Disclaimer: Resident Evil is copyrighted to Capcom, inc., and I assert no
ownership of it. If, by their request, or at the behest of a certified
representative, I shall immediately remove this work from Fanfiction.net.
Author's Preface: This is bound to be quite a long work, perhaps a full- length novel. Then again, my previous pieces, Lonely Lover's Lament and Return of Anguish were also supposed to be full-length. Fortunately, this is not in first-person, nor does it have a pervasive, saccharine romance element. That's just not my forte.
Outbreak:
Prologue
The sky was dark, the ominously looming thunderheads assuring the residents of the bustling metropolis that a storm was inevitable. Periodic cracks of thunder sounded off in the distance, warning all those around of the natural calamity that would soon befall them. The swiftly descending sun of dusk was still a prominent, rusty orb above the city's skyline, even though most of its denizens were too occupied with swearing at their particular rush-hour predicament to bother looking. Smog clashed with humid air in their respective efforts to hinder the vision of the drivers, pedestrians, and the few leisurely souls that could afford to stake out a good seat for the coming cataclysm.
A buzzing radio in the gothic, opulently-decorated Neilson City Central Planning Commission warned the few remaining office drones that the coming storm would be one of the most spectacular in the history of their relatively young center of financial power.
"Christ, Henry, don't you think you'd better get home? This thing doesn't look like it's gonna get any prettier, 'cording to what the weather radio is promising." The gruff, tobacco-hardened voice belied the genuine intellect of the speaker; his less-than-stellar record for adherence to societal conventions made his lack of annunciation also less than a surprise. The speaker was the chief engineer for the Central Planning Commission, Paul Riley.
"Nah, why bother, Paul? I'm just going to be chewed out by Janet for forgetting something. 'Cause I always forget something, according to her." Henry Jenkins, haggard and disaffected as always, just went back to the paperwork that he'd been poring over for hours.
"That's just why, ya moron!" Paul snickered, glancing at the suspended LED clock in the corner. "Damn, seven-twenty-three," he recited the numbers displayed on the buzzing, flickering digital readout.
"What about the time? You know I've got to finish this bureaucratic nonsense before I can have any peace in my life. Jenkins'll hound me to the ends of the earth if I don't submit this report by closing time." He released an indignant sigh, pondering just why their inept supervisor, Jenkins, despite his assertions as to the merits of hard work, deigned to join them on such a lovely night at the office.
"He's an Umbrella suit, that's why, Henry. He has the influence of our local mega-conglomerate at his disposal, and he's always capitalized on it." Paul slouched back in the uncomfortable chair in the manner that would always manage to rile their boss. "D'ya think this looks as unprofessional as that straight-laced sycophant claims?" Paul mused more to himself, despite the pointed question to Henry.
"Yeah, maybe. Who cares?" Henry didn't even bother to look up at Paul's antics, having heard the same semi-rhetorical question hundreds of times. Their contempt for their boss was no secret, even to the notoriously dense man in question.
"If you put down that stupid pencil and realized that you could just submit half-finished reports like the rest of us, Henry, you'd be quite a bit happier." Paul chuckled, awaiting the inevitable tirade from his over- stressed best friend.
"I know it's futile, goddamn it!" Henry snapped, surging upwards in his seat and smacking his fists against the table. Scattered packets of pens and paper were sent flying at the unusually furious outburst, causing even his best friend to recoil in surprise. Not noticing, he continued to growl, "I know that Jenkins doesn't even read our reports before he returns them for 'improvement.' I know damn well that the idiot probably couldn't find his Mercedes if it weren't for those day-glow arrows. I know that the dickhead probably couldn't survive if it weren't for our slaving, and I know that Umbrella doesn't give a damn about the citizens of this town! But, you know what, Paul? I do! I have to finish this stupid report so that I can have it rejected for the sake of the people in this anarchic, sprawling chemical factory!" Their term for the turn their beloved city had taken wasn't being used in its normal, joking context. "I just gotta get this done so that I can at least muster some good reply to Janet when she bitches at me!" He sat back down, nearly panting from the exertion of his emotional explosion.
