The Witching Hour


December 12th

Fritzlar, Germany

It began with a single cry of protest.

The man was angered by his government's reluctance to help the very people who brought them to power. He stood in front of a member of the SPD and cried out for the stability society so desperately craved. They had been pushed, threatened, and starved, their patriotic voices silenced by the company proclaiming to be in their small town with the purest of intentions. Tricell had marched alongside the political figures with a hefty checkbook weighing down their pockets and seduced the commonality with promises of beneficial drugs for affordable prices and everyonebelieved them. But local newspapers had caught wind of the horrible epidemic that swept through the American city of Harvardville. Families watched, horrified, as living cadavers swallowed the lives of innocent people.

They had no idea what was in store.

The first public protest began with a man named Owen Lynch – a man who had been affiliated with Tricell and knew what they were capable of. He knew that the company had politicians rolling in their pockets, and they were allowed to break the rules of morality. He stood in the middle of a park and addressed his town about the unspeakable plans taking place behind Tricell's closed doors. For weeks, he rallied against his former employers and shamed the government for theirvile use of the company, until one day, Owen didn't speak at all. No one knew what happened to him, except that his apartment had been ransacked in a conspiracy to cover up his disappearance.

The economy worsened, and the crowds begged for assurance from their leaders and parliaments that the horrible depression would end. But the desperation continued. Men were put out on the street with homemade signs, bearing witness to the financial devastation taking over Europe. Mothers would gaze at their children, their young faces pale and hungry. The world was livid with the people charged to protect them from such situations.

Thomas Jefferson wrote, "When the people fear their government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty." Unfortunately, the government was very much in control of its fear and they watched patiently as the slums crowded before their capital buildings. They stood at their windows, smirking at the defiance these people showed and their lack of common sense. The proletariats were stray dogs barking for attention but never receiving a bone for their tribulations. It wasn't until the public became violent that the government began to sweat.

The strongest voice that thecommon masses listened to belonged to a man named John Strife. He announced to the world that the days of liberty and justice belonged in history books, for no one had seen either in years. Strife was the voice the people needed during those terrible times, and he had them convinced that if they banded together, the stability that was lost could be retrieved. He organized a militia of sorts, and slowly but surely, a civil-war broke out. Germany's people were at odds. Half believed the government would come to their aid, and the other half followed John Strife's volatile trepidations. Battle cries echoed through Germany's cities with promises of what had yet to come: promises of a new republic in which its people would not be ignored. It wasn't long until Strife had the following he had longed for –as well as the monetary funds that could produce the firepower he needed to seize control. Tricell was more than happy to comply. The money in Strife's bank accounts could land the terrible legend known as the T-virus, and for a greater fee, the G-virus as well. Anonymous representatives made the trade-off,to avoid alerting the U.S. government.

John Strife's agenda was to horrify the citizens, so that the only option would be to follow him. He called in a few favors from traitorous men working for the German government, and twenty- four hours later, a meeting was called in Fritzlar'scommunity hall. John Strife stood in front of thecourthouse and unveiled the body of one Owen Lynch. The people gasped as they watched their public speaker's corpse grind his rotted teeth and moan the song of the undead. His cadaver moved like a human, but the gaping bullet-holes, blackened with powder-burns, told them otherwise. Strife proclaimed that this was what their elected officials did to those who exercised the words Owen Lynch had. He said they would all end up like Owen if change did not occur. And change was right around the corner. Chains kept the walking dead man from attacking the public, but a single shot from an unidentified individual released Owen from his bindings. His filmy-grey eyes rolled to the side as he threw his body upon the first unsuspecting stranger. A man fired five rounds into Owen and ran to the victim's side. He didn't realize the rules of killing off the infected, and he too fell to the virus. Several moans echoed into the mob and they watched, horrified, as the infected flooded into their once peaceful lives.

It took twelve days for Germany to fall into the rotting hands of the infected. In twelve days, mass hysteria broke out, until the crazed crowds fell into the depths of hell known as the T-virus. They died off quickly, leaving the smarter ones who had invested their money in arms and ammunition. A small militia was once again formed and sided with the German military. These small bands of rural townsfolk cleansed the zombies from the streets, leaving the better-prepared armies to defend the larger cities. For a while, it seemed as if the public had regained control of boththe outbreak and the tyrannical government that had led their flock astray. But new enemies caught wind of the T-virus, and negotiations were impetuously set up. Before long, a new disaster befell Germany: the Lickers. They were an abomination; mutated versions of the walking dead that had a frightening hunger for human flesh. They were fast and stayed near the bigger cities with a vast food supply.

