Resident Evil and all of it's characters, locations, etc. belong to Capcom.

September 24, 1998.

There was a certain smell that hit you once in a while on the streets of a city. A mixture of body odor, fried food and shit. Kevin Ryman knew it well, but wasn't "used to it", a term you heard a lot when you were new in town. The city-wide rat problem? He'd get used to it. The recent overpopulation and subsequent skyrocketing crime rate? Used to it. The incredibly pretentious, former art museum that the Raccoon City Police Department was now operating out of? That'd take a lot of getting used to, but he'd get a grip on it eventually. Or so everyone kept telling him. However, what no one seemed to mention here, or in any city Kevin had ever lived in, was that city smell you'd catch a whiff of while walking down to the corner store, or driving into town, or having a smoke on your doorstep. It was ever present, but not necessarily constant. For it to be constant would be unbearable. Or, rather, would you eventually grow accustomed to it, and cease to notice it? Similar to lifelong California residents and small tremors? Maybe that was the problem. This smell wasn't constant, and thus, you never really got "used to it". You just dealt with it.

After all, what else would one expect when cramming thousands of people into the same general area? In a city, you learn to live with other peoples' smells, noises, and presences, which eventually, drives some people crazy.

Weak minded people.

Which Kevin Ryman, most definitely, was not. Kevin had been through the shit. To the edge of the darkness, and back again. He'd been heartbroken. He'd nearly been killed, on numerous occasions. He'd watched both of his parents slowly and painfully die in the span of a year. He'd suffered a gambling problem. He'd beaten a gambling problem, worked himself out of the hole from debt (no parents to go and ask money from), and finally managed to afford an apartment in a decent part of town. All in 31 short years. He'd become a cop somewhere along the way. Straight from high school to junior college to patrolling the streets.

Experience is a hell of a thing. Vital, even. And eleven years on the streets may not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but stand alone, it's nothing to sneeze at. Kevin had only been in Raccoon four of those seven years, but Raccoon was much easier to "get used to" than Philadelphia had been. Growing up there had been a plus, but Raccoon was much smaller, and in turn, contained far less people, and people were really a pain in the ass when it came to police work. But, again, with time came experience, and Kevin had learned a lot about people in those seven years. Learned a lot about the cities themselves too. Their rhythms, sounds, silences, alleyways, boom periods, slow periods, and of course, their smells. Like how a certain smell can bring a certain memory to your mind out of absolutely nowhere. How a smell can lead you to what you've been looking for all along. How a smell can lead you into trouble. And how a smell can sometimes, of course, be just a smell. Kevin also learned that it doesn't take 30, 20, or even 11 years for someone to recognize the smell of death.

Of rot and blood. Kevin thought it was an instinct that all humans had built into their genetic code. To know the smell of death and decay of a fellow human being. It was a terrifying thing once you were familiar with it, and could pinpoint it. But Kevin knew that for some, it was exciting. Sexually exciting, even. Kevin had met far too many of that particular type in his seven years of policing. Personally, he was in the former category. When he recognized the smell of death, of rot, he got scared. However, as a police officer, it was his job to push the fear aside to ensure the safety of the public. Which is exactly why he stood mentally jousting with himself, alone on the street, on a quiet night in September.

His shift ended at 11, and considering he had the next day off, he was he was going to spend the remainder of the night getting absolutely arse holed drunk at J's Bar. It was a good twelve or so blocks from the station, and Kevin didn't own a car, because he hardly ever found he needed one. He could walk to work from his apartment, but the bar was in the other direction, resulting in a cab ride back to his place at the end of most nights. This would be one of those nights. He planned on barely knowing his own name by the end of the night, let alone how to get to his apartment over twenty blocks away. He knew the address and the phone number to the cab company, and that was good enough for him.

