Saturday, July 25th, 1998
Evidence Room, West Wing
Raccoon City Police Precinct
2:49pm

3200, 3550, 3600 … Kenny's fingers flipped deftly through the case number folders, finding the correct folder that was supposed to hold the blood report results he'd found mistakenly placed in the pile for shredded documents. He could still not believe he'd nearly shredded official police evidence; an honest mistake at best, an obstruction of justice at worst. He didn't dare think of what could have happened to him in a worst case scenario.

"It doesn't matter," he told himself mentally. "You caught your mistake, and now you're fixing it. No use worrying yourself to death over what could have been." The sentiment seemed to have calmed him some, and he continued flipping through the tabs until he came across the 3900's. Prying the sheets apart with his fingers, he began inserting the report into its respective file folders when the lights to the evidence room suddenly went out. The evidence room was dimly lit overhead with fluorescent bulbs, windowless walls lined on every side with rows upon rows of cabinets and lockers, and as they were snuffed out, sheer darkness enveloped the room in a split second.

"Damn it," Kenny cursed under his breath for the hundredth time that day. The bulbs had been buzzing so loudly over the last few weeks that he knew it was only a matter of time before they gave out. What he hadn't expected however, was for them to die simultaneously. He made a mental note to mention this to Gus, the head janitor of the precinct, while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to suggest trying out the energy efficient bulbs he'd read about, similar to the ones the city planned on implementing for the public Christmas light decorations later that year.

After a few moments, when Kenny realized that it really was going to be this pitch black in the room, he decided to head back for the doors. Perhaps if he left them open, the amount of light they'd let in would provide enough visibility for him to at least make his way out of the room and return with a flashlight. He walked slowly, extending one foot carefully in front of the other with his arms splayed outward, fumbling for anything he could touch to get some sense of spatial awareness. Reaching the end of the row of cabinets, he turned right and immediately spotted a solid line of light, spilling in from between the bottom of the door and the floor.

Before he could pick up his pace however, Kenny felt something wrap tightly around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He let out a yelp in surprise, and tasted the bitter flavor of a leather glove, stifling his cry. Whatever he tried to say barely made it past the glove in the form of incomprehensive muffles. He struggled to free his arms but whoever held him from behind was strong as an ox.

"Give me the reports," a voice whispered quietly into his right ear. Kenny could feel the coarse hairs of a mustache tickling his lobe, "if you want to live to see another day."

Kenny nodded. It was all he could do, besides bend his wrist holding the papers, to indicate that he was surrendering the documents. He felt the attacker rip them away from his grasp. Instantly, he was unhanded, turned around, and shoved hard against a filing cabinet lining the room perimeter. His eyebrow caught hard enough against the handle for it to tear skin, though the adrenaline was pumping so fast through his nervous system that Kenny barely felt it. He only felt the cold barrel of a handgun pressed firmly against the back of his skull, and heard the soft click of the safety going off.

"Close your eyes and count to ten," the assailant ordered, still whispering. "Open them before ten and these lights will be out for you. Permanently. Now start counting."

"… one …"

"Louder."

"Two!"

Kenny was shaking so hard by the time he reached ten, that was he was still too afraid to open his eyes. He had continued counting, he would have hit eighteen by the time he dared to peek. By then, the lights were back on in the room. He looked around slowly; the filing cabinet where he'd been barely a minute or two ago was still open. Everything was as it was before, as if nothing had just happened. The only difference was that the documents he'd been about to file had been stolen from him at gunpoint.

Chief Iron's Office
Raccoon City Police Precinct
3:22pm

Chief Irons eyed the large form of a bald man seated at the coffee table with a mixture of suspicion and fear. He was clad entirely in a black business suit, with only the white of the collared shirt indicating any form to the outfit. The man's eyes were hidden behind a pair of sleek sunglasses, similar in fashion to Albert Wesker, despite being indoors. At first glance, Irons would have assumed it was Wesker, except that despicable Captain of the STARS Alpha team had perished not even a day prior.

The man had entered the office after a brief, abrasive knock on the door, and made his way slowly over to the chesterfield, as if allowing Irons to get a true sense of his imposing presence. Neither of them spoke for the initial few tense moments, as if waiting for each other to say the first word. In the end, it was the man.

"You work quickly, Irons," he said quietly in a voice with a deep, pronounced bass. "I'd be impressed, if it wasn't for the fact that any younger, and you would have been taking candy from a baby."

