Foreword: This is something I did simply because I was bored. I can't promise updating this often, as I have other stories that take higher priority over this one, but I will attempt not to leave it in the dust, either.

Based On: The original PS/2 games up to RE:CV. Nothing on Gamecube nor Outbreak/Dead Aim counted, as I haven't played those games yet. Also has abundant references to the original Resident Evil novelization.

Canon Characters: There are two canon characters but I don't wanna say who they are since that'd just spoil the fun. :/ All the main characters though are OC's (or are they? If you've read the RE novelization, you might recognize one of the four names of the main characters).

Time of Story: June 21, 1998 - before the start of any of the games.

And yes, I know Chevelle wasn't around when the events of this story take place. Don't sue me. :(

This story's for Razz who dedicated a story to me, so I'm dedicating one to her in return.

Watching - bring me to my knees
Waiting - I am your disease
Lover - set my symptom free
Covered - you can't stop me
-Slipknot

'The Virus Of Life'

Chapter 1: A Murder Of Crows

"I'll fight your war."

"For fuck's sake, man, turn that music down."

Argue.

"What? I like Chevelle."

Blasting music.

"Promise not to lose."

"Well I don't like them, not when we're trying to be discreet about this here."

Sneer.

"I hope you're kidding, Eric. I really do. Really, who's gonna be out here? It's not like people are brave enough to go here anyway."

"But you give in to circumstance."

"Yeah, except us, right?"

Christopher didn't continue in the game of verbal abuse. He was the one who ran the show, and he was the one who made sure that things never got out of control with Eric and the others. However, Morgan and Brent were more tolerable than that Eric Vermilion. Chris couldn't stand him.

'Little prick thinks he knows everything.'

Chris' right hand brushed against the volume knob. The music played louder.

"Not gonna prove to you."

The Spencer Estate was a place that had its brief share of controversy before it faded out of the memories of most citizens in Raccoon City. It was the place that was told to be so gigantic that its own creator starved to death after becoming lost inside of its walls. That, and the evidence that there was still a large sum of money to be had in the mansion. And that was exactly what the four men were looking for.

Eric knew better, though.

'They found some woman in her early fourties dead around here recently. And before that was that kid from the high school. And before that...'

The thought of such things sickened him at that point, even though he would have loved to talk shop about murders like this any other time. Except this... these weren't regular murders and they weren't a regular town. They were in his town. The first two victims of a bizarre cannibal rampage confirmed it.

'Becky and Priscilla. Just two little girls down the street...'

The thought that there were people out there so cruel... to go so far and kill a nine and a seven year old...

'..the hell did they do to anyone? They just sat outside on weekends and played tag with eachother and their dog.'

It almost gave him the courage to want to seek out the killers himself and send a message to whoever it was by beating someone's face in. Almost. He knew better, though, being five foot seven and only a buck twentyfive definitely had its disadvantages. And it sure as hell didn't help his case that Christopher Smith was practically half a foot taller than him.

'Bastard's got 'roid muscles, and he wants me to take his advice?'

Eric cringed as the music grew even louder.

'Fuck that.'

He crawled out of his seat in the back of the pickup truck and reached for the volume knob. Morgan, riding shotgun, swatted his hand away and smiled. "Stop. I like Chevelle, too." Eric stared incredulously at the tall, lanky man. Morgan Ravelli wasn't the brightest guy in the world, but having him around for his lockpick set and his dad's guns was better than having him around for nothing at all.

However, it made Eric all the more frustrated that he was the only one who actually gave a shit whether or not they blasted their radio at one o'clock in the morning. Well, there was Brent, but Brent never really gave a shit about anything. It didn't make him stupid- he was possibly the smartest of the bunch if anything- it just meant that he slept through a lot, and that moment in the truck was no exception.

Arklay Forest was much more tranquil than Eric had expected. For a place that very well could have been the hideout for a group of killers, things seemed quiet. Peaceful. Aside from the rock music blaring, the only noise came from the rustling of the lush green leaves. Still, it wasn't enough to draw Eric away from the fact that they were about to head into the proverbial hornet's hest.

'The guy who created this mansion supposedly died getting lost in it. What the fuck difference could three other people really make in a place like that?'

He was about to find out.

"There she is, ladies," Chris said with a cocky smirk, "ain't she a beaut?" Morgan squinted through the darkness and saw the huge, looming figure in the distance. It was tough to distinguish anything, but it was definitely big enough to fit the mental description he had made of it ever since childhood. Its intimidating presence, though, was beyond words.

