Ch. I
Crash Landing
September 28, 1998: a midwestern town in America, Raccoon City was decimated by the outbreak of the Umbrella-manufactured T-Virus. The city became a warzone, embattled between the bio-organic weapons and its citizens. Before the situation got severely out of hand, the United States government wiped the city off the map. Thousands of innocent people died at the hands of Umbrella Incorporated; however, substantial evidence to expose the company was necessary. Cover-ups were put in place, hard evidence went missing and for a short time the company was in the clear. Despite Umbrella's best efforts, rumours sprouted of trouble brewing on an island in the Mediterranean, Sheena Island. An island owned and controlled by Umbrella, the 'Second Raccoon City.'
November 22, 1998…
Moans and groans of deteriorated human mass filled the night sky. Amber chars punctuated the midnight feast of teeth against raw flesh. The shuffles of a zombie march echoed down the streets and cobbled paths of Sheena Island. Overhead the distinct sound of a helicopter rotor could be heard, salvation to one man. Flying above the madness, one could easily see the predicament faced by any unfortunate to be trapped below. Nowhere was safe in the winding web of streets and back alleys. Infestations of shambling corpses, skinless sickle-tongued creatures and decomposing Dobermans. Hell on earth, all over again.
"You're not getting away!" A man dangled from the landing gear of the helicopter. One hand was firmly gripping a Glock, the other tightly fastened to the helicopter. The pilot, unaware of the hitchhiker, continued casually controlling the craft to safety. The passenger pulled himself up and wrapped his left arm around one of the helicopter's legs. "You're not getting away!" he yelled again, aiming at the helicopter's fuel tank.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for the pilot. He could not hear the man's rants below; the rotors were making too much noise. However, a sudden explosion and loss of control startled him. The controls failed to respond, and he lost altitude. The helicopter swayed in the night sky like a kite.
Frantically trying to regain control of the now wily chopper the pilot cried out, "Shit!" Below the leech began to lose his grip. The jerky motions and swaying weakened him and his hands uncoupled from the chopper's feet. He dropped the gun as the helicopter began to steadily approach the ground, but a sudden lurch flung the man into the sky.
He cried aloud as he plummeted to the ground, crashing into a back alley. The aerial acrobatics produced by the chopper could no longer be tamed. Complete control had been lost but the pilot refused to give up.
"Come on, fly!" He yelled in vain as the helicopter came crashing into the ground with its fuel tank completely alight. A blunt blow to the head dazed the pilot. Metal twisted and snapped as the helicopter burst through the corner stones of a building roof and wedged itself between a tall fence and the brickwork, softening the crash marginally. Heat started to build up in the pilot's cab as fire spread from the fuel tank to the nose of the helicopter.
Fortunately the pilot managed to hurl himself from the burning wreckage. He collapsed onto the muddy ground, crawling slowly away from the crash. Motor functions gradually returned to the stricken pilot and he lifted himself to his feet. His legs trembled and shook as he tried to stand upright, for a moment he could've fallen over again. The pilot blankly surveyed the area: a small grassy area in the dead of night, the helicopter wreckage ablaze behind him. A sense of unfamiliarity lingered in his mind.
"Whe-where am I?" The pilot clutched his head and groaned in pain. It throbbed with the worst migraine ever. Something was not right, something unsettling. He tried recalling his past, his memories, anything. A shot in the dark, blankness, emptiness, there was nothing…
"I-I can't," he groaned, "Who am I?" He tried to remember simple things. His name, anything, some shred of identity. Rifling through his jacket and trouser pockets yielded no results; there was nothing but a single ink ribbon. He tossed it into the muck in frustration. Amnesia had stricken this man of twenty-something. There is no worse handicap...he read about it, but never imagined it would happen.
The man boldly stumbled forward, his legs cooperating with his commands. With every step he got stronger until he developed a functional rhythm. He would at least assess his surroundings, understand where he was. Perhaps someone here knew his name. Leaving the wreckage behind, the mystery man ventured out of the grassy patch and into the next alleyway.