"Sorry, Henry. I know, I know; I'm just sick of waiting in this hellhole so that our employers can keep their undeserved jobs." Paul stroked a gnarled hand through his thinning, grayed hair, sighing to himself.
Abruptly, a roaring, clamorous clap of thunder shattered the uncomfortable silence inside the virtually deserted office complex. An azure streak of crackling electricity seethed down the lightning rod mounted atop the towering skyscraper, sending a perceptible vibration through every room. Henry and Paul, being the only two remaining, sans some janitorial staff, jolted at the sudden interruption; despite the surprise, the breaking of the awkward peace was a relief for both of them.
"Hey, Henry," Paul began, his voice apologetic, "I do understand why you're doing this. I do it, too, even though I usually just seem irresponsible. You know that I wouldn't keep this menial job if I didn't care about it." He laced his hands behind his head, turning his ruddy face toward the whitewashed, featureless ceiling.
"No, Paul, I honestly don't think that you do understand why I'm doing it." This prompted a surprise groan from his friend, but he continued. "I'm sorry about this, old friend." Reaching within the abyss of his seemingly bottomless filing cabinet, he withdrew a solid, matte- black shape; it glittered ever-so-slightly beneath the dull fluorescent lights. Squeezing the trigger on the suppressed pistol, he closed his eyes, only envisioning the atrocious sight of his best friend toppled over in his chair, slowly being engulfed by a pool of blood forming from the gaping wound in his skull. Wheeling around to his computer, he tapped in a sequence of rapid commands, before the entire office was hurled into darkness.
"This is Eagle Four," he whispered solemnly into a handheld radio that he'd just withdrawn from his desk drawer. "The Umbrella Nest is open. Osprey is welcome. I repeat, Umbrella Labs are open to Osprey." He didn't even wait for the response before he turned the menacing opening of the barrel toward his own face; he just hoped that his selfless dedication to the city that he'd helped build was worth it. A single tear leaking out of his clenched eyes, his hands quivering, he squeezed the trigger a second time; a soft puff, the clank of the spent casing, and the clamor of the falling handgun were the only sounds heard afterwards.
Author's Preface: This is bound to be quite a long work, perhaps a full- length novel. Then again, my previous pieces, Lonely Lover's Lament and Return of Anguish were also supposed to be full-length. Fortunately, this is not in first-person, nor does it have a pervasive, saccharine romance element. That's just not my forte.
Outbreak:
Prologue
The sky was dark, the ominously looming thunderheads assuring the residents of the bustling metropolis that a storm was inevitable. Periodic cracks of thunder sounded off in the distance, warning all those around of the natural calamity that would soon befall them. The swiftly descending sun of dusk was still a prominent, rusty orb above the city's skyline, even though most of its denizens were too occupied with swearing at their particular rush-hour predicament to bother looking. Smog clashed with humid air in their respective efforts to hinder the vision of the drivers, pedestrians, and the few leisurely souls that could afford to stake out a good seat for the coming cataclysm.
A buzzing radio in the gothic, opulently-decorated Neilson City Central Planning Commission warned the few remaining office drones that the coming storm would be one of the most spectacular in the history of their relatively young center of financial power.
"Christ, Henry, don't you think you'd better get home? This thing doesn't look like it's gonna get any prettier, 'cording to what the weather radio is promising." The gruff, tobacco-hardened voice belied the genuine intellect of the speaker; his less-than-stellar record for adherence to societal conventions made his lack of annunciation also less than a surprise. The speaker was the chief engineer for the Central Planning Commission, Paul Riley.
"Nah, why bother, Paul? I'm just going to be chewed out by Janet for forgetting something. 'Cause I always forget something, according to her." Henry Jenkins, haggard and disaffected as always, just went back to the paperwork that he'd been poring over for hours.
"That's just why, ya moron!" Paul snickered, glancing at the suspended LED clock in the corner. "Damn, seven-twenty-three," he recited the numbers displayed on the buzzing, flickering digital readout.