Eric leaned forward and caught a glimpse of it next, and not even he could turn away from the sight. It was just so unreal to him, for hearing the story about the mansion all his life and he and his friends making up their own little myths around it... but none of it held up to how truly scary the place looked.

"Holy shit," Eric mumbled softly, "look at this." He turned and eyed the brown haired man next to him.

'How the hell is he still sleeping?'

Eric nudged Brent with his elbow, causing him to stir and rub at his eyes. "What, what the hell is it?"

"Look at this," Eric said again. Brent poked his head out from behind the driver's seat and saw the enourmous silhouette with his widened green eyes. Brent Bogart said nothing, but he didn't need to- the fact that he immediately dug into his pants' pocket and whipped out a cigarette said it all.

"We'll circle around the place," Chris suggested, "see if I can find a nice spot to hide this thing." With that comment he finally turned the rock music down, but at that point Eric could care less. He went from worrying about the music to worrying about getting lost in the giant Victorianesque mansion they were no more than minutes away from raiding. What was worse, however, was the thought that there was someone watching them- the thought that someone knew they were coming.

'It is way too quiet, I really should say something.'

Yet, Eric could say nothing at all. Even if he did, Chris' opinion took precedence over his. Chris led the group, he had the final say in every matter, and fighting that was completely useless given the fact that Chris was as stubborn as a mule.

It was probably nothing to worry about anyway. They had guns, Chris had a cell phone to call for help, Morgan and his lockpicks... they would be okay.

'Just as long as we don't split up...'

They drove along the side of the mansion, Chris keeping his eyes peeled for the back of the estate so he could park at the back of it...

..but to his surprise, the side of the mansion was neverending.

"What the fuck?"

It was obvious that the mansion itself wasn't that outstretched- it just couldn't be. The weathered wood of the exterior stopped and was quickly replaced by cobblestone, which was something they all could notice with the pickup's high beams on. Cobblestone as far as the eye could see.

"This couldn't all be like... surrounding one giant yard, could it?" Even Chris sounded frazzled. The wall just seemed to go on forever...

"We should turn back," Morgan noted, giving up on a thought of getting around, but the suggestion came a second too late as the truck skidded to an abrupt halt.

"Way ahead of you," Chris replied, as he stared in disbelief at the creek in front of him. What got him though wasn't the creek itself, but the fact that it seemed to be another boundary for the mansion's courtyard. There was a stone path just beyond the waterway, and none of them, not even Eric could think of exactly why the water would be there.

"The guy who built this really must not like visitors," Morgan sighed.

"No shit," Brent replied dryly, "why do you think the guy built a place out here in the middle of a forest?"

"Well I dunno," Morgan exclaimed, "I didn't build the fuckin' thing!"

"Shut up," Chris said in Morgan's direction. "I don't care who built the place or why it's here. Everyone's got their own little legend about this place, and the truth of the matter is that some rich nutcase died in there and pretty much left his meal ticket up for grabs inside. Whether you want to go in there or not I don't care, because if we don't then someone else will, and they'll be the ones with all the cash and not us." Chris turned around and eyed Eric who sat in silence, leaning back into his seat.

"Do you have any words of advice before we head in there?" he asked sarcastically. He obviously did not believe they were in any danger. Eric didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that fact.

"Just stick together, and do this as quickly and quietly as possible." Eric's glaring eyes met Chris', and he did not look to be playing around. Eric meant every word of precautionary advice he whispered and he obviously wanted Chris to know that he wasn't playing around. Not this time. Not with a bunch of whackos running free around town.

"We'll just park out front," Chris nodded, "can hide the truck behind some of those hedges nearby." No one dared to step up to that idea, because no one seemed to have a better one. If it was up to Eric, they wouldn't have gotten nearly as close to the building as they were now; not until they at least scouted the outside of the place... maybe then they wouldn't have been so surprised to find no end to the mansion's large outer walls and could've found a better safe point to hide the truck. Instead, they were stuck with a half-assed plan would be likely to get them caught- if not killed.

The engine sputtered to silence and the high beams were overpowered by the darkness. The truck slowed to a stop behind some tall hedges on the side of the mansion. Chris pulled the key from the ignition, and turned to the others with a faint smile distinguishable on his scruffy features. "Okay. Let's get our gear and get to work, shall we?"

