Resident Evil: Dead Memories

A/N: Hello again, fellow residents of . Jammer69er here, bringing you the sequel to 'The Fall of Raccoon'. Some of you may have already read through the previous entry, and if you haven't...then what the hell's wrong with you man? Just kidding. But as this story's going to have a lot of references to TFOR, if you want to have the whole story and be fully clued up on Dean Travers, and the horrors he experienced in Raccoon City, then you might want to give the other story a look over so you're up to speed.

With this particular fanfic, what I want to do with this story is to try and focus more on character development, emotions, and personalities, as I feel as though these were all things I felt I needed to improve on, a feeling backed up by a couple of reviews I received on TFOR. Also, I want to try and make my writing more concise- i.e, focus on shorter chapters, as I know fine well that some of the chapter's in TFOR were far too long compared to some of the other stories I've seen so far on the site. Hopefully I can achieve both of these goals, and hopefully the rest of you will find the same thing as well in your critique.

Anyway, this intro's gone on long enough- let's get this show on the road, shall we?

Disclaimer: Resident Evil, its associated characters, bodies, etc., are the property of Capcom. Dean Travers, and all other original characters on the other hand, belong to me.

Prologue

My name is Dean Travers.

I live in the small town of Riverview in Virginia, just outside of the capital city of Richmond. I was born and raised on my parent's farm, before I moved away from home to try and find my own way rather than following family tradition.

I am also one of the few survivors of what used to be Raccoon City, the North American home of Umbrella Incorporate, one of the world's largest and most prestigious pharmaceutical companies, developing the most advanced medical products and equipment over their 40 year history. At least, that's what the company's press releases want you to think.

In secret, they were developing Bio-Organic Weapons, monstrous creatures developed through the research of a mutagenic toxin known as the 'T-Virus', in order to see them to the highest bidder for military purposes. They were playing with fire for so long, it was only a matter of time before somebody got burned. In September 1998 Raccoon was hit by a massive outbreak of the T-Virus, which transformed the city's 150,000 strong population into zombies…the walking dead. Creatures I initially only thought lived in the movies and people's worst nightmares.

As an officer in the Raccoon Police Department, myself and my best friend Ben Campbell were stuck in the middle, even as our colleagues were eaten alive or killed in other brutal ways by the monsters which stalked from the shadows. I'll never forget that week: row upon row of blank, rotting faces bearing down on us, the stench of putrid flesh closing in, cold fingers reaching out for us-

And Ben. Of all the people to die in that place, his death hit me the hardest of all. We had been with each other through all the major events in our life, and I was convinced that we would make it through that together. But he fell at the hands of that damned 'Tyrant' in the secret Umbrella facility, just to save my own life. The ultimate sacrifice…

It's been just under 3 years since day Raccoon City was wiped off the face of the earth by the nuclear missile intended to 'sterilise' the city, and a lot has happened since then. Umbrella is still operating, but public suspicion against them grows by the day. I am back home, back on my parent's farm, trying to move on. I was even convinced to keep a journal of my general memories and experiences- my doctor told me it would help in the process of moving on.

But leaving behind my dead memories hasn't been that straightforward…

-Excerpt from the journals of Dean Travers, survivor of Raccoon City.

Chapter 1: The Past and the Present

He opened his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

He was stood in the middle of an anonymous city street, totally alone. He looked all around him, taking in the details he could see. There were several cars parked alongside the side of the road, abandoned, while none of the lights in the surrounding windows were on, and the cold biting wind blew through the street, nipping at the exposed skin on his arms and face. He turned and walked a few steps, trying to find any sign of life, but he was entirely alone.

His foot came down on a discarded sheet of newspaper sprawled across the tarmac, and he glanced down curiously, feeling a shiver run up his spine as he read the paper's title, 'The Raccoon Press'. His blood ran cold when he read the massive headline too, next to a small printed picture of a dark silhouette approaching the camera.

THE DEAD WALK!

He almost froze when he heard the very weak moan from somewhere behind him, and he tried to urge his body not to turn, trying to deny what had just materialized in the street with him, wanting to drag him down, tear out his throat and feast on his flesh. But in the end, he just couldn't do it and he felt his head turn swiftly, ready to face the inevitable.