"What about the time? You know I've got to finish this bureaucratic nonsense before I can have any peace in my life. Jenkins'll hound me to the ends of the earth if I don't submit this report by closing time." He released an indignant sigh, pondering just why their inept supervisor, Jenkins, despite his assertions as to the merits of hard work, deigned to join them on such a lovely night at the office.
"He's an Umbrella suit, that's why, Henry. He has the influence of our local mega-conglomerate at his disposal, and he's always capitalized on it." Paul slouched back in the uncomfortable chair in the manner that would always manage to rile their boss. "D'ya think this looks as unprofessional as that straight-laced sycophant claims?" Paul mused more to himself, despite the pointed question to Henry.
"Yeah, maybe. Who cares?" Henry didn't even bother to look up at Paul's antics, having heard the same semi-rhetorical question hundreds of times. Their contempt for their boss was no secret, even to the notoriously dense man in question.
"If you put down that stupid pencil and realized that you could just submit half-finished reports like the rest of us, Henry, you'd be quite a bit happier." Paul chuckled, awaiting the inevitable tirade from his over- stressed best friend.
"I know it's futile, goddamn it!" Henry snapped, surging upwards in his seat and smacking his fists against the table. Scattered packets of pens and paper were sent flying at the unusually furious outburst, causing even his best friend to recoil in surprise. Not noticing, he continued to growl, "I know that Jenkins doesn't even read our reports before he returns them for 'improvement.' I know damn well that the idiot probably couldn't find his Mercedes if it weren't for those day-glow arrows. I know that the dickhead probably couldn't survive if it weren't for our slaving, and I know that Umbrella doesn't give a damn about the citizens of this town! But, you know what, Paul? I do! I have to finish this stupid report so that I can have it rejected for the sake of the people in this anarchic, sprawling chemical factory!" Their term for the turn their beloved city had taken wasn't being used in its normal, joking context. "I just gotta get this done so that I can at least muster some good reply to Janet when she bitches at me!" He sat back down, nearly panting from the exertion of his emotional explosion.
"Sorry, Henry. I know, I know; I'm just sick of waiting in this hellhole so that our employers can keep their undeserved jobs." Paul stroked a gnarled hand through his thinning, grayed hair, sighing to himself.
Abruptly, a roaring, clamorous clap of thunder shattered the uncomfortable silence inside the virtually deserted office complex. An azure streak of crackling electricity seethed down the lightning rod mounted atop the towering skyscraper, sending a perceptible vibration through every room. Henry and Paul, being the only two remaining, sans some janitorial staff, jolted at the sudden interruption; despite the surprise, the breaking of the awkward peace was a relief for both of them.
"Hey, Henry," Paul began, his voice apologetic, "I do understand why you're doing this. I do it, too, even though I usually just seem irresponsible. You know that I wouldn't keep this menial job if I didn't care about it." He laced his hands behind his head, turning his ruddy face toward the whitewashed, featureless ceiling.
"No, Paul, I honestly don't think that you do understand why I'm doing it." This prompted a surprise groan from his friend, but he continued. "I'm sorry about this, old friend." Reaching within the abyss of his seemingly bottomless filing cabinet, he withdrew a solid, matte- black shape; it glittered ever-so-slightly beneath the dull fluorescent lights. Squeezing the trigger on the suppressed pistol, he closed his eyes, only envisioning the atrocious sight of his best friend toppled over in his chair, slowly being engulfed by a pool of blood forming from the gaping wound in his skull. Wheeling around to his computer, he tapped in a sequence of rapid commands, before the entire office was hurled into darkness.
"This is Eagle Four," he whispered solemnly into a handheld radio that he'd just withdrawn from his desk drawer. "The Umbrella Nest is open. Osprey is welcome. I repeat, Umbrella Labs are open to Osprey." He didn't even wait for the response before he turned the menacing opening of the barrel toward his own face; he just hoped that his selfless dedication to the city that he'd helped build was worth it. A single tear leaking out of his clenched eyes, his hands quivering, he squeezed the trigger a second time; a soft puff, the clank of the spent casing, and the clamor of the falling handgun were the only sounds heard afterwards.