Author's Note: This is the first part of a multi-part story meant to retell the Resident Evil story in a way that further explains backstory of certain well-known events, further fleshes out characters (especially secondary characters), fills in a number of plot holes, and does away with some of the less believable aspects of the games. The Arklay Conspiracy covers the events of the first game and its leadup. As stated on my profile, criticism is welcome, just please be constructive, and I'll apologize ahead of time for how long it may be between chapters. So, to conclude, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.
No no no no no…
Shelly Lee sprinted erratically through the dark forest, feeling rough branches slap at her as she fled. The cause of her flight was closing in behind her. The dark form rocketed on all fours through the underbrush at a rate of speed she couldn't hope to attain.
Only moments ago, Shelly had been in her makeshift campsite in the Arklay Forest with a couple of her college friends. They had decided to celebrate the weekend after a particularly rough week of classes with some booze that Lisa pilfered for the underage trio. Now she had no idea where her friends were or if they were even still alive. The monsters – whatever they were – had burst from the tree line shortly after nightfall, a couple of the black shapes dragging Oliver away as at least half a dozen more chased Shelly and Lisa into the darkness. Lisa hadn't made it far before one of the monsters must have caught her, judging by the shrieking still ringing in Shelly's ears. She realized, her panic deepening, that she was all alone save for the loudly panting creatures, the even rhythm of their galloping feet drawing uncomfortably close.
"Please, oh please oh please, just go away!" she shrieked between frantic gulps of air.
There was a demonic howl, low and snarling, from behind her in response.
The trail came back into focus for only a moment as the moonlight peeked through the leafy canopy above, but it was just enough for Shelly to see the direction she needed to go. Lungs burning and muscles beginning to cramp, she forced herself onward with every ounce of strength she could muster.
That was when her foot caught on the root.
Shelly struggled to recover her footing but instead found herself careening into a thick tree trunk, the impact sending her flailing face first into the thick underbrush. Her skin stung where the tree's rough bark had scraped it raw. She groaned and tried to move, but her body refused to budge.
A heavy weight landed on her back, pinning her to the ground. She struggled violently, fingers clawing at the soft dirt below, but whatever was on top of her was too strong and she knew it was all over. It yanked at Shelly's hair, twisting her head violently to the side. Her panicked scream was reduced to a choking wheeze as powerful jaws clamped tight around her throat. Her windpipe crushed easily under the immense force. Large teeth found purchase on one exposed calf as another set ripped a chunk of her bicep away with a sickeningly wet smack, and Shelly continued to try in vain to scream, clawing at the soft dirt in a doomed effort to get away until the jaws around her neck closed further, puncturing her carotid artery in a spray of red as the world went black.
"Jesus, what a mess."
Detective Neil Carlsen ran a hand through his uncombed blonde hair as he walked towards the scene. Two victims, one in the campsite, one in the underbrush just beyond a cheap, orange tent, if what the Arklay County Sheriff's Department had relayed was still accurate. And at this point, thought Carlsen, bodies is a rather generous description.
The first warm beams of early morning sunlight shining through the haze and thick foliage contrasted the chill brought on by the gruesome display ahead. The first thing he noticed was the stench of what he soon realized was a combination of blood and spilled bowel contents. The one victim he could see had been completely torn apart, only sparse tatters of pale skin still clinging to dark red strings of muscle and slimy sinew. Yellow-white bone protruded from the gore in a number of places, most conspicuously where the few intact ribs arced over what remained of the hollow chest cavity. The small plants around the body, once bright green with fresh growth, were stained dark crimson. Carlsen forced himself to look away.
The game warden who had found the bodies gave him and Detective David Ford, both with the Raccoon Police Department's homicide division, a brusque nod before hurriedly moving to meet them. Behind the warden, the medical examiner was already silently at work. A couple nearby sheriffs' deputies watched her with morbid curiosity as others combed the campsite for evidence the killer may have left behind. A few were taking pictures. He noticed with a hint of unease that two of them also carried large hunting shotguns. Carlsen fished his badge from his pocket, noting in his peripheral that Ford had done the same. They introduced themselves.
"Ray Hasser, Wisconsin Department of Fish and Wildlife. Call me Ray."
Hasser was a lean man, his cheekbones appearing somewhat gaunt in the early morning light. From the faint odor of tobacco, Carlsen could tell he had been smoking recently. There was a certain blank look in his eyes, a look Carlsen knew well from his years working with homicide.
"What happened out here Ray?" Ford asked.
Joining in step with Ford and Carlsen, Hasser led the way back towards the first body. "Two victims, late teens to early twenties. One male one female. Looks like they were probably drinking," He began, pointing at an overturned bottle of cheap vodka. There was still some of the clear liquor inside, refracting the sun's rays in a rainbow pattern on the ground. Hasser paused, eyes lowering to his boots. "Just looked like another one of those animal attacks to me at first," he added, referencing a pair of fatal maulings that had occurred earlier that month in the foothills of the Arklay Mountains – just north of Raccoon City. "But the ME over there thought something was off. Usually large predators eat just about everything – muscle, guts, even some of the bones – but as you can see, there's an awful lot of soft tissue that wouldn't normally get left behind. And when I got here, there weren't any of the usual scavengers, which is weird to say the least. Usually they find stuff like this pretty quick, so something was probably keeping them away. Turns out, not all the bite marks are from animals."
