6:47 AM, July 24TH, 1998
The forest loomed before him, dark even in the morning light.
Yet for Billy Coen, former soldier turned death-row inmate, it was the first step for a new journey.
It wasn't every day that a man got a new lease on life, after all.
Idly whistling, he shouldered his way through the undergrowth. Rebecca would be fine (hopefully), and he'd be halfway to the next state by the time anyone (if they didn't believe her 'report') bothered to start looking for him. He'd need to make a false identity, make a cover story, but that was in the future. For now, simply putting as much distance between Raccoon City and himself was the only attainable goal.
A low growling caught his attention. Out of the forest, a Doberman trotted out. The decayed flesh and clouded eyes clearly marked it as an undead creature. With a snarl, it bared gleaming white fangs at the ex-con.
The ex-con that had trawled his way through zombies, mutant insects, undead primates, and leech men to name a few. Billy unsheathed his knife, his other hand reaching for his sidearm.
"Bring it, Snoopy."
(***)
5:12 AM, October 1st, 1998
The mission had been simple; to eliminate any evidence of Umbrella's involvement in the outbreak by any means necessary.
Of course, things had gone FUBAR the minute they entered the godforsaken city.
Their current transports would have been condemned to the scrapheap before the outbreak. But even in their current state, they were worth their weight in gold to the occupants.
Four vehicles carried twelve through the outskirts of Raccoon City, rushing past the dead and devastation. Twelve people, two squads, six to each. Soon, they had cleared the suburbs; they slowed for nothing. The military made it abundantly clear that they needed to flee and they listened.
The Wolfpack had been left to die by their employers. Echo Six had extended an offer.
It had been accepted.
The radio crackled to life. "All units, put your ankles in it! You have less than an hour until impact!"
Raccoon City's death would come with the dawn.
And the Wolfpack vowed that Umbrella would be next.
(***)
4:50 AM, January 15th, 1999
"Hey, y'hear 'bout this 'Mr Death' guy?"
"Heh. Who hasn't?"
"I heard that the suits blame him for Raccoon and Rockfort."
"No shit? How the hell did that happen?"
"Guy was on Rockfort when the outbreak happened. Everyone died 'cept him and then when he made it back to Headquarters, they heard his report and then clapped him in irons 'cos he failed to defend the facility."
"What about Raccoon, then? Thought he completed that op?"
"Yeah, he brought back whatever it was they wanted, but I heard from Donny that the head honcho labelled him a liability because the whole outbreak started with his team. He said that if they'd been better at follow-up, the whole mess wouldn't have broken out."
"Meh. Whatever. Think he really is all that?"
"What? Human Unit Never Killed? I bet whenever he went out into the field, he hid behind everyone else, let them do the legwork, and then killed them so he could take the credit. I mean, no one's actually that good, right?"
"Yeah. No one."
"Well, he doesn't have much longer anyways. 'Mr Death' is gonna be facing his own end in a few days. The suits are using him as a scapegoat."
"That's got to hurt but you know them. No matter how good you are, you're still expendable. Victor told me he's in this cellblock actually."
"No way!"
"Not making this up. Uh, speaking of Victor, wasn't he supposed to report in. like, five minutes ago?'
"Pfft. That's the vets for you. Always thinking they can just unload the work on us. Seriously, they work this gig for a few years longer than us and think they can just skive off and make us put the effort in."
"Shh!"
"What?"
"I thought I heard something."
"The hell?"
"Wait…wait…okay, false alarm."
"Well that's just –"
"Arrgh..!"
"Oh shit! You killed Kenny! You bastard – urk…"
"…"
"…"
"…incompetent…"
(***)
After the Raccoon trials, all holdings of the Umbrella Corporation related to the development of B.O.W.'s were seized and purged of their occupants with the co-operation of the FBI, the US Army, and the assistance of foreign nations.
One such facility had contained Tyrant-class B.O.W.'s, and was immediately marked for termination. This particular lab had also been used in the creation of the 'Nemesis', and its 'brothers' had been housed in the facility.
Had an inventory been found, the military might have discovered that a pod containing such a creature had disappeared. Alas, they did not.
And so, one B.O.W. escaped the purge.
(***)
4:29 AM, September 23rd, 2005
Everything hurt.
She was thirsty.
She was scared.
The ship had shifted, and she clawed her way up the upward slope of the hall. Gunfire and explosions sounded off in the distance and she instinctively followed it through the halls. Noise meant people and people meant warm, tasty blood. But they also meant pain, and she cringed as she half-remembered the healed-over wounds. Ultimately, the desire for blood won out, and she finally pulled herself out through a doorway leading to the deck.
The cool sea breeze washed over her, and for a moment she stood stock still, savouring the fresh air on her flesh after the stuffy confines of the ship. The gunfire was closer now but the roars of something far larger reverberated through the air. 'Bigger predator,' a voice in her head hissed before a tentacle larger than she smashed into her side, propelling her into the sea.
The water was freezing, and she thrashed in terror as the cold enveloped her. She was sinking, and the small part of her that was still human cried out.
'Please…someone help…I don't want to die…'
And then, in the last moments before her mind shut down and she sank to the depths, Rachael Foley felt her body react.
(***)
6:38 AM, July 2nd, 2013
Haos was dead. Captain Redfield was alive.
And he himself would soon die too.
Piers Nivans didn't regret his choice. When the end came in the form of light and fire, he did not flinch.
The underwater facility was no more.
But something, or rather someone,survived.
(***)
8:00 PM, July 15th, 2013
They assembled in a darkened boardroom around a circular table. Five members from around the world, all in positions of power, and all with the same goal in mind. Their influence was considerable when put together, and the fact was not lost upon them.
After all, how could their organisation stay under the radar for so long without it?
One stood from her chair. "It is my pleasure," she addressed her compatriots, "to preside over the twenty-fifth meeting of the Council of Five." She tapped a button on the table to present a hologram displaying the blue and white crest of a greyhound and rifle.
"All hail Neo-Veltro."
(***)
The die has been cast.
The board has been set.
Game on.