With the new monstrosities plaguing the country, we fell. No army could keep up with the Lickers, and it seemed that new ones sprouted up every day like bad weeds. It wasn't long until Germany's major cities: Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and Munichlay buried underneath charred rubble. The once magnificent monuments that had played such wonderful parts in history are now housed by the dreadful things humanity created. The streets are filled with the repulsive stench of decaying corpses – some walking and some not. Ash and embers light up the night sky as stars are a thing of the past; folklore to tell the children of later generations –if there are any.

The BSAA had been dispatched at the first signs of the outbreak; since they were trained to deal with bio-weapons. It was decided that a small group of BSAA soldiers would venture deeper in the continent to retrieve people of special interest including: BSAA officials, Terra Save representatives, and elected officials who had convened to meet prior to the outbreak. This report shall conclude with the confession that I have no intention of following the orders given to me. I have received notice that my family is residing in Gudensberg, although I fear my brother has already been picked up by the Spetsnaz for questioning in regards to his work with the T-virus. I realize there will be consequences if I make it to Gudensberg and come back alive and I accept all penalties and/or termination of my position within the BSAA.

-A.S.


Leon Kennedy folded the tattered piece of paper and slid it into his jacket pocket. The one-page report was dated two weeks ago, and since then, news of the horrific events documented by the lone piece of paper had been flooding in. Leon had received the letter from Claire Redfield, who, in turn, retrieved it from an unnamed individual. There had to be more information lying in the confines of that manila folder, but this particular page had been torn out and stapled to a scribbled address not far from Leon's destination.

Leon sighed and leaned his head against the aircraft's fuselage. He desperately wanted to help this person, but the fact that Claire was hiding the file from him and refused to tell him anything more than a few minor details unsettled his usually cool demeanor.

"You only have 24 hours to get in and get out with the subject at hand before the virus is dealt with by professionals."

Leon glanced at the man in charge of the entire mission – General Edwards. He was promised that they wouldn't deal with Germany like they had with Raccoon City. There were still civilians fighting for their lives down there. General Edwards watched Leon crinkle his eyebrows with worry and ran a rough hand over his clean shaven face before placing an unlit cigar in his mouth.

The General chuckled and shook his head."No bombs. The other branches of the BSAA have volunteered their services. They will go in and take out the Lickers before starting on the outbreak north of here. After that, they will set up containment bases and checkpoints and complete two objectives: quarantine those who fail their infection tests and relay those who do pass to another checkpoint before transporting them to Russia for safekeeping."

"Sir, I have to ask. Why did the BSAA wait so long before dealing with this outbreak?"

The General clicked his tongue, shook his head and replied, "Son, some things are just better left alone."

Leon shuffled through the file folder that contained his own assignment: a man named Charles Westcliffe, a BSAA advisor. He was top priority as far as the U.S. government was concerned. Their rendezvous point was the top of an apartment building. Charles' last phone call had been made less than four blocks from there. Leon would have enough time to find him and secure their location. The apartment didn't have many infected hanging around, which made Leon's job a bit easier, and most Lickers had been attracted to the escalating violence closer to the city. It was a scene that Leon had played out many times before; he just hoped it went smoothly.

Well as smooth as a T-virus outbreak can get.

The copter hovered briefly over the rooftop and allowed Leon to descend upon the rough tar. The fire escape would be his main exit and as long as there were no Lickers to distract him, then entrance to the streets would be simple. He immediately noticed the small group of infected cadavers huddling on the opposite side of the street, but they were slow compared to other monstrosities he had encountered over the years. His pace was rushed, and his eyes remained focused on the darkened street corners and barely-lit walkways. He had memorized the direction before his trip and knew the road signs and back alleys by heart. At the rate he was going, Charles would be warm inside the executive plane cockpit in no time at all.

Leon paused before another street. Claire had briefly confirmed that an encoded phone call had been intercepted by American officials just hours before Leon had received his mission. The strangers claimed to be taking refuge in a loft apartment and had been in correspondence with Charles off and on for most of the night. Leon would gladly take on any survivors, as long as they didn't compromise the lives of others. Without a second's hesitation, he confirmed the location of the phone call and made his way through the maze of dark alleys. Occasionally he would run into the loose pack of infected individuals but they tended to stay closer to the combat taking place north of town. The Militia's shouting were like banging dinner bells. Leon grinned inwardly as a shadow fled past dusty windows on the top floor. The building just happened to be his target.

