The train door clunked shut and a man walked to the back of the train. His long , wavy black hair was tied up into a ponytail. He was dressed in black camouflage, with the Umbrella symbol on the front pocket. A Skull tattoo showed on his right shoulder. This was Damian Arcado III , Umbrella Special Operative. He sat down , laid his shotgun next to him ,and began to play around with his 9mm. He adjusted the barrel for maxim aim .The train announced, "NEXT STOP FORESTVILLE", in a cold mechanical voice. He was going back to stop Umbrella. He knew that they were up to no good and he did not want another Raccoon City. Never again. The train suddenly stopped and a scream came from the front of the train where the driver was.
"Fu…..fuck!"
Damian darted for the front of the train upon hearing the scream, shotgun in hand. He knew that couldn't be good. He kicked the door open where he saw the bloody mess of what had been several of his fellow passengers. He approached the train driver's compartment , shotgun at the ready. He heard a sudden hiss and the door flew open and a licker was crouched there looking at Damian. Its' claws dug into the driver's skull ,then jumped onto the ceiling.
"JESUS CHRIST ! FUCKING TWICE!" he yelped, as the licker's tongue darted past him.
He dodged it narrowly, hit the ground ,did a barrel roll , aimed fast and pulled the trigger. The licker fell to the floor with a thump. Damian stepped over the creature and walked into the driver's compartment. He looked around at the bloody mess that had been the driver. Oh, shit, he thought, moving the body , taking the driver's keys , and put the train in auto mode. After a few moments, it arrived at Forestville. If this mess was any indication of what he was going towards ,then this was going to be a rough ride.
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The bike sat idling as its' rider looked up at the sign, then down at his map. Captain Nixon traced the route with his finger. He glanced at the sign again and then checked his watch. Perfect timing. Right on schedule, he thought rolling the map and placing it back in his back. He revved the bike's engine and roared towards Forestville. He loved being the intelligence officer for his company ,but he hated doing recon on his own.
There had been some disconcerting rumors about this town. A patrol had been sent out a few days before, but they'd lost their nerve. They hadn't been from his company ,or even from his regiment. They were cowards. Fucking fuck-ups , he thought. Nixon was no coward, nor was anyone from his company. If the brass had sent him with a squad from his company , this would have been done and over with by now. After a few more miles, he roared into the city.
Forestville was dark and foggy. Chills shot up the soldier's spine. Something wasn't right. He pulled into a gas station to fill up. He filled up the tank but didn't leave right away. Instead , he pulled a recording device from his pocket , turned it on, pressed record and began to speak.
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Damian ran to the train door to open it. Naturally , it was stuck. With an annoyed sigh , he kicked the door open and walked out onto the platform. It was cool outside and though the mist was thin enough for him to see, it was still creepy. He adjusted his boots and equipment and walked around the platform. His boots clanked against the metal floor of the platform. It was completely deserted , which was unnerving. He pulled his 9mm from its' holster and began to walk towards that platform exit.
Damian stopped and jogged back to the train door. He shut it and grabbed a piece of loose chain that had an open lock with a key inside. Someone had probably tried to lock up a bike or some such. And had left it there. Convenient, he thought as he threw it around the door an locked it. He slipped the key into his pocket and ran back to the platform exit. He kept a firm grip on his 9mm as he opened the door. He walked through the exit ,slamming the gate behind him. He stepped onto the street and looked for the nearest gas station. It was a ¼ mile away, by his estimation. He began to walk towards it, listening for any sudden movement.
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"Captain Nixon recording. Time is 2235. I'm at a small gas station just within Forestville city limits. There is no sign of anything confirming or discounting the rumors as of yet. However, though the lights are on and a vehicle in the parking lot, the station seems deserted," he said into the recorder.
He shut the recorder off and slipped it in his pocket. Nix walked towards the door of the store. He needed to pay for the gas and check on the civilians. He entered the quiet store and saw no one. The lights were on but no one was home. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His hand went to his hip were he kept his glock. He drew it slowly from its' holster.
"Hello? Hello! Anybody home?"
No response. He walked up and done the aisles. The back corner of the freezers was spattered with blood. The sound of falling boxes and crashing cans from the back room sent him into a state of high alert. A lesser man would have fled , but Nix was not a lesser man. He walked towards the back room with his gun raised.