Back along the street, he watched a lone figure stagger out into view from behind a parked blue sedan. It was a man in his mid thirties, just under six feet tall, dressed in grey work pants and an orange hi-visibility vest, much like a construction worker, the look completed with a yellow hard hat. But he was more focused on the fact that the man's lower jaw and upper torso were totally smeared in fresh blood, the man's eyes just dull white marbles set into his skull. He let out another weak moan as he dragged his lethargic limbs forwards.

Then he heard that same hollow sound again, further ahead and to the left, and then from behind him, and once again, to his direct right-

He turned as quickly as he could manage, scanning all 360 degrees, only to see even more people slinking out of the shadows towards him; dozens of them. There were men, women and children of both sexes, of various sizes and clothing styles: but they all shared the same shambling gait and dead eyes as the first one.

He felt his heart beat raise, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the blood thumping in his ears as the stench of rotting flesh closed in around him, cold scabbed hands reaching for him. A flash and there was a shotgun in his hands, and he swung it to bear, firing off a load of buckshot and throwing several of them backwards, clearing a path for him to slip through. He felt cold fingers brush at his bicep, and he resisted the urge to vomit.

He sprinted on through the streets, that faded into darkness and then came back into view somewhere completely different, moving from a wide shopping avenue to narrow back alleyways closing in around him, where a massive bug-like creature hacked at him with sickle-like claws, screaming in rage with glowing red eyes, back to regular streets, dotted with countless shambling figures and blazing car wrecks. As he avoided them, he saw other things lunging at of the shadows at him.

Dogs driven insane and foaming at the mouth. Skinless monsters with wickedly-sharp tongues. Frog-like creatures bearing razor-sharp claws on their hands and feet. A towering, naked brute with its arms replaced by savage claws and a spiked, bony club.

He fired again at a knot of figures in front of him, and they all tumbled to the ground, no visible wounds on their bodies. He hopped over them and crashed through a steel door ahead of him, stumbling out into a deep black plain of oblivion. He glanced all around, finding himself alone, with even no sign of the door he had entered through. Turning in one direction, he began to slowly walk towards a faint sound in the distance, not even noticing the fact that the shotgun had vanished from his hands.

"DEAN!"

He swung around to face the direction of the shout, somewhere behind him and to the left, his pulse picking up again. He began to jog forwards, and then stopped again as the echo faded away.

"DEAN, HELP ME!"

He turned once more at the desperate voice, much closer this time, and he sprinted full force in the direction of the sound, before he suddenly tripped on something out of sight and fell face-first to the ground, the wind being knocked from him. He quickly rolled onto his back and onto his feet again, as he heard a scream of agony from somewhere ahead of him. A single word burst from his lips.

"Ben!"

He gasped a deep lungful of air as he sat bolt upright, the white sweat-dappled sheets tumbling away from his form onto the bedroom floor. He stared dead ahead, at the closed door in the limited light, gasping for air, before pausing briefly to swallow, and then staring down at his hands, swallowing a couple more times. He quickly glanced to his left, out of the partially-opened window, where he could see the branches of a lone tree in the night breeze, reassuring him that he was back in Riverview, and not in that damned empty place.

"God," he whispered, burying his head in his open hands. "Again…why?" He stifled a pained sob, before lowering his hands and looking at the small bedside mirror to his right, examining his tired face and the dark circles around his green eyes, their shine dulled somewhat in the last 3 years.

He heard the creak of a wooden floorboard a few seconds later and glanced up, just as the door was pushed open slightly, giving him clear view of a dark silhouette of a woman's figure, standing in the limited light of the open doorway. There was a long silence before he finally heard the weary, but caring voice.

"Another bad dream?" He just stared for a while, and then finally nodded in reply, rubbing his face once more.

"Hey, least it beats me screaming the walls done, eh?" he laughed dryly, lowering his head, his laughter cutting out abruptly as he swallowed nervously and buried his face in his hands once again. A few seconds later, he felt the fingers on his shoulder, and his body began to convulse, a few pained sobs breaking free from his mouth as he let the sorrow and the pain from the past pour into his soul once more.

"You're not alone," she whispered in his ear. "No matter what happens...you are not alone." Though he was far too busy in his despair to acknowledge the statement, or to offer a reply, even as the hand on his shoulder moved around into a soft embrace.