The apartment was planted over a small bakery that could've very well been built in the late 18thcentury. The front door was locked from the inside, but it wasn't much of a setback. Using his right shoulder, he broke through the heavy wooden door and quietly shut it behind him in case any walking dead had heard him enter. The lower level curtains were closed, so that the outside world couldn't see inside the bakery. It was a simple but smart move, and Leon expected the group to have at least one individual experienced enough to know basic concealment. He made his way to the kitchen. Several pots and pans were scattered across the floor and the back door was lying wide open, allowing a brisk wind to cool off the interior. Leon found the blatant flaw odd but carefully made his way over to the back door and locked it. He scanned the room until he found the small entryway snuggled into the corner by the pantry. A row of metal canisters and glass trinkets were strung across the open doorway, and once again, he had to give mental props to the person who kept coming up with these simple tactics. Leon ducked under the makeshift alarm and headed upstairs with his trusty pistol steadied in front of him.

The bakery's second floor housed several smaller rooms that the owners probably rented out when business slowed. The rooms could hide several zombies or none at all. He slid across the opposite wall with his gun ready for any infected. He had just reached the end of the hall when he heard a slight rustle from inside the last room. Leon could feel his heart pulsating as adrenaline rushed through his body. Moments like these, those incredibly tantalizing minutes right before the ultimate rush of an attacking cadaver created a euphoric feeling for Leon. He loved the calm before the storm and sighed as he reached for the doorknob.

The door crashed open and a carcass fell to the ground in a rotting heap. Its shoulders rolled back as it rose from the wooden floor. Its low moan echoed through the halls. Leon raised his pistol to take aim but realized that the creature's attention was still on the room it had been kicked out of. Was someone in there with it? He didn't have to wait for an answer. The sickening sound of metal slicing through brain matter quieted the corpse's mournful howl, and it fell to the ground, mouth still gaping from its hungry groan. Another pair of heavy boots crossed the room, and a shadow walked out into the hallway, completely oblivious to Leon's presence. The silhouette held the soft curves belonging to a woman's body and slowly crouched to retrieve the menacing knife which protruded from the zombie's skull. Leon lowered his weapon and made his way to the stranger, who was now wiping her blade across the zombie's torn shirt. Leon had barely opened his mouth to speak when the woman turned on him, her lean arm flying up to his face. His defensive training kept her from making physical contact and he grabbed her wrist and twisted her around so her back was facing him.

She desperately tried to slip out of Leon's grasp, but it was a hold that managed to tangle-up men twice her size. Every time she twisted in his grip, he simply strengthened his control. She grunted in frustration. He didn't know what angered her more: the fact that she was defenseless, or the fact that it was a man disabling her. A second wind came through her and she curled her ankle behind his and pushed off the wall with her left leg. They both went down.

Leon's breath fled his lungs as his back hammered the floor's thick wooden planks. He immediately let go of the woman, and she quickly rolled over to her dropped knife. Within a breath's time, the tip was pointed to his throat as she hovered over him.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your throat", she said in a thickly laced Russian accent.

She swallowed hard as the click from his pistol sounded through the hall. He gently prodded her abdomen. "That's a pretty good reason."

Her eyes were dark and wild and could've been the muse for the statement 'Hell hath no fury.' She slipped her knife back into its leather holster and held her hand out. Leon clasped her wrist as she pulled him into a standing position.

"What's your name, comrade?"

"Leon Kennedy. And you are…?"

"Aleksandra Smirnov." He stared at the large patch adorning her khaki pants and suddenly put two and two together. 'A.S' had to be more than a coincidence in this situation.

"You're with the BSAA?"

She nodded.

"I didn't think the BSAA trained with techniques like that."

She grinned an impish smirk and proudly tossed her white-blonde hair behind her shoulder. Leon winced as he caught sight of a large scar starting from the apple of her cheek and ending just underneath her ear. This woman had put in some serious field time.

"They don't. My father was Spetsnaz. Women aren't allowed in their world, so I opted for the BSAA. My father was more than happy to share his fighting skills to ensure my safety. Are you here because you heard our call?" She must have decided that the conversation had gone too far and reversed the roles of interrogator and interrogated.

"Yes and no. My orders were to get Charles Westcliffe, but a friend mentioned the call, and the address just happened to be scribbled on this paper given to me, so I had to make a stop. Are there others with you?" Leon grabbed a breath from recalling Claire's distinct orders to make this checkpoint a priority. Obviously, it wasn't the Russian woman she had been worried about, for he was fairly certain that Aleksandra could take care of herself. So why was there a need of urgency in Claire's voice earlier?

"Four, including myself – one injured man, another female, and my eight year-old niece."

A small terrified scream from the third story delayed the talk for now. Aleksandra's eyes widened in horror and she immediately reached for the silver plated pistol resting at her hip. She had successfully reached the second step when she felt Leon's hand yank at her elbow.

"You don't know how many are up there," Leon whispered. Both sets of eyes wandered up to the noise above them. Thump…creak…thump.

"My niece is up there." She shook him from her arm and treaded upstairs. Leon checked the number of rounds in his own pistol and sighed. His mission would have to take a minor detour for now.