"You'd be foolish to underestimate Kenneth Feng," Irons said from behind his desk. "He may be a mere high school student, but his attention to detail is comparable to that of a STARS candidate. He's a solid intern, but given our … arrangement," Irons motioned between himself and the suited man, "we can't have him paying too much attention. So I did what I had to do."

"The reports that the intern was about to file into police records …"

"The blood test reports from that insufferable tourist, Craig Crankurt," Irons explained. "The man was a witness to the dispatch of an escaped scientist from the Spencer Mansion. We're not sure how he was able to flee from the Umbrella Security Service. But Crankurt had the scientist's brains all over his shirt and filed a police report. Forensics conducted a test on the samples and I had to … falsify the results."

"And you thought leaving them for the shredder was secure enough way of disposing sensitive documents that could attract unwanted attention to Umbrella?" The big suited man was more amused than he was angry.

"You comment on my performance when your men can't even kill a scientist without leaving any evidence?"

"Touché, Irons."

"It won't happen again," Irons promised, "I'll be keeping an eye on young Kenny. Make sure he doesn't go snooping too far."

Apple Inn Hotel Gym
Downtown Raccoon City
3:30pm

Cranky's fists rained down a flurry of punches with the speed and efficiency of a boxer. He barely registered the wounds on his knuckles splitting open again beneath the gloves, blinded by his anger, something that he'd struggled with his whole life. Exercise was the answer for him, as it provided an outlet to absorb everything he had to release. He just kept punching until his arms, fists, and lungs couldn't function anymore, until he was too exhausted to move as he lay in a pool of his own sweat on the gym floor. Exercise had quite literally saved his life when it was introduced to him as a teenager by a retired boxing coach. But it had come too late for him to save the people he loved. Raccoon City was the one chance he would get at redemption.

He took a minute or two to gather his breath, and stood up slowly, groaning the whole way as condensation continued to roll down the sides of his face and drop from the tip of his nose and chin. Cranky tore his gloves off and winced from his split knuckles, now without the adrenaline to shield him from the pain. He did his best to ignore the burning on his knuckles by flexing his fingers and lumbered toward the change room, where he dreaded the feeling of water on his open wounds.

A suspiciously quick movement caught his eye down the corridor leading to the gym entrance. Cranky turned to look but saw nobody. Someone had definitely been standing there a moment ago – someone that didn't want to be seen. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose. He stood rooted to the spot, stopped breathing, and listened for a few seconds … it was quieter than death in the room. And that's when Cranky realized the speakers that were previously blaring a song about two girls arguing over a man on loop, was now silent. It was odd, considering nobody physically came inside to shut them off –

The lights suddenly flickered for a moment before dying, bathing the workout area in darkness. The only lighting came from the lobby, diffused by the textured glass on the gym door entrance. Whoever that person was Cranky noticed, they definitely didn't want to be seen. He dropped to the ground and tucked into a roll towards the wall, behind a stack of mats and boxes. He kept his eyes locked on the entrance while allowing his vision to get accustomed to the darkness. He waited patiently for the dim lighting from the lobby to be broken by the silhouette of the intruder.

His patience was rewarded with the silhouette of a man in form fitting clothing the bunched slightly at the joints – handgun in hand with an attached silencer. That was all Cranky could make out from the vague shapes in the darkness. The intruder planned to shoot Cranky in the dark, which meant that he must have had some kind of night-vision aid.

"You were supposed to walk toward the entrance," the man spoke with a deep voice, "to me. I didn't expect to come in here after you." Cranky shook head, offended that whoever wanted him dead, would send a rookie to do the dirty work. The attacker intended for the darkened room to disorientate his target, yet, speaking gave the target the information he needed to counter attack, should it choose. And Cranky chose to.

As silently as possible without breathing, he bee-lined it for the assailant, and kicked in the general area of where he thought the attacker's hand might be holding the gun. Success came in the form of metal hitting the ground, clattering as it slid away into the darkness. He followed up the kick with a blind uppercut, which connected with the attacker's armpit. Left hook, smashed into his back. With every punch, Cranky was getting more and more information on the positioning of his opponent in relation to him, and the size.

The attacker grunted with each impact, absorbing the painful hits but was not felled. Cranky took a step back to put a little distance between them while he thought of what to do next. He didn't have to think at all, it turned out, as his heel came into contact with the base of the dumbbell rack.

Weights … Cranky's hands fumbled around for the top of the rack, for the lighter weights. There was no time to test their weight – he just wrapped his fingers around the grips of the first two dumbbells he could find, and took them off the rack, sinking into a fighting stance. Ten pounders; heavy enough to add power behind his punches, light enough to not impede his movement.