"Meaning…?" Ford led, but Carlsen was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
Hasser swallowed nervously. "Some of those bite marks are human. Actually, more than just some. Someone was chewing on these folks for what seems to be the better part of last night before wandering off maybe a few hours before I got here."
Some of the bite marks are human… Well, at least being called out here at the ass-crack of dawn makes more sense now.
As they finished their approach, Doctor Mitaki rose to her feet and peeled off her blood-smeared blue gloves, gingerly placing them in an orange biohazard bag. She greeted them and shook their hands, an introduction being wholly unnecessary. Doctor Anna Mitaki had worked with the RPD on a number of occasions, and had a good reputation with the homicide department as something of a forensics genius.
Carlsen tried to fight the bile rising in his throat as the corpse's smell overpowered his senses. He had never gotten used to the unique, pervasive odor of fresh corpses, and it was considerably stronger here than he had ever before encountered. "Well, Doc?"
"I won't have a whole lot to offer that you don't already know until I can do a proper autopsy. This is fucked up. Who even does something like this?"
No one offered an answer. Deputies Van Zandt and Stephenson filled in the detectives on why they hadn't just taken care of the case themselves – they were already stretched pretty thin with budget cuts and had no dedicated homicide team, and figured it may have been related to the animal attacks that had already occurred on the edge of the RPD's jurisdiction.
The deputies helped Mitaki move both bodies into black, rubber bags and down the short trail back to her waiting van. Carlsen and Ford began to look around, hoping to discover any evidence the sheriff's deputies had missed. Carlsen wasn't very hopeful – from what he could tell the deputies had been rather thorough. There were already yellow markers placed wherever something of even marginal importance had been found, each one numbered for easy reference.
"Cannibals? Really?" Ford muttered under his breath.
Carlsen shook his head, still in partial disbelief. "I guess so."
"Seems almost like something out of a horror movie." He paused, brow furrowing as he stared intently at the ground. "Hey, some of the brush is trampled down here."
Sure enough, there was a faint path leading through the dew-covered grass and low shrubs into the tree line. Ford took the lead, Carlsen trailing a few yards behind. They carefully continued to comb the forest floor as they moved down a slight decline deeper into the woods. The trail veered sharply to the left, merging with a well-worn deer path.
Something didn't feel right. Carlsen realized that the horrible stench from the crime scene above, which should have been getting fainter, was instead growing more potent the further they went. He warily scanned the thick forest around him, no longer as concerned with the evidence he might find on the ground.
About a hundred yards further ahead was the source. A third victim, considerably more masticated than the other two, lay face down in a cluster of ferns. There were tiny bits of gore everywhere. A patch of long, dark hair, now matted with crusted blood, stuck out of a tattered flap of scalp still clinging to the victim's skull.
"You've got to be kidding me. Another one?"
"The hell did they miss this?" Ford remarked with incredulity.
The detectives met back up with Mitaki and, once the third body had been tagged and bagged for the morgue, called the watch lieutenant on their car phone.
"Lieutenant Edwards," growled the voice on the other end, sounding decidedly grumpy. If memory served, Edwards was very much not a morning person. "How can I help you?"
Carlsen brought Edwards up to speed, voicing his concern over the size of the crime scene and the possibility of other victims.
There was momentary silence before Edwards gave an overwhelmed sigh. "I suppose I could see if the Chief will let us send in a STARS team to help. They're better equipped for this kind of thing than Sheriff Williamson's people."
"That's probably a good idea."
"I'll put you on hold while I ask."
There was a click before the crackly, generic hold music began to play softly over the line.
The Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, or STARS for short, fulfilled the role of a traditional SWAT team and also conducted most of the RPD's search and rescue operations. With their superior training and combined years of experience, if anyone could find more evidence it would be them.
With another click the music abruptly stopped and Edwards was back. "Bravo Team is on their way, should be there in half an hour."
"Perfect," Carlsen replied, glad to hear the STARS weren't already on assignment somewhere else.
"One more thing," Edwards continued. "The Chief wants this to stay hush-hush for now. He figures with the other maulings and disappearances lately, if word got out it could cause panic."
"Understood. Mum is the word."
Richard Aiken swatted at the air as another mosquito took off from his skin, heavy with its full payload of blood. It deftly bobbed out of the way of his open palm, flying just out of reach of the frustrated man before he could take another swing. It was just after six and as the late spring heat began to fade, the nasty little bloodsuckers had emerged en masse from whatever accursed swamp they had spawned from. Richard swore silently to himself as he heaved his day pack up into the bed of the waiting pickup while Forrest Speyer, Richard's partner on Bravo Team, ejected a handful of large, red shells from his shotgun before latching it back into its case.