June 26th 2001, 0729 hours

It was only a few scant hours later that Dean Travers opened his eyes once again, staring at the ceiling above his bed, the faded white wooden boards the same as they had been the previous three years. After what seemed like an age, he glanced to the side, towards the small bedside table and the small digital clock that rested there, seeing the blinking green numbers showed it was 29 minutes past 7 in the morning. A few seconds later, the minutes clicked onto 30, and the clock's alarm began to beep loudly. A half-second later, his hand slapped down, knocking it off.

Close enough...

He groaned and tossed his covers aside, revealing that he was wearing little save for a pair of night shorts, before swinging himself over and resting his feet against the floorboards. He ran a hand through his untamed hair and sighed once again, feeling his eyelids droop somewhat, but managing to shake himself awake a little. Though it had been this way for a long time, snatching only a few hours of sleep here and there when he could, he was still not fully used to it, feeling on the verge of fatigue constantly, in danger of burning himself out sooner or later.

He rose to his feet after a few more moments, and crossed towards the wardrobe at the far side of the bedroom, an old-looking piece of furniture that had stood in the same place for as long as he could remember, much like everything else in this house. Almost 3 years ago had been the first time he had set foot on the soil of the old farm estate in 5 years, and the relief he had felt was obvious, considering the nightmare that he had just come from. The warm, familiar sensation of being around his family, as well as the people of the town he had grown up with, was the best medicine from what he had come from.

He threw the wardrobe doors open and retrieved a red and black chequered shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans, and a fresh pair of boxers, before tossing all of them onto the foot of his bed, and turned to look at himself in the full-length mirror, mounted on the wall just opposite the wardrobe, beside the bedroom window.

Dean Travers was a fairly handsome man 28 years of age (almost 29), with short, dark brown hair that was beginning to become in need of a cut sometime soon, several days of stubble marking his chin, his green eyes dulled by the heavy dark bags that had become almost like a permanent addition to his facial features. Ever since that incident 3 years ago...

Back then he had been a member of the Raccoon City police Department, having moved there on suggestion of his oldest friend, Ben Campbell. Though it had taken him some time to find his feet, he soon became used to his work as a law enforcement officer, and he felt as though he had at last found some kind of calling in life, free from his somewhat dead-end frittering and grinding in New York City. And then it had happened.

In September of 1998 Raccoon City was completely decimated by an outbreak of the T-Virus, a mutagenic toxin that had been secretly developed by Umbrella Incorporate, one of the world's leading pharmaceutical corporations, responsible for countless advances in the fields of biochemistry, medical engineering, and half a dozen other biological disciplines. But underneath the facade, they secretly developed Bio Organic Weapons, organisms specifically designed for warfare.

The virus transformed living people into mockeries of their former selves: zombies, flesh-eating living corpses with rotted frames and a bottomless desire to feast upon human flesh, along with other creatures that seemed more at home within a child's worst nightmares. And the R.P.D were on the front lines, wiped out almost to the man, with lone survivors including Dean and Ben stuck in the centre of the necropolis that used to be Raccoon City.

Dean sucked in a deep breath as a memory from the past flashed through his mind: a wall of zombies advancing upon the R.P.D blockade, despite being ripped into by countless weapons. He shook his head and grabbed for his clothes, walking with them into the shower room outside in the corridor.

It can't touch you anymore, Dean.

He stared intently at his own reflection in the mirror, before he realised that his hand was shaking, and he quickly pulled away, clutching his wrist tightly until the shakes had disappeared. It was yet another symptom of his 'illness' as he called it: aside from the nightmares and the memory flashes, it also manifested as uncontrollable shaking in his hands. He kept it under wraps well for the most part, but there was still the odd moment when he couldn't do anything to disguise it from others. Couldn't disguise his demons for much longer. He shook his head again.

Even Umbrella's own paramilitary organisation, the U.B.C.S, didn't fare well against the impossible odds stacked against them in Raccoon City. But yet a number of survivors from their Delta platoon helped Dean and Ben, and showed them the true extent of Umbrella's corruption and evil. Though the rest of the mercenaries had died during their attempted escape, Dean and Ben continued to push onwards, towards a secret Umbrella storage facility located underneath one of their office buildings- urged on by the hope of finding a cure for the virus that was inside their bodies, and the hope of finding some means of escape.