The attacker was already upon him when Cranky retaliated with an uppercut to the chin, fist still gripping the dumbbell. The impact caught the attacker dead on. His body travelled up, and backwards in a graceful arch, and back into the concealing darkness. Though Cranky could have sworn he felt the attacker's jaw crack on impact beneath his knuckles, he didn't intend on waiting to find out how effective the weights behind his punches were. He leapt into the direction of his opponent, taking educated guesses on where he could be in the barely visible light, and jabbing in that direction. When he failed to strike anything, he realized with horror that he was now in a vulnerable position. His opponent had been quiet, listening carefully for Cranky's breathing while he swung his fists blindly in the dark.

His realization was proven as he felt a leg smash the back of his knees, losing his balance and landing on the floor. His hands hit the ground hard, forcing him to release his grip on the dumbbells. Before his opponent could follow up with a heavy stomp, Cranky rolled to the left and onto his feet, fists up, desperately trying to silence his breathing.

That's when the lights flickered back on and the two fighters got their first good look at each other, awkwardly facing different directions. They immediately reposition themselves, looking into each others'. Cranky gauged the intruder – a little shorter than him, no more than half a decade older. Slight bags under the man's eyes suggested mental scars of hardship, of battle. And his split lip and fractured jaw wasn't helping either. Nothing remarkable otherwise; to help him blend in most likely. He was clad in what looked like an all black motorcycle jacket, and black pants, which contributed greatly to Cranky's difficulty tracking him in the darkness.

The man's eyes scanned the ground quickly for the gun but before he could spot it, they both heard the voice of a pair of hotel employees approaching the entrance.

"As if the boiler room problems haven't been enough, now somebody goes off and trips over the power cable."

"Ugh, I know," said a second voice, "we're gonna hear about it in the guest comment cards."

Whatever the assailant had planned for Cranky was supposed to be carried out discreetly apparently, as the attacker chose to flee in lieu of the now bright room, and the approaching potential witnesses. One final glance at Cranky and he bee-lined it for the emergency exit at the opposite corner of the room.

"Anybody in here?" one of the hotel employees called out upon entering the room, just as the emergency exit door closed. The employee came into full view, which Cranky could see now was one of the bellhops. "We apologize for the lack of power. We experienced some complications with the wiring, and just wanted to check to make sure nobody injured themselves in the darkness.

Cranky smirked.

"No injuries here, thank you."

Main Hall
Raccoon City Police Precinct
3:43pm

Kenny stumbled back to his desk from the evidence room, shock clouding his mind, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew what just happened to him but his brain couldn't grasp that he had literally been attacked, his life threatened, in a police station. And the item of interest was misfiled evidence …

"Evidence," Kenny said aloud, an idea forming in his head. Someone knew that he was in possession of the blood test results and the alleged photograph of a zombie – and he had only stumbled across them minutes before. Someone was …

"You all packed up and ready to go?" It was the voice of Officer Kevin Ryman, who Kenny had only remembered then that Rita had arranged for him to take him home in light of the STARS Arklay Forest aftermath.

"Officer Ryman," Kenny said, turning around to face the Officer.

"Jesus, Kenny," he said noticing the look on Kenny's face, "Is everything all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think someone is watching me."

Officer Ryman hung his head in an attempt to hide the resulting smirk, and casually took a seat on the table top.

"No, I'm serious," Kenny insisted. "I was just attacked over a couple of documents I was trying to file."

Officer Ryman's smile faded suddenly, into an expression of concern. "Attacked? Here, at the precinct?" Kenny nodded. "When? By who?"

"Just now," Kenny said, struggling to keep up with his questions, "a-and I didn't see the attacker. The lights in the evidence room went out. I've been asking Gus to have them replaced but I guess he hasn't gotten around to it yet."

"Did you have any valuables on you? Was anything stolen?" It seemed Officer Ryman had entered questioning mode, unlike how he would approach a mugging victim. Residual adrenaline pumping through Kenny's veins gave him trouble from explaining clearly.

"No, I only had a couple of misfiled documents that I was trying to archive properly in the evidence room. Those were the only things that were taken."

"What kind of information did the documents contain?"

"I didn't read them in any depth, but one was a blood test report, and the other was a photo of … what looked like a walking corpse."

Officer Ryman paused, mouth pressed into a tight frown as he absorbed the information. Though he didn't want to admit it, Kenny knew he was reaching the same conclusion; that there must have been some truth to the rumors spreading around the city, or even worse, there was someone at the precinct trying to hide the truth.

