Prologue
"Rebecca Chambers?" My name flashed briefly from my newly purchased cellar device. It was a simple text. Yet, it came from a number foreign to me. I entered the code, fumbling for a moment crushing technology in the process. I was only eighteen just recently graduated from college, technology was supposed to become second nature. Yet here I sat successful after five failed attempts.
I opened my messages and typed in a brief but polite manner; "Yes! May I ask who this is?" I placed the device down and returned to my cold drink. Attempting to trick myself that I didn't care as to whom the number belonged to.
My phone buzzed and without thought I grabbed it. "Mark." Damn it Mark, not now. Mark and I had been friends for quite some time but I never completely understood him. He was very odd to say the least; however he had been the wall I needed whenever a mental breakdown demanded attention. I appreciated his company none-the-less. For a moment I was unsure how to respond or if I should. My interview was in an hour and with the sweat of a four day drive still clinging to my skin, a shower was certainly needed. I sighed, responding with a very lackluster response, "Hey Mark! What's up?"
Again the thoughts of waiting or taking that much needed shower weighted in my mind. I decided to wait after all it was Mark who had secured this interview with his connections in the RPD. The screen flashed with the same generic response I had expected, "Not much. You?" Really, I thought. This wasn't the time for a round-about conversation. A quick-glance at the clock informed me I had fifty minutes left. I placed the phone down. Walking over to the kitchen to dump out the glass of water in the sink, afterwards I began my walk to the bathroom. I paused. Annoyed more with myself than with Mark I typed; informing him I was preparing for my interview. I placed the phone down once more, at least partially satisfied with myself. I walked to the bathroom, removed my travel cloths and stepped in.
The cold water hit my skin. I had always preferred a cold shower over a warm one. Perhaps living in a house without air conditioning on hot summer days had contributed, however I preferred avoiding memory lane as best I could. I let my mind wander.
I had entered Raccoon City at noon. Raccoon City was a town in which I knew very little about, aside from the two largest attractions. Firstly, it was the home of the paramedical company Umbrella, which had grown in popularity when I was younger. Although Umbrella hired many related to me, I personally had little contact with them of which was gained through purchase of their products. Although I must admit I was quite a fan of their Safsprin for my more gruesome headaches.
Aside from that, the other draw was the S.T.A.R.S Unit or The Special Tactics and Rescue Service. Originally it was a concept proposed by the Umbrella Corporation, in order to protect their own asses. This of course wasn't the official statement which consisted of a tiresome amount of reasons to only hide its main purpose, to protect any lost revenue due to extreme crime. The crime rate against Umbrella within the city was at an all-time high when proposal was originally announced. A huge lay-off promoted individuals to break into Umbrella stores for little acts of rage against the company. Eventually, Chief Irons, the current chief of police, was able to calm down the riots. Yet, almost out of the blue Umbrella presented the proposal once more a few months later. This time without any real reason, furthermore Chief Irons who had originally put out some resistance this time put up nonn this time. He prepared what positions were required and began to advertise them among the most successful of officers. The draw for me was the medic position. Although cautious at first for it seemed extremely odd how easily Umbrella had succeeded this time. However facts were facts. I had just graduated, had no job, and needed to escape. Fortunately, Mark had been there to push me towards the job, though it was hardly surprising for it was him that set up the job interview.
Mark had been good friends with a Bravo S.T.A.R.S member of the name, Richard Aiken. Although I had never directly met him, Mark spoke of him highly. I suppose I was in part grateful to him for informing Mark of the placement. Mark originally turned it down; to him the idea of fighting crime was unappealing. He knew I held the same sentiments however he was well aware that I wanted to help people. Mark applied me for the position without my consent only informing after I had secured the interview. Classic Mark. I had been irritated at first but he knew, as well as I did, that I wanted, no, needed this job. So I packed my bags and my four day adventure had commenced.
I turned off the shower. The last droplets of water dropped with a soft splashes. I looked at clock above the bathroom door. Fifteen Minutes left. Shit. I was never known for quick showers, so I should have hardly been as annoyed with myself as I was. I decided to skip my post-shower cosmetic session and rush to the bedroom. Grabbing quickly some jeans and my favourite black blouse, it wasn't much but it would have to do for now. I rushed out of my bedroom grabbing my keys and wallet deciding against my better judgement to bring my cellphone. I tapped the screen to see if Mark had responded to me. He had, with a simple, "Good Luck, Rebecca." Thanks. I would need it, I thought. I would respond to his text later, in part at least thanking him for the chance if I royally fucked up the interview.
I closed the Model door behind me. Almost slamming it in fact, this prompted the model manger to gawk at me. I ignored his prying eyes and entered my car. I pushed the keys in, turning them. Placing the car into Drive. From here I had started my short drive into my new life.