A cobbled path stretched before him. Someone was slumped on the floor a few yards ahead of him. It didn't appear to be moving. Slowly, the pilot approached before he stood above the body. It was a man; he wore a distinct white uniform emblazoned with an umbrella symbol on the sleeve. Something stirred around in the pilot's brain; there was something about this body.
"What? Where have I seen that before?" The logo, the uniform, and his face; youthful and full of spite, with his golden hair combed back. "You look familiar but, I just can't remember." The pilot scratched his skull again and crouched down at the body. A gun lay beside him and a card stuck out of his pocket.
Pinching it slowly, the pilot gently removed the card from the jacket pocket of the body. It appeared to be an ID card of sorts, but burn scars on the card made it difficult to distinguish the photograph. However the name 'Ark Thompson' was clearly visible.
"Ark Thompson?" the pilot quizzed. The name sounded familiar to him, like something he should know. Who was this Ark Thompson?
"Why does that sound familiar?" A supressed shuffling sound approached but the pilot did not hear it at first, "You look so familiar." The shuffling changed to a hasty grind of boots dragging against paving stones. It got closer. "How did he die anyway?" The loud scuffing was now right behind him. Alert, the pilot reached out, grabbing the gun before turning his head sharply. Ahead of him with outstretched arms was a disfigured, lopsided figure. Blood oozed from the mouth and there were bite marks all over, its skin a sickly pale discolouration. It snarled.
"What the!?" the pilot yelled as he got to his feet, aiming the handgun towards the shambling creature. It didn't respond to the pilot's outburst and approached in its repetitive manner. The arms still outstretched ready to grab its next feast. Backing away, still aiming at the figure, the pilot began to panic.
"Stay back!" he yelled at the humanoid. There was no response, the creature moaned and groaned continually as it approached.
Instinctively the pilot fired off a round from the gun. It burst from the barrel and hit the creature's flesh, barely unbalancing it. The pilot panicked. It was impossible for anything to just shrug off a wound like that.
After squeezing the trigger several more times the creature began to jostle to the impact of the small nine millimetre bullets. It groaned and moaned as more lead impacted its flesh. One final round ruptured the shambling beast's forehead which made it stop instantly. It groaned loudly and collapsed face first to the ground. The creature was dead. He approached the motionless corpse slowly, anticipating that this was some kind of ruse. Not a single sound, no movement of any kind; it was definitely dead.
Even still, the pilot poked the bloodied corpse with the barrel of his gun, "The hell is this? What's going on here?" Distant groaning caught him by surprise. Fear was a more predominant emotion though. "There can't seriously be more of these." Not prepared to take any chances, he darted towards the nearest door he could find. His body whacked against a steel gate, as he tried desperately to get through. As time passed the sounds got closer and closer.
"Fuck this!" He took the gun and shot the lock off the gate. He shielded his eyes from the sparks and flashes of the muzzle. The busted lock echoed on the cobble path as it fell. The gate swung open easily and he slammed it behind him, bashing it against the metal frame. It would no longer close and the sounds continued to approach. Panicking more, the pilot bolted, hoping to increase the distance between him and the rapidly approaching horde of beasts.
In his desperation the pilot failed to acknowledge the sparse group of monsters ahead of him. They hadn't seen him and the alley now split two ways. One led to the group ahead, the other lead to the entrance of a building, or the back entrance. Any option away from the creatures was as good as any so he chose the doorway. Fortunately it was unlocked and the man stepped inside. He calmly closed the door behind him so as not to draw any attention. For the moment he was safe…
Author Notes: This is something I've not done before but I felt the compulsion to do so. Resident Evil Survivor is regarded as the worst game in the franchise, despite this, I actually like it. It has that great B-Movie vibe that I enjoy, not to mention the story is actually canonical and has some grim themes (if you have the patience to read through the games files). Going on the success of the Resident Evil REmake, I wanted to give Survivor similar treatment.
Of course, there are a few things I have to take into account, for one Survivor had branching paths, to address this I've taken the most significant parts of the game and combined them into a cohesive story. This is to allow every character in the game to make an appearance. Also, this is a game from 2000, it has some horrible dialogue [much worse than a typical RE game - fact!]. I must find ways to address this while still following the story of the original source, there will still be cheesy dialogue I'm sure.