Deep down, underneath the concrete and steel, they faced their greatest challenge in the form of a Tyrant bio-weapon, one of Umbrella's most advanced B.O.W creations. Featuring incredible strength and endurance, the two R.P.D officers were just about able to destroy the hulking brute, even after it had mutated into something 10 times worse than its initial incarnation. But by the end of the battle, another casualty would be claimed.

Ben Campbell wouldn't live to see his childhood home and family one last time. The wounds he had suffered at the Tyrant's hands were severe, far too severe for Dean to treat with what he had, and his oldest friend would soon pass on, just moments after being airlifted out of the city limits. And he had received those wounds luring the Tyrant away from Dean, taking the fatal damage for his friend.

My fault- it was my fault that Ben died.

Even after returning home, even after the funeral, even after rebuilding some semblance of a normal life, that guilt still gnawed away at his heart, niggled away at the back of his brain- a constant, mocking presence, threatening to drive him over the edge. He turned away from the mirror and stripped his shorts off, stepping into the shower and twisting the nozzle to douse himself in the piping hot water.

He had learned to take all these luxuries for granted nowadays, when he considered how many people had perished in Raccoon City- so many people who would never know what it was like to be human, even for an instant. And he was one of the lucky few- if 'lucky' was the relevant word- to have been able to return to some semblance of a normal life.

Twenty minutes later he emerged from the shower room, fully clothed and with his hair combed through, though the stubble on his chin remained. He crossed the top landing and descended the stairs, almost running into his sister's back. She turned to face him, eyes wide in delight.

"Oh, Dean!" she said in a bright tone, "good morning." Despite the fact she had walked in on him after his nightmare in the middle of the night, she still sounded as though she had had a full night's sleep. He always wondered what her secret was.

"Morning sis," he smiled as he followed her into the kitchen where he could already smell the coffee being brewed.

His sister, Lisa, was five years his junior, and almost like a female version of him, with dark brown hair and bright green eyes, though she was some inches shorter than him and of a much slighter build. She currently wore old frayed jeans and battered white sneakers, along with a white shirt. Having spent two years on a medical placement at the town's clinic and a further year doing further studies at the university in Richmond, today would be the day she finally started out a proper job as a junior at Richmond General Hospital. All her hard work had finally paid off, he mused, as they both took their seats at the table.

"Good morning!" called their mother cheerily as she finally appeared from the utility room, pouring out some milk into a jug on the wooden table.

"Morning mom," smiled Dean as she then poured out a mug of coffee for him, still piping hot from the kettle. Marie Travers was in her mid fifties now, though her role as a farmer's wife didn't slow her down very much, her blue eyes still holding a slight gleam to them. "So what's on the Travers menu for today?" he then asked, referring to their breakfast.

"Well we've got sausage and bacon left over from when your father ate," she explained, "he's out in the fields right now, helping the farm hands preparing the wheat for planting. You're going to help him out this afternoon, right son?"

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded. "Soon as I've dropped Lisa off and I'm done in town, then I'll come and find him," he explained, as his mother dumped the plate bearing a few sausage links and some bacon in front of him. He smiled a little as he took up his knife and fork and got stuck in. Even though he was approaching his thirties, he still had a taste for mom's home cooking.

He didn't complain. He knew his parents appreciated him being there, helping out on the farm any way he could- it was the least he could do, even after he had walked out initially 7 years ago, refusing to take over from his father, much like had happened for the previous three generations of the Travers family. And he had just come from the nightmare which had been Raccoon City, so of course they had welcomed him back with open arms.

He was glad for the familiarity- his mother's kindness, his father's straightforward and blunt manner, and his sister's cheery nature, the three pillars that made up the basis of his life, the way he saw it. The marked contrast- to not just the madness that had engulfed Raccoon City, but to the somewhat hectic pace of life as a full-time police officer- took some getting used to initially, but it wasn't long until he had settled back into the simple life.

