Resident Evil: End Game
Prologue
By Windra
June 20, 2003
12:54 A.M.
Outside of Manitou, Kansas
The sky was dark that night, and the bright, orange-tinted moon, the Blood Moon, as people called it, conquered the sky, shining down brightly on a deserted dirt-covered road below. Somewhere in the dark, dense forest nearby, a lone owl called out before swooping down on a panicked field mouse that scurried hurridly across the dirt. Close to that forest was a lake, where the frogs sung out their evening song, which was joined by the crickets and cicadas that lingered in the area. The grass, dried and brown from the heat of a Midwest American summer, swayed to and fro in the somewhat cool breeze, grabbing at the dew that began to settle down on them.
Not far away was the city of Manitou, where the buildings and houses and stores shimmered with light, and where some people wandered the streets while others slept comfortably in their beds. On a sidewalk deeper in the city, a group of six teenagers chatted with each other as they walked past the other groups of people.
Back to the dirt road that shimmered dully in the moonlight, a large, brown, black, and green-colored truck sped along. The bed of the back of the truck was covered with a black cap, and had one broken window. Stacks of small barrels were piled up inside it, and each was labeled with the biohazard symbol. Up in the front, the driver's seat was occupied by a thin, young man with reedy brown hair and wearing a Dallas Cowboys cap. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a white coat that had an I.D. card pinned to it...an Umbrella I.D. card.
The radio blasted Garth Brooks' 'The Thunder Rolls', and the driver was singing along to it...horribly. He was obviously tone deaf, but he kept on singing.
His radio and voice was blaring out so loud, in fact, that, as he hit a bump in the dirt road, he didn't hear the top column of biohazard barrels began to rattle, rolling towards the area of the broken window. One caught in it, but, between the force of the other barrels pushing against it and the fact that the driver had run over another bump released it from where it was stuck, and it fell out while the other barrels rolled against the window, crashing together and forming a barricade in the process.
As the truck continued to speed off down the road, towards some unknown Umbrella facility, the barrel hit the grassy area beside the road. It didn't crack, but instead went rolling down the hill. It passed the forest, and then the lake until it was on a direct path towards Manitou. The rocks and sticks in its path weakened its tin shell dramatically as it continued in its downhill journey.
The barrel rolled quickly into an alleyway at the edge of the city, where it crashed into the brick wall of an apartment building...and hard. That caused the shell of the barrel to crack, and, slowly, a blue liquid began to spew out, spraying the ground and forming a small stream that moved over and pooled in a pothole in the center of the alley. Even when the pothole was filled, the liquid continued to to flow into it, eventually overflowing and wetting the cement ground, then saturating the cracks in the pavement, where it drenched the soil.
A lone dog wandered into the alley, a Golden Retriever. Its fur was a dirty gold and gray, with bits of its body missing fur, others covered with dirt, and some other spots dotted with blood, as if it had been in a fight with another creature. Its deep black eyes swirled with thirst, and it shambled into the alleyway, his 'territory', and sniffed around for an area to do his business. In doing so, it caught the scent of the liquid in the pothole, and one of its ears twitched. It padded over to it, its paws becoming wet as it walked onto the drenched pavement. Slowly, it lowered its nose to the pothole so that its tip was about a centimeter away from it, then took a deep sniff. Curious and tempet, the dog took a testing lick, soaking his dried tongue and swallowing. The creature pulled back and sneezed, muzzle wrinkled in disgust, and trotted away. It would find another place to mark as its terriroty...as this substance, that liquid....it seemed strange.
And as more of the liquid poured into the area, and as all of it finally left the barrel, a viscious gas arose from the liquid, heading upwards and being sucked into the open fan-covered windows of the apartments, the same apartments of the building the barrel had crashed into, by the force of the fan pulling in the outside area, and the vapor from the liquid flooded into the houses, filling the lungs of those who breathed it in and clinging to their insides...
Twenty blocks away, six teenagers, the same group that was chatting and walking along before, turned into an arcade, completely unaware of what had happened.