They all climbed out of the truck, a tentative Eric being the last. Morgan eagerly ran around to the back of the truck and untied the strings that kept a smooth, dark colored tarp over the contents they were looking for. Chris moved to the other side from Morgan and helped untie the strings there, before assisting him in pulling the material off. Chris smiled, as did his overexcited friend. Eric on the other hand waited impatiently, leaning against the side of the vehicle. Brent remained half inside and half outside of the truck, trying to get in as many winks of sleep as he could.

"Past your bedtime?" Eric asked him through the rolled down window next to him.

Brent turned, sucked his teeth, and waved his arms. "Fuck you," was all he could muster through his apparent fatigue. Eric might as well have had some fun with him- it was obviously the only shot at fun he would have.

"No, I'd rather not have you do that," he said with a partial smile, "but thanks for the offer. You made me rethink my killer looks." His voice dripped with sarcasm- more than enough to get Brent to turn away, immediately tired from all the banter.

"You want the Winchester, I assume," Chris whispered to Morgan. "You're the only one who could really handle it anyway."

Mo nodded in glee. "Yeah. Yeah, sure sure." He grabbed the long rifle and strapped it over his right shoulder. It was only used for when they had gone hunting, something not uncommon in the small Northwest community, but Chris wasn't taking any chances inside that mansion. He never tackled anything so gigantic, and even if he was oblivious to any trouble they could and probably would get into, it didn't mean he would go in there armed with as little as a Super Soaker.

"Everyone else gets a handgun and an extra mag each," Chris noted, loud enough for Eric and Brent to hear. "Just like before." Chris grabbed a holster and USP to go with it. Once he strapped on the light equipment, he reached forward and grabbed a heavy toolbox in the back of the weaponry. He pushed the cover up and stuck his hand inside, pulling out a fully loaded clip in his clenched fist. He pocketed the bullets.

"C'mon, girls," Smith smirked, looking in Eric's direction as he made the comment. "Load up, you don't wanna be here all night, I can tell that much."

Eric sneered and moved to where Chris had been standing. He hated the man with all the fiber in his being, but the prick did have a point. 'Just want my money, and take the fuck off.'

It was then, as he threw his holster on, that he acknowledged the Winchester rifle Morgan had slung over his shoulder.

'This'll be a piece of cake, but the guy told Morgan to bring his rifle with him. How ironic.'

"I thought you weren't worried about this," Eric whispered quietly, leaning towards his 'friend' as he did so.

Chris didn't seem all that attentive, but still answered the question- albeit with a faint sense of dismissal. "I'm not worried about it. Doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to go into that place not thinking the worst." An uneasy silence followed- Eric still wasn't convinced he was safe, as much as he wanted to insist that he was. "Are you happy, Vermie?" Chris questioned to try and cover up the unnerving sound of the leaves rustling around and above them. Chris could hear the slight sound of a dog howling, but he shrugged it off- he prided himself on having better senses than the others, perhaps he was the only one who noticed it.

"No," Eric answered solemnly, "no I'm not happy."

"Then what will make you happy? Maybe Deanne is who you want, not us and a chance at more money than you'd ever get your grubby paws on mopping up at the corner store. Is that right?"

"You have no idea... how wrong you are."

Eric turned and faced Chris, looking up into his eyes through the dark. "What I want is for you to plan your ideas a little bit better."

Chris abruptly waved him off, not wanting to hear anymore questioning of his leading abilities.

'Questions questions questions, that's all that little fuck has, is questions.' He was almost around the corner, near the front of the house when he turned and sighed.

"Someone go wake up Brent."

Eric looked down at the tall grass around his leather boots and shook his head. He was about to turn to do what Chris asked, but Morgan waved him off, being the closer of the two to the truck. Eric nodded in approval and walked briskly in attempt to catch up to Chris, but something stopped him. Something that stopped Chris and Morgan as well. Something that cheated Brent out of his brief catnap.

Eric whirled to the side at the initial sound of the loud howling of coyotes. Or wolves.. or dogs... or whatever else it possibly came from. With how freaked out he was by the situation already, he knew that he didn't want to take a stroll in the woods and find out for himself.

Eric found slight relief, however, when he realized he wasn't the only one shaken up by the loud, obtrusive noise. The whisper of the leaves in the wind grew louder and Eric looked up, surprised to find a large group of birds fluttering from the trees. Crows. They became prominent for the split second that they became silhouettes in the milky white moon, before they disappeared into the night sky as quick as they were revealed.

'Hmph. Howling on a full moon followed by a murder of crows. This night gets better and better. All we need is Rod Serling hiding out somewhere in the bushes and we'd be all set.'