Shortly after breakfast, he had brushed his teeth and stuck his head into his sister's room in time to see her applying her a white cream to her cheeks and forehead- apparently some kind of moisturiser that would keep her skin looking healthy. Whatever it was, he was waiting for her to be ready so he could give her a ride into town for her first day, and then he'd head off to his own appointment for the morning.

"Hey there," he said as he approached the dressing table where she was sat, "you know, you should be careful how much of that you put on- you've read those stories on how direct some of the doctors can be with the juniors."

She laughed as she finished applying her cream. "Oh come on big brother, you know I can take care of myself. It's been a long time since you had to go chasing after my ex-boyfriends." Dean let out a burst of laughter himself.

"I know, I know," he nodded, "but I guess I still can't help being the over-protective big brother...even after all those years I was away."

"I know Dean, some things never change" she replied, "but you need some looking after yourself, you know? I know those nightmares are still getting to you...you're not screaming in your sleep anymore, but I can still see it in your eyes- that haunted look. Don't think I never saw it last night." Dean remained silent for a while longer, until he sidestepped the subject nicely by reaching out and picking up the tub of white cream she'd been using.

"This stuff must be pretty popular, considering how often you use it"-

His words stopped dead in their tracks when he turned it over and saw that all-too familiar red and white octagon imprinted in the top left hand corner of the label, the same logo which had been burned into his mind after that mess three years back. A logo forever associated with the deaths of over 150,000 thousand people.

"Dean," Lisa said suddenly as she snatched it from his hands and put it back down on the dresser. "Look, just don't say anything"-

"You know fine well what I think about anything those bastards make," he replied, anger creeping into his words. "God knows if they're secretly using that to test some new horror they've created." She sighed, knowing not to try and argue with him over this subject, knowing how vocal he was.

"Dean, it's just a cream I use on my skin, and since I've been using it for weeks and nothing bad's happened to me, I'm pretty sure it's safe to use," she responded, as she then stood up and retrieved her bag from the foot of her bed, containing a spare change of clothes and everything else she needed for her first day. "Come on," she then said, walking out of the hall and down the stairs, "I'm ready whenever you are, Mr Taxi!" He remained standing in place for a while longer.

"Yeah, sure," replied Dean, as he took a few more moments to pick up the tub of moisturiser cream and examine it a bit more closely, before dumping it into the wicker wastebasket beside the dresser and walking out after Lisa.

"See you later, mom!" called Dean as he and Lisa prepared to exit out the front door.

"OK, be careful you two!" she called back from the kitchen, and Dean chuckled in response.

"Hey, I'm a big boy now, I'll be fine," he laughed, though it were something of a fake gesture.

But can I take care of myself? Damn, I feel like I'm about to fall apart here.

Dean had borrowed his father's pick-up truck while they both went into Richmond- since the farm owner was up at the fields for the first half of the day, it wouldn't have affected him, and his children were free to use it for the time being. The drive into Richmond was fairly quiet, save for Lisa switching on the radio at the half way mark and going through the channels, until she fell upon a news broadcast.

"...and in other news, another large demonstration has gathered outside of the Virginia HQ of Umbrella Incorporate, accusing the company of numerous human rights and biological science violations, as well as widespread corruption up to the directorate level."

Dean was just about able to hide his disgust from the driver's street as he listened to the report. Even after Raccoon City, even after having the blood of its entire population on their hands, Umbrella were still in business. Even with countless demonstrations by every human rights right imaginable outside of their main HQ's, the company continued to operate as though nothing had happened in the first place.

"In related news, the court case against Umbrella, with regards to the destruction of Raccoon City, continues to rumble on with no discernable end in sight. Despite the evidence stacked up against the company, of their involvement in supposed biological experiments with human and animal test subjects to create 'Bio Organic Weapons', there remains a solid defence for Umbrella, consisting of numerous high-ranking witnesses and official records contradicting this evidence..."

"Bastards," was all Dean had to say about this information as he punched the power switch for the radio, leaving them both in silence until he spoke up again. "They've got the blood of all those people on their hands, and they think they can just buy their way out of this mess?"

"Dean, you know that you have to move on," reasoned Lisa.

"And how the hell can I do that when they're still out there, acting as though they did nothing wrong?" he snapped back, before turning his eyes to the road quickly before they ran into the back of the articulated truck in front of them. "I'm sorry, but you know how I feel about that particular subject," he then explained, stumbling over his words somewhat, and his sister continued to give him a concerned look for a while longer, before finally turning to look out the front window instead.

