The halls were empty, devoid of all life, still as the ocean, until suddenly a bell rang out and students emptied into the halls, among them heiress Frances Stuart in her white summer dress and flats of the same color. As usual she would have to rush to her locker, grab her Calculus book, and hurry to the other side of the school so that she could make it to class on time. She was almost to her locker, when suddenly her friend Ella Birch grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side of the hall.
"Frances, you know how we have that huge test today in Physics?" Ella asked quickly, a small smile playing about her lips as she found humor in everything.
"Yeah, it's the open book test Ms. Lee is giving." Before Ella could respond, Frances started to turn around. "I've got to hurry or I'll be late, Ella."
Ella gripped her arm and turned her around. "Sammy drove me to school today so I don't have my car with me… and I forgot my book. Please, please Frances, drive me home to get it and then let's come back. It won't take but twenty minutes. BFFE, right?"
Frances pursed her lips and reluctantly nodded. They were friends; Ella would skip a funeral for her, so Frances had to miss half of Calculus and come back to school. No big deal. "Alright, but lets hurry."
"Soap opera, soap opera, game show, soap opera, soap opera, game show..." sighed Charles Dehn, clicking the TV off. Ever since he'd been fired last week he'd sat at home bored out of his mind, wanting to get back to work but never having the will to get up and find something. He'd been exercising and taking care of his small apartment, much neglected until he was fired. Since that got old fast, he'd head down to J's Bar and flirt with the pretty blonde waitress, but she didn't really pay any attention.
But it was getting dull, all becoming a pattern. Sitting in his cramped living room, he decided he'd had enough. He'd pick the habit he'd had some time ago back up; shooting. Only problem was if he didn't get enjoyment out of that he'd end up shooting himself. So he changed out of his pajamas, put on a white tee, blue jeans, and steel-toe boots, then headed down to his car.
When he stepped outside, he noticed how crisp and empty it was outside. Then again, it was late September and most kids were at school. Even if they were at home though, they'd be inside, considering the cannibal murders. Naturally, since he was thinking of something creepy and strange, his neighbor had picked the wrong time to come up behind him.
Thirty-nine year old James Parker lived in the apartment directly below Charles with his wife and two kids, and led the typical life. Naturally he wasn't expecting Charles to raise his fist and nearly hit him. "Charles!" James shouted, causing the fist to stop just short of his face.
"Sorry," Charles muttered, his tanned face actually turning red.
"Its okay, Blondie," James said, using Charles' nickname with a grin. It quickly faded. "I just thought I'd share the bad news that a jogger was killed today, another cannibal murder. Take a look at this." James handed Charles a newspaper that read "Once Again, a Jogger Killed."
"Once again, a jogger killed," Diane read to her editor. "That's not an awful title, it's a blunt one. Besides, the title's not that important when you read the article."
"Villiers, it is important, the title catches the reader's eye. And I admit anything to do with the cannibal murders will attract readers, but the bigger picture is you need to get creative. Not all of your articles are going to be about cannibals." The editor finished and sighed, sipping from his coffee before walking away. He was short and stout, with a balding head and a raspy voice.
It was quite a contrast to Diane Villiers, a brunette with curly hair and beautiful blue eyes, a fair complexion, and at 5'3 a petite twenty-four year old woman; however she liked to measure her intelligence before her beauty. She had written about the cannibal murders with zeal, not even doing anything else. Even if she wasn't a household name, everyone read her articles and talked about them over morning coffee or the midday lunch. She'd not dated since she joined the paper three years previously; her devotion was to her work.
She had yet another article to work on; she was going to go to Umbrella and ask them how they planned to deal with what could become an economic crisis for Raccoon if the murders didn't cease. Some people feared to leave their houses now; if it got worse, what would happen? She meant to find out.
"Tom, I'm going to go to the Umbrella offices and ask them a few questions. If someone calls at my desk, take a message for me, alright?" She didn't wait to hear his answer; she left the office andslipped into her car.
I own only Charles, Diane, Frances, and the minor characters of this work of fiction. Umbrella and all other Resident Evil things belong to Capcom.
This was the prologue, and I hope to have more chapters up very soon - in them we will meet Jay Able, a down on his luck photographer, and of course, we will meet zombies and other assorted monsters. I hope you enjoyed, and don't hesitate to review.