"Why would anyone within the police force try to tamper with documents?" Kenny asked, doing his best to appear naïve. But he wanted answers and this was the only way he knew how to get it. "And why over a blood test report and a photograph? And how deep does the corruption in the RPD-"

"Stop," Officer Ryman ordered. "You're a good kid, Kenny. And you're smart. But you're asking questions an intern shouldn't be asking, and that can get you in trouble; the kind of trouble way over your pay grade. And you're not even getting paid."

"Sir, if there's something going on in Raccoon City and we know something, we owe it to the public to give them that information."

"What information?" Officer Ryman snapped. "We only have breadcrumbs and suspicions that something is aloof. We don't even know what!"

"We know that something is going on within the RPD," Kenny offered. "If a civilian did this, it would be an obstruction of justice, criminal, and punishable by law. The fact that someone within our ranks is doing this …"

Without warning, Officer Ryman aggressively seized Kenny by the elbow and began walking hurriedly toward the main entrance as fast as he could, with the intern in tow, protesting and resisting. Kenny must have hit a nerve. Officer Ryman half-escorted, half-dragged him outside, past the main gates and into an awaiting police cruiser parked across the street. It wasn't until the two of them were in the privacy of the cruiser when Officer Ryman spoke angrily.

"First off," he said sternly, "when I tell you something, it's not for shits and giggles."

"But-"

"Secondly, if there really is someone conducting illegal activity from within the RPD, we don't know who or how many of them there are. Hell, you don't even know it's safe to be saying this shit to me."

"I'm just-"

"Thirdly, you've already been attacked once. For your own safety, keep your head and your voice down, Kenny."

A brief silence followed, filled with the sound of the car engine starting, and pulling away from the precinct. Kenny sighed and turned away from Officer Ryman, opting instead to look out the window, giving his head a solemn shake.

"This isn't right," he said aloud, almost to himself. "We're supposed to be making the streets a safer, not more dangerous. What kind of damage could a blood test and a photograph do, anyway?"

"Evidence," Officer Ryman replied, though it was clear the question was rhetorical. "Whatever information those documents contained, someone didn't want it on record."

The drive continued for the next few blocks toward Brentford District with neither of them speaking. Only the brief radio blips and dispatchers taking could be heard. Kenny's head was leaned against the headrest, tilted right, watching the blur of cars and buildings whizz by. If he had been told twenty-four hours ago that within a day, he would find himself questioning the moral foundation of the RPD, Kenny wouldn't have believed it. The good-hearted officers he worked amongst, laying their lives on the line everyday to ensure the safety of everyone in the community, let alone the STARS … he couldn't fathom any one of them willingly endanger anyone. Fire Department aside, they were the city's finest. Or at least, they were supposed to be. But then again, the RPD was a huge force …

"Kenny?" Officer Ryman's voice said, interrupting him from his thoughts.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where did you say you found the documents before they were taken from you?"

"I found them while I was doing a final check of the documents that were to be …" he looked into Officer Ryman's eyes with horror, "… shredded."

Hotel Suite, Apple Inn
Downtown Raccoon City
4:12pm

Cranky paced and forth by the bed, cell phone held up to his ear waiting for an answer on the other end. He'd drawn the curtains, bathing the room in semi-darkness. His clothes had been stuffed into his duffel bag in a rush packing job. Someone tipped Cranky's location to those that wanted him dead … but who? There was no shortage of unfriendly faces in the uptown community. The murder in broad daylight this morning, the disappearing body, the police disinterest, and finally the attack on him at the hotel gym. The events were connected, he was sure of it. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had seen something he wasn't supposed to. And whoever was responsible was trying to cover their tracks …

"Talk to me, Crankurt," his informant answered on the other end. Cranky sat on the bed, the tension leaving his legs from the pacing. He rubbed his jaw with a hand before speaking.

"Yeah … sorry, I've been out of touch," he began. "Things have been happening, strange things. I … I can't explain. But I need your help. I met a man this morning, hysterical with fear. He kept telling me someone was after him. Looked like he'd been dragged through the mud, twigs and leaves in his hair."

"You sure it wasn't some hobo on a drug-high?"

"He was shot in the head, right in front of me," Cranky replied bluntly. "So I ran back to the hotel to call 911 – and get this – the body disappeared, like the man never existed in the first place. I questioned by own sanity for a bit, but made the police report anyway because the guy's blood was still on my shirt. Except that the cops claimed the blood on my shirt was from an altercation from the night before."