The odor that hit him about halfway to J's was so evident, and so strong, he immediately pinpointed it to the alleyway across the street. He'd never had particularly great luck or timing, and this was sure to be another instance. Here he was, fresh off an 8 hour shift, ready to unwind, and he was sure to find a corpse (or two) down the alleyway. Maybe a selfish way of thinking, but once the work day was over, Kevin was ready to unwind that very second, and developed a sort of tunnel vision until he could do so. And whatever he was about to find down that alleyway was sure to be ugly. It would then be up to him to call it in, wait for back-up, then, file a report. All of which would take much longer than it should, as all police work does. By the end of all of it, he'd be so irritated and drained that he'd just go straight home in a huff, jerk off, and go to sleep.

Kevin stood directly across the opening of the alley across the street. Suddenly, the wind changed and blew directly towards him, bringing the nauseating smell of rot with it. It was so strong that time that Kevin nearly bent over and heaved, which had hardly ever happened at any point of his life, let alone now. Whatever was down there was guaranteed to be a fright show. After that particular breeze, Kevin had forgotten about J's Bar. He was legitimately shaken now. The overall atmosphere of the street didn't help matters either. It was 11:28 on a Tuesday night, on a back street consisting mostly of apartments. Not a car or person in sight. But what did that matter? He was the police officer. It was the civilian that was always the one looking around for a policeman, not the other way around. For a split second, he nearly reached for his radio to call for assistance. He still had it and the rest of his equipment on him, and was still wearing his uniform. And his gun. Which did make him feel better. Just like it made the bartenders at J's a lot more comfortable too. It usually made a rowdy frat boy or overzealous drunk think twice before causing a scene over money, or before grabbing a certain waitresses' jiggly, round ass.

Fuck the goddamn bar.

And fuck the radio. If he were to call for back-up because of a smell, he'd never hear the end of it. Even if it was the most nauseating thing he'd ever experienced in 7 years of the job.

He thought about that. He may have even meant it.

But try explaining that to a locker room full of veteran cops. No, the radio was not an option. Before crossing the street, Kevin undid the strap on his holster that held his gun in place, which in itself seemed a bit excessive.

But, Christ, he was unnerved.

Just to think, only mere minutes before, he had been thinking about Cindy, the waitresses', ass. Now, he was glued to the spot under a streetlight, staring into the depths of a dark alleyway. Just then, a car came rumbling down the street, it's headlights shining directly on him. Kevin broke out of his trance-like state, and leaned up against the streetlight, doing his best to look casual and not like a junkie without a fix staring off into space. He nodded politely at the car as it passed by, and he saw a dark figure inside give a wave. This stirred something inside of him.

Shit.

Why were the people in this city so damned friendly? For a relatively large city, it somehow still had a small town atmosphere. And it was those hometown manners that may have been about to get his ass killed.

Kevin looked both ways (safety first) before crossing the street, and kept one hand on his holster as he did so, bringing Luke Skywalker to mind for some reason. On the ranch, carefree, and angsty just before the shit goes down. The smell was stronger on this side of the street. As one smells trash while passing by an open alleyway, Kevin had smelled death from across the street. Of course the smell was worse here. The alleyway stretched out in front of him for awhile before ending with a brick wall with an overhanging light attached to it, and then continued sharply to the right, where judging by the intensity of the smell now, the carcass of something was sure to be. Kevin nearly took in a deep breath before stepping into the alleyway, similar to a diver before jumping into a pool, but he stopped himself. Taking a deep breath of this air seemed almost toxic, as if it could legitimately harm him if inhaled too much of it at once. A silly thought, but the smell was that bad. Instead, Kevin moved one hand just below his nose to block the smell somewhat, and kept the other on his holster as he advanced forward.

The light at the end of the alleyway was dying, and cast off an eerie glow instead of a healthy illumination, but that was better than total darkness. He came to the end of the brick wall on his right. The one on his left continued forward a bit before dead-ending into the brick wall ahead of him. Around the corner, he heard something. Compared to the silence of the night that had filled his eardrums thus far, these sounds, while soft, were immediately noticeable. Blood pounded in Kevin's ears, and his breath was hitched in his throat. The smell was undoubtedly emanating from around the corner (a fact it now seemed he had been privy to all his life), but now, there were noises accompanying it, adding a new layer of possibilities to Kevin's mind. What if whatever was wounded so horribly was still alive? An image of a fat, gutted, middle aged man with half of his intestines hanging out, pale, and crawling for help sprang to his mind. Or, what if the killer was still present, admiring it's handiwork? Kevin hadn't wanted that thought to make itself known before, but now, he had to consider it. The noises sounded like a type of shuffling, like Converse across concrete, followed by a clicking, or smacking. An almost wet sound.