They finished the rest of the journey in silence, as he knew fine well she was in one of those moods where it was best not to try and say anything at all. After all, as his father told him every now and then- there's only two ways of arguing with a woman, and neither one of them worked. Despite her somewhat quiet manner, Lisa Travers had a pretty sharp tongue when it came to the crunch. She had been fairly understanding of his situation since escaping Raccoon City, but still he felt the odd moment of irritation towards him- towards his unwillingness to let the past go, or to not even talk about it in the first place.

If only it was that easy, sis...

Soon enough, they were within the city itself, rolling green countryside and forests giving way to towering skyscrapers, cramped street plans and hundreds of pedestrians and cars crowding the streets. It always reminded Dean of Raccoon City- crowds of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, pressing in all around him as he walked his beat every day for two years. Except at the time of the outbreak, those crowds were of a much different nature...

He shook his head clear as he realised his mind was wandering again. He pulled the truck into the front parking lot of Richmond General, careful to avoid the already parked ambulance and the paramedics transporting a patient inside. He pulled into a vacant car park space at the far side, and pulled the parking brake on.

"OK, here we are," he announced.

"Thanks for the ride, bro," she smiled as she retrieved her bag and her jacket from the back seat, before turning to face him once again. "And Dean?"

"Yeah sis?"

"Please...please don't just shut me out, OK?" she asked, and he bit his lip in trepidation. "You know I'm here for you always, right?"

"Of course," he nodded with a shaky smile, "now get going. Don't want you to be late on your first big day, right?"

"No, of course not," she responded. "Don't worry about coming back for me- Darcy said he'd give me a ride back into Riverview once we were finished for the day." Dean had only met Darcy the one time, but he seemed decent enough, having been on the same university courses as Lisa had during her medical studies. And now they had both got a place in the same hospital too.

What are the chances, eh?

"That's good then," he smiled, as she began to unlatch the door. "OK, see you tonight."

"See you tonight," she replied, as she swung the door shut, and then he stayed long enough to make sure that she had gone inside, before he popped the brake off and began to back out of his space. He had to get to his appointment in the next 20 minutes.

It almost seemed like a regression- going from living in a bustling town back to living in a tiny settlement in the countryside, far removed from a modern urban environment. He was always surrounded by people in Raccoon, and yet in Riverview life was much slower in comparison- he knew most of the people who lived there on a full name basis, and years before he had moved out the first time.

He looked out his window, at the people crowding the sidewalks- a businessman flagging down a taxi, a mother pushing a pram, a bearded newspaper vendor in the process of falling asleep on the spot, a gang of teenagers standing at the corner talking- so many distinct personalities and characters al around, and yet none of them were aware of what this one lone man had been through three years. No-one should have had to endure those horrors- it wasn't something he'd wish on anyone, not even his worst enemy.

No-one will ever understand what's going on inside my head.

He realised that he'd arrived at his destination (it always scared him how quickly time passed when he dwelled on other things), he turned towards the kerb, parking the truck up into the designated parking zone. He popped the parking brake on, before grabbing his jacket from the back seat. It was a green puffer that looked bulkier than other coats he had worn in the past, but it kept him warm, and it had quickly become his favourite jacket. The old denim one that used to be his favourite had been lost in Raccoon City, along with the rest of his old life there. He had a new life now, and he was determined to hold onto it, no matter what.

Once he had donned his coat, he exited the truck, dropped some change into the parking meter (enough for at least an hour and a half), and then he was walking up the street, towards the three-storied, red bricked building on the corner. He was almost there when a young man in his early twenties stepped in front of him, wearing dirty jeans and a sleeveless denim jacket over a black shirt. The look was completed with a red bandanna wrapped around his head and a smug smirk on his face.

Classic gang banger, he thought lazily to himself. Having dealt with enough street gangs in Raccoon City, he could spot a classic gang hood from a mile off.

"What do you think you're doing?" the gang banger asked, still smirking. "You gotta pay to pass through here."

"What about all these other people?" asked Dean, glancing to either side of him at the other random citizens who passed by the discussion. "I don't see them paying anything." The young man shrugged.