"You got into a fight?!"

"Slime-ball Police Chief – look, it doesn't matter! I'm witness to an assassination gone awry and they just sent someone after me. And I think whoever is responsible has enough power for the Raccoon City Police Department to turn a blind eye. That's what I need your help gathering information on."

"Damn it, Crankurt. Someone just attacked you and you're trying to find more information on what's going on? Whatever happened to procuring the target and getting out of there like you originally planned?"

"If what I suspect is true, then the target could be in some serious danger." Cranky was back on his feet, heading to the chair on which his duffel bag rested.

The informant sighed. "I don't know much about the mid-west but I'll see what I can dig up. If they're powerful enough to manipulate the police department, then it theoretically wouldn't be very hard to find something on them."

"Before he was shot," Cranky said, recalling the incident, "the man said 'Umbrella.'" He scooped up the duffel bag with a single arm and shouldered it, and began walking for the door.

"…Umbrella?" the informant asked curiously, "as in the pharmaceutical manufacturer?"

"I know, I find it hard to imagine the creators of Safsprin also have an army of trained killers at their disposal. Anyway, I've gotta relocate. It's not safe here anymore. I'll call you later." He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it, walking out of the suite for the final time.

Cranky looked down the hallway in both directions, scanning the area for any suspicious looking characters. He spotted an unattended cleaning cart in front of a neighboring suite with its doors open. In the opposite direction, he recognized Richard and Elsie Walters; the elderly couple he met in the lobby two days ago when he'd just arrived in town. They saw him too, and waved excitedly – leftover energy from one of their afternoon hikes, he supposed. Cranky forced his stone hard, cold expression into a friendly smile as they passed. They didn't need to get in the way of whoever was after him.

He took the very same flight of stairs down as he did earlier that morning, running to the doomed man's aid. Only this time, even with his heightened sense of alertness, he moved at a much more casual pace, considering the events that had played out that day. It hadn't even occurred to him report the attack to the authorities – it would have been his third trip to the precinct in just as many days, and they hadn't proven to be very proficient at keeping the peace from what he could tell.

Cranky reached the lobby an exited the stairwell, heading straight for the stained glass doors to exit. He hadn't intended on it, but upon passing the reception area, stopped dead in his tracks and made a detour to the front desk, where a receptionist, a different one from earlier that morning, stood ready to assist him.

"Excuse me," Cranky said, approaching the lady, "your colleague who was working behind the counter this morning, is she here? She and I were witnesses to an incident this morning I'd like to speak with - "

"Laurie," the receptionist confirmed, brows wrinkling with concern. "The police came to bring her down to the station this morning, to take her statement. We offered to give her the day off but she insisted that she wanted ... needed ... to come back to work. But it's been hours since we've heard from her, and she's not answering her phone."

"Could she still be at the precinct?"

"The RPD confirmed that Laurie left the station but before 11:30 this morning. We're within a 15 minute walk to the precinct. Nobody wants to say anything but we're starting to think something must have happened to her. If we don't hear from her within the next 9 hours, we're filing a missing person report."

J's Bar
Downtown Raccoon City
4:18pm

At Officer Ryman's suggestion, the police cruiser pulled up to the old bar, and one of Raccoon's finest – watering hole of choice for Raccoon's boys in blue. The establishment itself was a three story building right beside an apartment block, conveniently open late for night owls and alcoholics. Kenny unbuckled his seat and opened the door, stepping shakily out of the car, the adrenaline from Officer Ryman's erratic driving wearing off.

"Man, it sure feels good to get out of that dreary police station," Officer Ryman said, stretching his arms overhead, using his hip to close the cruiser door. "After all the drama this morning I sure as hell could use a pint or two. You can just stick with soda, and keep your head down."

The entrance was a modest one consisting of a single red, swinging door with little square glass windows set into them. Beside the door, two panoramic windows gave a full view of across the street. Officer Ryman stepped toward the door with Kenny just a few steps behind and pushed it open, triggering a bell hanging just over the doorway, announcing the arrival of new patrons. The pair made their way to the bar, with Kenny looking awkwardly around, trying too hard to blend in. The scent of old wood, alcohol and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

"Yo, bartender, how about some service?" Officer Ryman asked jokingly as he planted himself in a seat by the counter.

"Only if you promise to clean up after yourself this time," the bartender called back in jest. He took the chamois slung over his shoulder and tossed it at Officer Ryman. He approached the police officer and took the rag back, signaling that joke time was over. "What can I get for you today, Kevin?"

