottles and cracked the lids, shoving pieces of newspaper into it. Mark had a sudden realisation of what the other man was doing and began to help.

It was the kind of improvised brutality he had faced in the war, only this time it would work in his favour.

By the time they'd amassed a little collection of bottles, the creatures had broken through and were pouring onto the stairs. The two men took up their molotovs, ignited them with the handyman's lighter, and then rained fire on their enemies.

The creatures moaned and writhed as they were burned up, and in only a short time the flow of bodies was slowed to a halt. Mark looked down at the empty stairway with relief, and then they barricaded the door at the top so that no more could get into the liquor room for now. Hopefully any more creatures wouldn't even know there were people up here now that their fellows were dead.

Mark turned to the other man and extended a hand. "Mark Wilkins, good to meet ya."

The younger man smiled and shook it. "David King."

Mark nodded, and they moved to catch up with the others. He had a feeling David would be a valuable ally to have, if he could be persuaded to work with a team.

When they reached the rooftop, he saw that the situation was much more dire than they'd first realised. The whole city seemed to be burning, and screams rang out from everywhere. How did a city turn into a warzone in one night? How did things go wrong so easily?

Someone with his group sounded like they were crying, but Mark didn't look to see who it was. He could barely take his eyes off the horror of the city. Where could they run to now, would the police deploy helicopters? There couldn't be enough in the city to evacuate everyone.

The military might send some, if they knew what was happening. But what if it had spread further than the city? What if the whole country was like this? Mark thought of his wife and son, and bile rose up in his throat.

"Mark…"

The strained voice of Bob finally dragged him out of his doom-laden thoughts. The other man was slumped against a wall, looking more fragile than he ever had before. Mark was at his side instantly.

"Mark… I can't hold on any longer…"

"Don't say that! We're gonna get you out of here, find proper help. You just need to stay strong and fight."

"I can't. I can… feel them, Mark. Their hunger… I feel it too."

This was exactly what George had said – towards the end, they feel intense hunger. He had a horrible feeling he knew what food they were craving.

"It can't be," Mark insisted helplessly. "I don't know what they are, but you aren't like them."

"Not yet… but I'm close… I feel so cold… so hungry… I can feel it taking my… body. My mind. It's in you too…"

His friend stretched a hand out, and Mark frowned. It was in him too? Did that mean that whatever was affecting these other people might do the same to him? Was it some airborne sickness that caused madness? There were too many questions, and no one he could ask. The doctor seemed to know almost as little as he did. What was an old soldier supposed to do without a proper chain of command?

"You have to find help… before… they're coming now…"

Bob's gaze slid to the staircase door, and a moment later thumping started up on the other side as the creatures tried to get through. The others cried out in alarm. Bob reached for Mark's gun, and Mark gripped him by the arm.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

"I can't, Mark… I have to end it…"

"Bob, no…"

"Please…"

Letting go of his friend's arm was the hardest thing Mark had ever done. He knew it was a moment that would stay in his mind for the rest of his life.

He forced himself to stand up, to move on. It was something he had experience with. When he had come back from the war, he had wanted nothing more than to forget every experience there. He told himself that nothing he had learned – killing and hurting – could be of use to him in the real world. He had never anticipated that even if he left the killing behind, it could still follow him.

Perhaps no one really knew what was going on here, but he had lived through war before. The scars were still there on his skin and soul. That meant that of all of them, maybe he could survive this. Maybe he could help these people on the roof to survive, even though Bob was lost to him. Maybe he could get back to his family.

When a cop came on a megaphone ordering survivors to meet up in the street for evacuation, Mark was spurred into action.

"Everyone listen up! We've got to get down to that street, and we can't do it from where we are now. We need to get up on this platform." He pointed to the walkway that ran behind the bar's neon sign. "Then we jump to the next building and make our way down."

"Jump?!" cried Jim.

"Yes, son, jump," Mark replied firmly. The subway worker looked a bit sick, but he nodded.

The group moved out. As the fittest, the cop leapt across first so that he could help the others. Yoko jumped and nearly missed the ledge entirely, but his hand shot out and grabbed hold, pulling her up to safety. After that, it took a moment's more prompting to get Jim across, but he did it. The man just needed a little confidence.

Mark decided to go last. It seemed fitting, now that he'd assumed responsibility for these people.

He wasn't as fit as he used to be, and to his frustration had to be pulled up by the cop. Mark thanked him and then got to moving people downstairs.

There were no other survivors waiting for them on the street, only one overwhelmed police officer. The group did what they could – those with guns shot the creatures, and those without simply held back as a defensive line with their melee weapons.

The officer seemed to recognise the cop with them, Kevin. The two of them led the group down side streets, trying to evade creatures as they made for who-knew-what. Mark couldn't even ask. In the moment, you just followed your orders.

Creatures were following them, but Alyssa had the idea of releasing a fuel tanker's oil and lighting it. She stayed behind a little longer to buy them some time with her plan, and the two cops finally led them to an abandoned police truck. They piled in, the reporter joining them a moment later, looking slightly singed but no worse for wear.

The others treated the police van as though it was a sanctuary. It wasn't that way for Mark. He was waiting, he knew they were simply being transported to another battle zone. Somehow his mind couldn't process that he was technically a civilian. Even if he didn't wear the uniform anymore, he had a responsibility to fight, to protect people. These civilians… other civilians… in the truck didn't have any idea what they were in for.

Mark could hear the noises outside of screaming, gunfire, explosions. He could smell it on his skin and clothes. He could still see his friend firing that gun.

After only a few blocks, the truck stopped.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alyssa demanded. "Get a move on!"