Enough was enough.

In police work, being cautious was a necessity, but there came a time for action, and when that moment arose, there was no room for hesitation. Kevin knew the time for action was now. He spun around the corner, still half shielded by the brick wall. He aimed his gun, but he didn't remember pulling it.

"Hey!" he shouted before he'd even fully turned the corner.

The first thing he saw was the corpse. Horribly mutilated and mangled, even at first glance. The second thing he noticed were the two faces. Faces he recognized. He then felt obligated to speak.

"Rice and Beans? What the hell?" He trailed off as his gaze fell back to the body. A pool of blood and gore surrounded it. He'd startled the two detectives as much as he'd startled himself. And for good reason. Good god, the body was annihilated.

"Ryman? Wh-We could ask you the same thing!" The shorter of the two, Beans (actually Ramirez), half-shouted, half-whispered, while holding a hand over his heart.

The taller of the two, Rice (actually Rice), was reeling as well, but had traces of a grin on his face as he did so.

"Christ!" Beans continued. "How did you get here so quick?"

"I didn't. I-" Kevin stammered. "I'm off duty. I was just walking by on the way to..."

Both men were listening.

"Kendo's. He's staying open late for me to look at some stuff that came in today."

Kevin had indeed befriended the gun shop owner, and did sometimes swing by after work to peruse. He couldn't let anyone at work know he was drinking again.

"Walking by? Then how did you know we were back here?" Beans questioned.

"Jesus. The smell! I could smell it from the other side of the street! It doesn't exactly take the nose of two Dicks to get a whiff of this."

Rice spoke now.

"Same thing with us. We were headed back to the station from a house call. The air's out in my car, so we had the windows down. We stopped at the light, and...wasn't hard to notice."

Beans spoke again.

"We called for back up just before you showed up, but I'm glad to see you. Even if you scared the shit out of us."

Rice and Beans were younger detectives. 24 or 25. They'd only been in Raccoon City for about a year and a half. The nickname was a part of their initial hazing as the new guys at the station. A lot of the older guys didn't seem to have much respect for them because they were Hispanic, but Kevin didn't mind them, and even though he wouldn't admit, he was glad to see them too.

"Yeah yeah." Kevin said before exhaling deeply.

They all seemed calmer now.

Kevin looked down at the body once more, determined to try and make out some features this time. He found the will to move closer as Rice and Beans watched on. They knew he was a pro and wouldn't tamper with anything. As if anyone would want to touch this mess. Kevin determined that it was a woman. Gashes all over her face. Or where her face had once been. Tendons in the neck mostly sliced through so the head was hanging on just by a thread. She was splayed out on her back, and her blouse had been torn open. She had a gaping hole in her stomach, and you could see her ribs. That's when it clicked in Kevin's mind.

He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Is this what I think it is, boys?"

"Cannibal killer?

Kevin nodded solemnly.

"Wouldn't take a Dick to figure that one out." Rice said, arms crossed and leaned up against the brick wall.

Kevin ignored the friendly shot. It had been about a month since the last victim of the "Cannibal Killer" had been found. Up in the mountains somewhere out of his jurisdiction. But how many killers ate their victims alive? Or dead for that matter?

"Any I.D?" Kevin asked.

"Haven't laid a finger on her yet. Called it in as soon as we found it."

"If I had to guess, I'd say she lives nearby. No other reason for her to be back here, but to be taking out the trash." Rice spoke with a mild, southern drawl. Kevin didn't know where he was from. It was strange.

"And she's not dressed like a hooker." Rice pointed out.

"But with that red hair of hers she could have easily passed for one." Beans remarked.