"Miller," Kevin replied, "thanks, Will."

"Anything for your buddy?"

"Could I have a soda cocktail, please?" Kenny replied, "Coke and Sprite."

"That sounds like a pretty exotic soda," Will noted, hosing the fountain pop into a short glass with more ice cubes than necessary. He plopped the drink in front of Kenny and turned around, heading towards the back of the bar. "Your beer's coming right up, Kevin."

"Thanks, Will."

While he was taking a sip of his drink, Kenny looked around the room out of curiosity at his new surroundings. The shelves above their heads boasted a variety of alcohol, most of them from foreign countries with names that Kenny couldn't pronounce. The walls consisted of wood paneling up to about waist level, after which it converted to tacky wallpaper no doubt installed in the seventies. There was a TV directly across the large expanse of the room from the door they entered, tuned into the sports channel airing a game featuring the Raccoon City Sharks.

Kenny took note of a pleasant looking waitress – blonde hair tied up into a ponytail, a blue and white vertically striped uniform and a dark gray apron. She walked across the space with grace while pulling off some kind of impressive balancing act with multiple empty beer bottles and glass cups stacked up on multiple trays. She made eye contact with him, and it was then that he realized he'd been staring. The waitress smiled at him sweetly and carried on her merry way, a very pretty smile that seemed to light up the whole room.

"Cute, isn't she?" Officer Ryman asked, tipping his chin towards the waitress who now had her back turned.

"Who is she?"

"Cindy Lennox, only the most popular waitress in this place. Not a guy in here who'd like to get to know her better."

"Officer Ryman, look!" Kenny said, pointing at the patron that Cindy had just been helping, and was slightly disappointed at himself for not noticing who it was sooner. "Officer Bernstein!" Kenny called, waving at her. But she didn't respond. She was seated at one of the afore described barrels with her head in her hands, looking like maybe she'd drank a little too much.

"Officer Bernstein?" Officer Ryman asked curiously. "Oh, you mean Amber! Yo, Amber!"

But then Kenny realized why she wasn't responding. At first glance, it merely looked like she was rubbing her eyes from tiredness. But keeping his eyes on her as he waited for a response, Kenny noticed her shoulders bobbing up and down slightly. The poor woman was crying. In front of her sat a few empty beer bottles, the quantity of which Kenny could not believe she could have drank them all.

"She looks like she could use a comforting shoulder," Officer Ryman noted, all jokes and cheerfulness leaving his voice. "Come on, Kenny, let's go and see if she's okay." They headed over, grabbing two stools on the way, making lots of noise. But if Officer Bernstein noticed, she didn't act like she did.

"Hey Amber," Officer Ryman said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you gonna be okay?"

She looked up at us with bloodshot eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, the dried edges had gotten crusty with dirt. The last time IKeny saw her was on the helipad, seeing Officer Frost off, her boyfriend; though she hadn't the slightest idea that he had intended to propose to her upon returning from the Arklay mission, or that Kenny himself had hidden the engagement ring. It was as if she hadn't stopped crying, first worrying to death about whether he was going to be alright, and then finding out this morning that he'd been killed on duty. A string of mucus dropped from her nose, but she ignored even that. Her hair was a mess, sitting in a tangled mop hanging from the top of her head.

"I … I couldn't stay at the precinct," she admitted. "Chief Iron's is gonna be pissed if he finds out. But I can't stay there."

"Officer Bernstein, I'm really sorry," Kenny offered a sincere apology. "Rita told me about what happened to the S.T.A.R.S." She immediately broke down as soon as those words left Kenny's mouth, earning him a disapproving glare from Officer Ryman. She practically fell into him, her forehead crashing into his chest as she sobbed. Her face was now as red as her eyes, and a batch of fresh new tears flowed smoothly out from the corners of her eyes. Her mouth was frozen open in a grimace of excruciating emotional pain.

"He's dead," she choked out in between sobs. "Oh God, Joseph's dead …"

Lobby - Kenny's Apartment Building
Brentford District
5:12pm

The police cruiser pulled up to the arched entrance of a refurbished historical building sporting a Romanesque facade projecting a false pretense of grandeur to passers-by. Its construct was similar to that of the buildings lining that street; old structures knocked down save for their street-facing walls, completely rebuilt from the ground up. Modernization of local facilities without ruining the district's historic charm, as decided upon by Raccoon City's zoning officials. It was in one of these buildings that was converted into a 3 storey apartment building that Kenny called home due to the areas reasonably priced rental rates.