Prologue
By Windra
June 20, 2003
12:54 A.M.
Outside of Manitou, Kansas
The sky was dark that night, and the bright, orange-tinted moon, the Blood Moon, as people called it, conquered the sky, shining down brightly on a deserted dirt-covered road below. Somewhere in the dark, dense forest nearby, a lone owl called out before swooping down on a panicked field mouse that scurried hurridly across the dirt. Close to that forest was a lake, where the frogs sung out their evening song, which was joined by the crickets and cicadas that lingered in the area. The grass, dried and brown from the heat of a Midwest American summer, swayed to and fro in the somewhat cool breeze, grabbing at the dew that began to settle down on them.
Not far away was the city of Manitou, where the buildings and houses and stores shimmered with light, and where some people wandered the streets while others slept comfortably in their beds. On a sidewalk deeper in the city, a group of six teenagers chatted with each other as they walked past the other groups of people.
Back to the dirt road that shimmered dully in the moonlight, a large, brown, black, and green-colored truck sped along. The bed of the back of the truck was covered with a black cap, and had one broken window. Stacks of small barrels were piled up inside it, and each was labeled with the biohazard symbol. Up in the front, the driver's seat was occupied by a thin, young man with reedy brown hair and wearing a Dallas Cowboys cap. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a white coat that had an I.D. card pinned to it...an Umbrella I.D. card.
The radio blasted Garth Brooks' 'The Thunder Rolls', and the driver was singing along to it...horribly. He was obviously tone deaf, but he kept on singing.
His radio and voice was blaring out so loud, in fact, that, as he hit a bump in the dirt road, he didn't hear the top column of biohazard barrels began to rattle, rolling towards the area of the broken window. One caught in it, but, between the force of the other barrels pushing against it and the fact that the driver had run over another bump released it from where it was stuck, and it fell out while the other barrels rolled against the window, crashing together and forming a barricade in the process.
As the truck continued to speed off down the road, towards some unknown Umbrella facility, the barrel hit the grassy area beside the road. It didn't crack, but instead went rolling down the hill. It passed the forest, and then the lake until it was on a direct path towards Manitou. The rocks and sticks in its path weakened its tin shell dramatically as it continued in its downhill journey.
The barrel rolled quickly into an alleyway at the edge of the city, where it crashed into the brick wall of an apartment building...and hard. That caused the shell of the barrel to crack, and, slowly, a blue liquid began to spew out, spraying the ground and forming a small stream that moved over and pooled in a pothole in the center of the alley. Even when the pothole was filled, the liquid continued to to flow into it, eventually overflowing and wetting the cement ground, then saturating the cracks in the pavement, where it drenched the soil.
A lone dog wandered into the alley, a Golden Retriever. Its fur was a dirty gold and gray, with bits of its body missing fur, others covered with dirt, and some other spots dotted with blood, as if it had been in a fight with another creature. Its deep black eyes swirled with thirst, and it shambled into the alleyway, his 'territory', and sniffed around for an area to do his business. In doing so, it caught the scent of the liquid in the pothole, and one of its ears twitched. It padded over to it, its paws becoming wet as it walked onto the drenched pavement. Slowly, it lowered its nose to the pothole so that its tip was about a centimeter away from it, then took a deep sniff. Curious and tempet, the dog took a testing lick, soaking his dried tongue and swallowing. The creature pulled back and sneezed, muzzle wrinkled in disgust, and trotted away. It would find another place to mark as its terriroty...as this substance, that liquid....it seemed strange.
And as more of the liquid poured into the area, and as all of it finally left the barrel, a viscious gas arose from the liquid, heading upwards and being sucked into the open fan-covered windows of the apartments, the same apartments of the building the barrel had crashed into, by the force of the fan pulling in the outside area, and the vapor from the liquid flooded into the houses, filling the lungs of those who breathed it in and clinging to their insides...
Twenty blocks away, six teenagers, the same group that was chatting and walking along before, turned into an arcade, completely unaware of what had happened.