"Hey!"

"A little respect for the dead, man." Rice admonished Beans.

"Asshole."

"Yeah."

The three fell silent again as they awaited the back up.

Kevin spoke.

"What's this bring the count to?

"An even 10."

"What the hell is going on around here? Why here? Why would a cannibal murderer take up here of all places? I didn't even run into this kind of repugnant shit in Philly."

"For me to be able to answer that would require me to be able to think like a man-"

"Or woman." Beans interrupted.

"Or woman, who eats his or her victims alive. And that is just one thing I cannot do."

Silence again.

Kevin looked over the woman (girl?) again. Hard to tell if she had a skanky look to her or not at this point.

"Welp. If someone did pay for this, they filled their gullet with more than just pussy." Kevin said.

"Yep." said Rice.

Beans looked to both of them before lowering his head again.

"So, should I stay or go? asked Kevin.

Please say go. Please say go, he thought.

"Considering we have half of the goddamned station on their way out here, and you've already had a hard day's work, I don't know how much good you would do us on this particular night. All due respect." said Rice.
"Well, shit." said Kevin. "Gonna be sweet dreams tonight."

He finally stood from his crouching position, groaning as he did so. He turned away from the body after one last glance.

"At least you get to sleep." said Beans.

"Yep. I would anticipate a long one boys."

"Always do." Rice said.

Kevin heard sirens approaching from the distance. He didn't want to get caught up in this anymore than he already had, especially when he wasn't even needed. And the Chief seemed to get a hard-on from making guys work overtime, and if he were to show up and see Kevin milling about, there's no way he'd let him go. Regardless of whether he was on duty, or even needed. Prick.

"You never saw me."

"Never saw who?" replied Rice.

Kevin grinned at that, and headed back to the street.

"See ya when I see ya."

Back on the street, Kevin made several out of the way turns to ensure the approaching police cars wouldn't pass and see him.

Out of the way of what?, he thought.

The bar.

Without noticing it, he realized that to avoid the squad cars, he'd put himself back on track to J's Bar. No turning back now. Kevin checked his watch. 11:45. He'd only left the station three quarters of an hour ago. Hard to believe that this entire ordeal had only lasted about twenty minutes. What a mess. And how bizarre. To come across two guys he knows on a strict acquaintance basis in a back alley along with a mangled corpse? It was some David Lynch shit for sure. Most importantly, Kevin knew he'd done what he could. If he'd arrived before Rice and Beans, it would've been his obligation to call for back up. And him spending the rest of his night with half the police station and a half eaten corpse. Just a matter of good luck. For once. He said a small prayer, or something similar to it, for Rice and Ramirez. They did good work. And they kept him calm in the face of one of the most horrible things he'd ever witnessed.

How were they so calm?, he thought.

How was I so calm?, he thought.

But he knew why. He was calm by proxy to them. They saw murders similar to that one nearly every day. Especially lately. Hard to imagine one becoming desensitized to something like that, but they seemed to have done it.

And the count was at ten now. Twenty in just over a year. How much higher would it go? No prints or DNA had been found at any of the murder scenes. This fucker was a real pro. Even though Kevin and everyone else at the R.P.D. hated to admit it, this guy may have been out of their league. Even their own detective version of SWAT, S.T.A.R.S. couldn't crack this thing. As pretentious as those S.T.A.R.S. assholes were, they got things done. But not this time. It was a miracle it hadn't happened already, but Kevin knew with the lucky number 10, the F.B.I. would be headed their way soon enough which would ensure a few months of hell for the entire R.P.D. But hey, who knows? It could be nice seeing the S.T.A.R.S. get treated like peons for a change.

Kevin noticed he was nearly to J's, and could see it illuminated down the street. As he got closer, he could even hear rock music coming from within. Just like that, he felt much better. Loneliness, dark streets, and half eaten corpses can do quite the number on a man. And maybe Cindy the waitress was working tonight. After a few rounds, Kevin may even build up the courage to finally ask her out. But then again, if he didn't have the courage on a night like tonight, when would he?