Brentford District was undergoing a major gentrification overhaul that started just under a decade earlier, when funds started pouring into the city as a direct result of Umbrella's investments, and was a popular neighbourhood for the "nouveau-riche" for relocation, a term traditionally wealthy uptown residents used to described the historically poor, direct beneficiaries of said investments. Having grown up outside of town, however, Kenny belonged to neither social group, instead focusing on what was practical with the funds Uncle Ken was able to provide him.

Yet, as a resident of Raccoon City, escaping the politics of the class division was impossible. And it manifested that evening in the form of his school friend, Lisa Hartley, sitting at the steps leading up to the lobby entrance, face buried in her hands, sobbing quietly. Kenny spotted her while still in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, and the sight didn't go unnoticed by Officer Ryman in the driver's seat either.

"Lisa?" Kenny said aloud upon recognizing the backpack she typically carried, lying at her feet.

"Looks like she might be in trouble," Officer Ryman noted. "You know her?"

Kenny nodded. "We're classmates." He sighed, and continued. "There's been some drama revolving around her spending too much time with a new kid, a guy from St. Michael's."

Officer Ryman gave a whistle. "Ouch. Guy's got a lot of balls attending Raccoon Secondary."

"You're from St. Michael's too, aren't you, sir?" Kenny asked.

"Got into more than my fair share of fights with the Whitchley kids," he confirmed, and tipped his chin at the crying girl. "Go check on her, kiddo. I'll stay right here if you need me."

"What about Officer Bernstein?" Kenny tipped his head in the direction of the inebriated fellow RPD employee they found at J's Bar, drinking her sorrows away after discovering her fiancée had perished in last night's STARS Alpha extraction mission in the Arklay Mountains.

"I'll take her home," Officer Ryman assured Kenny, "just go check on your friend and make sure she's not in any immediate danger."

Grabbing his backpack at his feet, Kenny opened the passenger door and stepped out, slinging the pack over a single shoulder and shut the door behind him. Not knowing whether or not Lisa would notice him approaching, he took slow, cautious steps and called out to her long before she was within arm's reach.

"Lisa? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?" It wasn't until she looked up at him from behind her palms, red face streaked with tears, that he dared to take another step towards her. He didn't need to, however, because as soon as she had noticed him, Lisa leapt to her feet and threw herself at Kenny, embracing him in the tightest hug he could recall ever receiving from her.

"Kenny, thank goodness you're here," she sobbed into his ear.

"Were you here waiting all this time for me?!" he exclaimed.

"I had no choice. I didn't know where else to go."

"W-what happened? Are you all right?"

"It's not me, it's Jack," she reported, swallowing back another fresh burst of tears. "He's being held at the precinct. I want to go see him. I have to." Lisa paused, releasing her grip on Kenny as she spotted the police cruiser behind him, and the officer behind the wheel keeping an eye on the two of them. "Do you think your supervisor would be willing to give us a ride there?"

Kenny looked nervously over his shoulder back at the cruiser and noted Officer Bernstein in the backseat. "N-no, I don't think so," he said, even though he was sure Officer Ryman would have been more than willing to. "He's still on duty, and I'd rather he didn't take time out of his shift to taxi us around. I'll take you back to the precinct so you can see Jack." He flashed a thumbs-up sign to Officer Ryman, who nodded in acknowledgement and pulled away from the sidewalk, and sped off into the distance. It wasn't until the cruiser was out of sight that Kenny placed his hands on Lisa's shoulders reassuringly and said, "All right, let's get you to the precinct."

Holding Cells
Raccoon Police Precinct
6:46pm

Kenny and Lisa had just reached the bottom of the stairwell that led into the dark, dank basement of the police station, both shivering from the sudden drop in temperature despite the late summer heat outside. He led the way, just a few steps ahead of her, as they made their way down the narrow corridor to the garage, and past that, the holding cells where Jack was being held.

"Sorry I didn't tell you about Jack's detainment before," Kenny apologized sheepishly. A lot was happening here, with all the STARS drama. Hell, it's still happening right now."

"He was detained yesterday," Lisa said in sympathy, "I wouldn't be too hard on myself if I were you."

She had calmed down considerably since they first met at his apartment building. It had taken a 25 minute public transit commute to midtown, and a lot of consoling on his part to get Lisa level-headed again. Apparently Julie had revealed Jack's detainment to her, barely containing a victorious smirk, which sent Lisa into a rage. During the trip to the precinct, Kenny had part consoled, part explained rationally that Jack may have been scared, but in the care of the RPD, he would be safe. That seemed to have done the trick; for now, anyway.

