Midnight, early On Thursday, September 24.

Raccoon City slept, more or less peacefully for the last time.

The hospital, slightly busier than usual that summer, had gratefully accepted Umbrella's assistance in lightening their caseload. For now, those infected with the strange affliction that had stalked their door all summer were removed to a quarantine facility by the CDC. That, at least, was the story the doctors there had been told. They chose to not pursue the story any further. After all, their hands were already full.

The operations and intelligence team at HCF had received an internal tip earlier in the day that the situation in Raccoon City was about to escalate wildly - originating from a recently recovered asset, no less. The agent who had tasked himself with processing the asset had confirmed that the details of the tip made it credible, even if he was somewhat vague on the details.

From all accounts, the military and government were only just stirring to the oncoming nightmare, but sources on the ground had indicated that Umbrella was preparing to go scorched earth on their labs. More interesting was the sudden explosion of chatter on the police scanners.

It seems that their new operative, who had come up short on the initial promise of the Spencer Mansion combat data, was making up for that shortfall in other ways. Thus, when a request to have a competent courier rendezvous with a few embedded contractors came in, they quickly granted it.

The 'courier' in question slept fitfully on a couch, located in a small office in a warehouse, well outside Raccoon City. Her hair, now a shade of light brown, lay damp across the bag substituting for a pillow. A keen observer might have noticed the state of her clothes - torn in several places, the victim of what could only be called a 'light mauling'. The woman herself seemed unharmed, save for a strange bruise at the nape of her neck.

A decal of the CDC logo was applied to the van outside, while a few of the officers on site were issued new orders. This site would have to be abandoned if the situation got too hot- but they would get good use out of it while they could.

At 2 o'clock that morning, a driver with only an apparent passing familiarity with traffic laws such as speed limits showed up with a package for a last-minute mission. It was directed towards the back office for the new operative and involved the strange woman who had arrived the evening before and had disappeared into the back office. The box contained a curious collection.

A messenger bag, containing a letter. A suit of women's clothes, complete with boots, a jacket, and gloves. And a shoulder holster designed for the accompanying small gun and a number of knives.

In Raccoon City, the residents slept on, unaware of how everything they knew was about to be torn apart.

4:00 am

Lieutenant Malcolm Bradley glanced nervously at the woman in his passenger seat. He'd been given orders to drop her off a few blocks south of the police station in Raccoon City, supply the remaining operatives whose missions were kicking into high gear, and settle into a holding pattern around the city to avoid drawing attention. The woman was to retrieve sensitive data that had only recently come to light. Bradley himself would be alerted when she had completed the mission.

Bradley had been USS for a number of years before the writing in the wall had become clear enough to jump ship - just long enough to want to keep his face away from any cameras. In Raccoon City, that would be….interesting. The false CDC credentials and general chaos would have to be enough to keep him off of anyone's radar.

He'd taken point on the staging operation at the warehouse. It was a two-part mission. If the intel was accurate, the area could easily be swept up in the 'dead zone' the military would set up to keep people from bringing the virus out with them. They had to strip down and clear any equipment or paperwork that had accrued over the last few months.

But it was also the closest thing to a secure staging point they could manage at short notice. If they were lucky, the government would only just be working out the math. Civilian operations and police services would be in chaos. There would never be a better opportunity for their agents within Umbrella. They would need to be resupplied for the accelerated missions ahead, and anything that could be smuggled out overland now would be.

The young woman- barely more than a girl, really- in his passenger seat was one of these, supposedly with inside knowledge of a secret cache of documents. She seemed too young to be tangled up in all of this. Then again, they always seemed too young. Umbrella liked their recruits almost indecently young, all the better to mold them to their liking.

This one held a stillness that seemed unnatural for someone that young. She also seemed to be armed to the teeth, in a carefully tailored way that only a practiced eye might catch. She seemed to wear the armament comfortably.

The very fact that the sight caused a wave of insidious nostalgia was a testament to how he had waited too long to leave Umbrella.

Bradley cleared his throat, and the girl turned away from the window to look at him, curious. In the dark, her eyes seemed to hold a dim green glow, like that of an animal. Out of the context of Umbrella, he might have written it off as a trick of the light. He shifted uneasily under the gaze. "I have to make the rounds after I drop you off. Are you clear on the meeting points?"

The woman nodded. "I'm supposed to find the mole, drop off a package, and collect what I need. I can meet you back just past the water treatment plant, near the edge of town."

"Can you find your way there if you get separated? It's going to be a tight window to get in and out."

"I know the basic layout," the girl said drily. "The city's grown since I was was there long enough to look around, but the bones are the same."

There was a minute tightness in her voice. It wasn't the snappiness that new recruits got when their nerves were frayed. This was more the sound of nerves tuning tight to just the right pitch before a performance.

Bradley forged onward. "There are a lot of cameras around the police station. You've been briefed on those?"

She nodded again. "I have a local contact who'll help me navigate. More than one, as it happens. I'm to avoid showing my face as much as possible." She gave a small smile. "They'll be much too distracted to give me much thought. It will be fine." She seemed to relax into the seat. "I really do appreciate the concern though."

Bradley furrowed his brow, glancing from the road to look at her. Was she one of the researcher's kids? Maybe related to a local official? Something about her face made him think of his days back in training, back on that rainy little island, but that didn't add up. The man who ran that place had lost his entire family, then his mind, to the company's work a long time ago.

He wasn't paid to be a detective, though. Professionalism won out, and he turned his attention back to the road. "If you say so, miss," he said in gruff reply and turned his attention back to the growing throng of official government vehicles on the road.

She watched him for a moment longer, then rested her head back and closed her eyes, seeming to doze. If he saw her tense suddenly a moment later, Bradley chose not to comment on it.

They all had jobs to do.

Marigold, sitting in the passenger seat of the van, opened her eyes again. The driver, a large, rough-looking man who had looked at her with kind eyes, was focused on the road.

If Simmon's estimations were correct, the warehouse. - twenty miles outside of Raccoon City - would be swallowed up in the government quarantine zone. The investigation was already starting up. Looking at the recent history in the town, people would brush off what was happening as just another day…until it wasn't. It was only a matter of days.

For her, it would only be a matter of hours. She'd tested the connection at the five-mile marker, and again just now. Wesker was still coming in clear, though perhaps a touch fainter. He was already getting chatter about Irons giving strange orders to quell any rumours. Barricades were very quietly being prepared for deployment.

She fought an impulse to touch the back of her neck. Just under her collar, a dark bruise was forming, and it wasn't healing the way she was used to. Clear teeth marks were visible, having just broken the skin. If Marigold had missed Wesker's proprietary behaviour towards her, this was a clear reminder.

It should have healed almost instantly, but it hadn't. The bruise was covered by her hair, but…if she drew too much attention to herself or tried to get out on her own, she clearly had a bite. It would be enough to cause problems.

It was a reminder to behave - and a warning of what deviation from the plan would cost.