"We're not talking about them," he stated plainly, "we're talking about you, friend. I don't like your face."

"I'm not your friend, buddy," replied Dean, making sure to remain calm at all times. He'd dealt with enough gangs during his tenure in the R.P.D to know the basic etiquette in dealing with random muggers or eager young greenhorns on the streets, trying to initiate themselves by knifing a cop. "And a lot of people like my face, as it happens."

"Don't get sweet with me, smartass," the man replied firmly, taking a step forwards and taking a hold of Dean's jacket sleeve. The former R.P.D cop just glanced down at the gang banger's hand. "You got 5 seconds to pay up, if you know what's good for you."

"And you've got five seconds to let go of me," stated Dean plainly, locking eyes with the gang member as he mentally counted down in his head.

5...4...3...2...1-

In a flash, he raised his left arm and thrust it forward, jabbing his index and middle finger into the gang banger's throat, causing the young man to release his grip and let out a choking gasp, but it was quickly forgotten as Dean then thrust his knee into the man's groin, knocking the air from his lungs and causing him to nearly double over.

"Come on, take a seat," muttered Dean as he guided the young man towards a nearby bench and dropped him next to a rather startled-looking businessman who'd been reading the paper at the time. The gang banger was too busy groaning in pain and clutching at his privates to notice anything else as Dean continued on his way as though nothing had ever happened. To be fair, he'd given the guy plenty of warning before he had acted, and he'd plead self defence if anyone in authority questioned him.

Besides, I'm a former cop- more believable than some random street hood.

He reached his destination (the red-bricked building), before ascending the porch steps outside, pushing into an awfully cramped entrance hall, before immediately ascending the carpeted stairs towards the third floor. Along the way, he passed by a few other people, but he offered them little recognition save for a brief smile. As he continued along his way, he passed by a closed door with a small bronze plaque beside it which read 'Clinton & Son Insurance Brokers'. This building was actually rented out to a number of small businesses, each of them taking up a single floor.

He ignored the sign as he continued up to the third floor, where he came across yet another wooden door, this one complete with a plaque reading 'Monroe Counselling'. He paused at the door for a moment longer, before he finally rapped loudly on the wood.

"Come in."

He pushed through to find himself stood within a rather cosy and well-furnished waiting room, complete with green seats, a coffee table featuring a variety of recent magazines and a number of newspapers with today's date on. He approached the small desk directly opposite the door he had entered through, and offered a smile to the brunette woman sat behind it, well-dressed in a dark navy blazer and skirt suit ensemble.

"Hello, I'm here for my 10:30 appointment with Doctor Monroe?" he asked politely. "Dean Travers," he then added, giving his name. The receptionist nodded.

"Of course," she said. "Please take a seat Mr Travers, Doctor Monroe will be with you shortly." He nodded and murmured his thanks as he went and took a seat at the small table, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he did so.

It wasn't something he enjoyed telling other people about, but he would happily admit it to himself now- yes, he was seeing a Psychiatrist. He couldn't talk to his family about what he had witnessed in Raccoon City, but he certainly had no qualms about discussing his issues with a total stranger.

Author's note: Shock horror- Dean is seeing a psychiatrist! Seriously, if anyone had lived through what happened in Raccoon City I'm sure they'd be seeing a psychiatrist about it, an issue which is almost never touched within the actual games. Just a short chapter to start things off with, just to show Dean's new 'quiet' life, as well as the darkness that's lurking just beyond the surface. The next couple of chapters will be like this- much slower pace, mundane almost, but it will pick up in the future, I promise.

Also I feel this would be a nice moment to quote from Slipknot's 'Dead Memories', one of my favourite songs of recent years and where the story's title is taken from.

Until the next time, R&R please. All feedback is appreciated.

Sitting in the dark I can't forget

Even now, I realise the time I'll never get

Another story of the bitter pills of fate

I can't go back again

I can't go back again...

But you asked me to love you and I did

Trading my emotion on a contract to commit

And when I got away I only got so far

The other me is dead

I hear his voice inside my head...

We were never alive

And we won't be born again

Oh, we will never survive

With dead memories in my head..

'Dead Memories', Slipknot