"I can't," the cop sighed, turning to look at them. "There's a barricade in the way."

"Then drive through it!" Jim sounded slightly hysterical.

"You have to get out here. Take whatever weapons you like from the back, but… you're on your own now."

The cop was giving up. He wasn't even going to help, just leave them here to fend for themselves. Mark felt an anger rise up like he hadn't experienced in a long time. He pushed himself to his feet and started grabbing weapons, handing them out. The shotguns went to himself and David, a 45. auto to Alyssa to replace her standard handgun. The less experienced members of the group just got handguns, since he didn't trust them with anything more heavy duty. They were more likely to hurt themselves than any enemy.

He set off down a side street, hoping to link into the main highway. There was less chance that it would have been barricaded, and more chance of finding a serviceable vehicle to get them all out of the city.

Kevin soon overtook him, deciding to play leader instead. Mark let him, though not without a pang of annoyance. They were in the middle of a disaster and this cowboy wanted to play at who has the biggest balls? Still, Mark supposed he should be grateful that at least one cop was trying to do something to help.

Huffing and sweaty already, Mark caught up to Kevin on the footbridge, where the younger man had stopped and was staring out at the highway below. With the light from the fires flickering on his face, it was difficult to make out his expression at first. Then Mark saw the horror for himself.

Corpses filled the highway – both littered on the ground, entrails spilled, and shambling along in search of prey. The only signs of life – genuine life – were a few police officers who were attempting to rig explosives.

It was worse than anything Mark had seen in the war. Humans gunning down other humans, he had thought that would be the worst thing he would ever see. But even the worst war crime he had seen was nowhere as awful as seeing people who had once been parents, doctors, cleaners, plumbers, ordinary people turned into mindless animals. Less than animals! Their only impulse was to kill and maim, no longer able to control themselves. The only mercy would be that they weren't aware of what they were doing… hopefully.

Mark didn't know what was worse – the thought that his wife and child could be trapped somewhere with those monsters… or that they could have become them.

A piercing scream below dragged him back to his senses.

"We have to help them!" Cindy yelled, hands clamped to the railing as she watched the police officers getting swarmed.

"There's no help for them now," Mark replied heavily. "But… I could finish that bomb they're working on. I was part of a demolitions crew back in 'Nam. If you can keep those unfriendlies off of me, I should be able to rig it to blow the whole street."

"Then we'll cover you," David said, readying his shotgun.

The others nodded one by one, silently agreeing to the plan. There was no way they could make it through all those creatures, but maybe if they could blow them all to hell, it would keep the group safe a little longer. It could draw the attention of evacuation teams. At the least, it would mean they could go out in a blaze of glory. Even Yoko and Jim's faces were set with grim determination, though he could see the fear shining in their eyes.

"Be careful, okay man?" Jim said nervously. Mark nodded, squeezing the younger man's shoulder.

"Let's go."

Mark took point, directing the team into position as they hit the street. Cindy and George immediately made for the one remaining cop, the doctor inspecting his wounds while Cindy provided covering fire. Both of them were surprisingly calm under the circumstances. Perhaps they were suppressing their emotion, he had seen soldiers do that before, only to let it all out later.

The corpses of the cops were laying several metres in front of Mark, viscera smeared over the abandoned bomb. He fired a few rounds from his shotgun to drop the creatures, Alyssa picking them off with headshots when they fell.

They filled the space where the creatures had been massing, averting their eyes from the cops. His team formed a ring around him as he assembled the bomb. Thankfully the cops had almost finished, he just needed to hook up the wires to activate it.

Mark began unfurling the wire so that he could detonate it from further back. "Fall back!" he ordered. He edged backwards as quickly as he could, leaving a wire trail from the bomb switch in his hands to the charges by the corpses. The group moved with him in an arc, surprisingly well co-ordinated despite their lack of combat experience.

"There's too many!" Alyssa yelled, gunning down a small mob of creatures that were staggering towards her. Beside her, Yoko was flinching with every one of her own shots, shuffling hesitantly back. Alyssa swivelled quickly to cover David's left as Jim turned and sprinted the last several metres back to George and Cindy.

Mark shot a creature coming in at Alyssa's unprotected back, with Yoko assisting. "Give us some cover back there!" He yelled at the medics. A moment later, gunshots sounded behind him, and the swell of creatures started to lessen.

"Get back, get back!" He shouted, waving them behind him as he crouched. With a quick glance back to make sure they were as far out of the blast zone as possible, he knelt, and turned the handle on the detonator.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a roaring sound in his ears, tarmac and concrete being ripped from the ground and flung into the air. The creatures were consumed by the wave of dust and fire. Mark hunched to the quaking ground, trying to protect himself from the debris as it rained back down.

As the chaos calmed down, he slowly lifted his face. The destruction was unbelievable, the entire street – and several buildings levelled. Cars were strewn all over, with bodies in careless heaps. Part of Mark felt triumphant, but he couldn't help feeling sick at what he'd done. He worked in this town, he had friends here. After the war, he'd sworn to himself that he would never see anything like that again… never do anything like that.

He jumped as a hand gave down on his shoulder.

"We did it!" cried Jim, hugging him as he stood up. The young man was beaming so widely, anyone would think they had already escaped. The others were celebrating too, though some looked more exhausted and relieved than overjoyed.

It wasn't long before the sirens reached them. It seemed strange for things as mundane as police cars and ambulances to still be running. At least that meant that perhaps people were still alive. There was talk of taking the group to an evacuation point, and from there fleeing the city.

Mark let himself cling to that thread of hope. If he could get out, he could reach his family. He could only hope that the madness hadn't spread, and wherever they were, they were waiting safely for his return.