The other four members of Bravo Team had also begun to stow their gear after the long day. They had been searching for almost eleven hours, hiking grid by grid in hopes of discovering the path their friendly bunch of cannibals had taken after devouring their victims. Unfortunately they had had little luck, losing the trail a mere twenty yards past what the coroner had determined to be their last victim. For now at least, the trail had gone cold.
It was nearly half an hour before they made it back to the Raccoon Police Department's headquarters. After all their gear was properly stowed and the shotguns returned to the armory, Captain Enrico Marini - Bravo's team leader - dismissed them for the day.
"Hell of a day, man. I haven't hiked that much in a long time," Forrest stated, finally changing the subject from the day's gruesome spectacle. "You hungry?"
"Dude, I could eat a buffet out of business. But Bridgette will kill me if I'm not home for dinner again," answered Richard as he grabbed his car keys from his personal locker. He had already gotten home late every night the past two weeks. Not to mention, she would probably appreciate finally having a break from their particularly squirrelly toddler.
Forrest chuckled. "Alright. Catch you later man."
"Later."
Richard watched as Forrest left, having to sidle through the open doorway as a slight figure squeezed into the locker room past him with an awkward apology. It was Rebecca Chambers, the new recruit on Bravo Team.
Admittedly, Richard had been surprised that she had made it on to the team. She was inexperienced, having just gotten out of the academy two months ago, and there had been many other candidates who due both to the years under their belts and their solid track records were far more qualified. But both Captains Marini and Wesker had wanted her to fill the recently vacated role of medic, and their word was what mattered. Apparently Rebecca was some sort of biochemistry wiz. Richard wasn't sure how that was relevant, but was willing at the very least to give her a chance. She seemed capable enough and learned quickly, but Richard had some serious doubts about how she would perform if the shit ever hit the fan.
As he closed his locker, it's hinges groaning from years of overuse, Richard noticed that Rebecca's hands shook as she fumbled with the dial on her own locker and that the color had drained from her cheeks.
"Hey - you doing alright?" he asked.
She paused with her fumbling and let out a weary sigh. "Yeah. I just… I didn't expect my first call to be something like that." Her gaze shifted down to her boots.
"One hell of a day, for sure. But it isn't like this usually. More often than not it's just some hiker who wandered off the trail and got lost for a couple hours, or decided to stay out in the woods for an extra day without telling anyone," Richard explained. "Today was just a fluke."
Rebecca nodded, but didn't seem all that reassured. She finally got the locker open, grabbing a small, plain purse before closing it again, and turned to leave.
Halfway out the door, she stopped herself short. "Hey Richard," she began, looking back at him over one shoulder. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. See you tomorrow."
As soon as Rebecca was out of sight Richard let his shoulders slump, the long day finally catching up with him.
Today was just a fluke, right?
Ford and Carlsen found Doctor Mitaki in Raccoon General's cramped morgue the next morning. Still dressed in her teal surgical gown and cap from her latest autopsy, she attentively tapped away at her computer's keyboard, likely working on a report. Looking up to see the two detectives, Mitaki gave them a weary smile. "Boy am I glad to see you guys. I could use a break from all this damn paperwork."
"Anything we can do to help our favorite ME," Carlsen replied. "What do you have for us?"
She pushed away from the desk, gesturing them to take a seat on the bench next to it. "Frustratingly little for now," she said with a sigh. "The bodies were too mangled to learn much beyond the obvious – mauled to death. Probably died from blood loss, shock, or both. You already know about the human bite patterns, and most of the others were canine, probably scavenging after they were killed but it's hard to get a definitive timeline with so little to go on."
That wasn't good news, but it was about what Carlsen had expected. Rarely was it like on TV where all the evidence necessary was found in a couple weeks. It could take months or years, or more often than not no more evidence would present itself and the mystery would remain unsolved indefinitely. The RPD had been pretty lucky with cut and dry cases so far, maybe it was their turn for a tough break. "Do we have IDs on any of the vics?"
"Two of them so far, a couple local kids going to the college – Lisa Cobrin and Oliver Mosley. They were the two near the campsite. The other body may take longer, but I asked the college to let me know if anyone else turns up missing so hopefully it won't be that long. I also managed to get some skin samples from under Lisa's fingernails that probably doesn't belong to either of the other vics."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. It was really weird though. Some of the preliminary results came back already, which surprised me. They're still waiting to see if there's a DNA match on the database, but they called to let me know that the samples were rotten – as in straight up gangrenous."
Ford furrowed his brow in confusion. "What would have caused that?"
"Hell if I know. Maybe there's a leper colony living up in the hills," Mitaki remarked dryly. "All I can tell you is that there's no way it could have gotten like that in the time it took for the lab to receive the samples. Whoever Lisa Cobrin tried to fight off was already rotting when they were attacked."