The pair of friends arrived at the cell at the very end of the hallway and looked to his left. The combined musk of concrete and mold filled his nostrils as he looked into the cell's sole occupant; a boy just a year older than himself, huddled in the back corner, knees pulled to his chest as he sobbed into his own arms. The sight triggered a pang of sympathy somewhere inside him, causing Kenny's hardened expression to soften.

"JACK!" Lisa shrieked, colliding with the iron bars that separated them as she forced her way closer to him.

Upon hearing his name lifted his head from between his knees and upon seeing her, look of relief flashed in his eyes. Jack leapt to his feet and met Lisa at on the opposite side of the iron bars. They pressed their foreheads together and intertwined their fingers, both sobbing each other's names for a few moments.

Feeling like a third wheel, Kenny felt a slightly uncomfortable but giving them their moment was probably the best course of action he could take, waiting for Jack to adjust to their presence before speaking.

"Jack, I'm sorry," Kenny spurted out. And he was lucky he'd managed even that. With all the chaos in the precinct that day resulting from the return of STARS Alpha and the crazy stories they were telling, common criminals were the least of the RPD's concerns that day. Still, Jack was a school mate - and the single individual responsible for ripping Kenny's only real friend, Lisa, from the confines of the Uptown Raccoon City circle, leaving him alone to fend for himself. Whatever Kenny felt now as a result was what Jack had been feeling all along, and that was why Lisa was so drawn to him. It was clear to Kenny now, and he wanted to apologize, and that was what drove him to the precinct basement. But Kenny's ego prevented him from saying what he really wanted to.

"Sorry 'bout what?" Jack replied, glaring at him angrily between blonde bangs. Kenny could feel his intensity, even from a few feet away, separated by barred, sliding doors made of iron. "About how you be keepin' me in here, even tho' I said I din' do nuthin'?"

Lisa took a step back from him and turned around to face Kenny. "Keeping him here? Kenny, what is he talking about?"

"I didn't put you in here," Kenny retorted, ignoring Lisa's question.

"Yet you be keepin' me in here!" Jack protested.

"Really?" Kenny said sarcastically, "I'm flattered that as unpaid intern, you think I have that much sway with the law."

"I thought you would defend me against the charges!" Jack shouted back. He had already crossed the span of the cell towards the iron gates. Though he remained perfectly still with hands at his sides, the rage in his eyes were apparent to Kenny. "Lise told me I could trust you!"

"I don't even know what you were charged with," Kenny nearly shouted. It was his turn to clash against the iron bars, wrapping his fists against them with a white-knuckled grip. "All I know is Officer Aaron showed up with you in tow, and an officer dragging in a cuffed downtown deplorable into the station isn't an uncommon occurrence."

"It was Julie!" Lisa interrupted, suppressing the escalating tension between the two boys. "I don't know why they pulled you in here, Jack, but I'm wouldn't be surprised if she pulled some strings with Chief Irons to get you out of the way."

"The RPD wouldn't ..." Kenny's instinct was to the defend the very organization allowed him to work amongst their ranks, for which without the work experience hours, he would not graduate high school with honors. But he quickly remembered the evidence stolen from him point blank, just hours ago, and cut himself short. Instead, he opted to change the subject.

"I didn't come here to talk about bullshit high school drama. There are bigger things happening here, bigger than us!" Kenny's sudden outburst caused Jack to take a hesitant step back. Jack stared back at him, blue eyes wide in shock. Kenny took a moment to gather his thoughts, and continued explaining in a noticeably forced, calm manner.

"Something happened in the Arklay Mountains last night," he said softly, "something big. I don't have all the details, but I know that it's resulted in the deaths of six STARS members. And now, if anything the media threw at us this morning is any indication, the rumors of a cannibal cult in the woods are threatening to reveal ties with the Lonsdale Corporation with the disappearance of the Ecliptic Express. Worst of all, if even a shred of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. claims prove to be true ..."

"What are they claiming?" Lisa asked.

"Monsters," Kenny replied, knowing how ridiculous it sounded to them.

Jack narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Kenny. "Like the ones under my bed when I was a kid?" he asked sarcastically, and it wasn't well received.

"And that skepticism is exactly what the RPD has to contend with in the public sphere," Kenny said, shutting him down. "So I'm sorry that you're stuck in this jail cell, normally reserved for drunks. We'll get you out but right now, as we speak, there are bigger things unfolding."