I remember feeling very cold. Given the events of the past few months, I was getting used to being knocked unconscious and right now, I could tell that this was one of those times. The blackness of unconsciousness was very comforting … hold on a second. If I was actually awake enough to realize I was unconscious then … I couldn't have been. Oh … I was sleeping. The last three months of training had left me more sleep deprived than I had thought. Nonetheless, it was a pretty good feeling, except for the fact that I was freezing my ass off.

I opened by eyes expecting to see light, but the room I lay it was pretty dim, with only a table lamp to give the entire place a gentle, warming glow. I felt the white shirt on my chest. They were soaked right through. I looked down at my boxers and they were wet too. No, I didn't piss myself.

As I took in my surroundings, I couldn't help but notice how lavish this place was. It looked like the office of some bigwig in a company. Then I noticed I was sitting upright in a large leather swivel chair that practically engulfed my entire body. In front of my was a fine lacquered oak work table with a typewriter on the right, and a rather large looking trunk just beside me on the floor to my left.

"Thank goodness you're awake," someone said. I nearly jumped out of my skin in surprise, not expecting anyone to be there.

"Admiral Ashford," I called in surprise. He was standing just beyond the desk staring at me intently, the crystal blue color of his eyes making his glare all the more intimidating. How long had he been standing there staring at me? And why hadn't I noticed him before? The guy still gave me the creeps. "What are you doing here?"

"I have to protect my island," he replied simply, shouldering a wicked looking sniper gun that was as along as I was tall.

"A…against what?" I knew it was a stupid question since the island was probably teeming with zombies … and Captain Wesker. Perhaps I should mention Captain Wesker to Alfred Ashford. Wesker used to work for Umbrella, and since he was the one responsible for the attack on Rockfort and Ashford was the head honcho of this place, perhaps I could gain a useful ally – creepy, but useful.

"There are creatures out there, Kenny," Alfred replied, suddenly emphasizing the drama in his voice. It was so corny I nearly broke out in laughter, but I knew better, especially in front of a crazed man like this. Who did he think he was? Some noble warrior sworn to protect this piece of shit island? "There are creatures far beyond what you could ever imagine."

I was tempted to roll my eyes. Wasn't I recruited into Umbrella's ranks because I survived Raccoon City?! Any fool at the Rockfort facility would know what I went through, and what to expect. Then again, Alfred Ashford was pretty damn self absorbed, perhaps a little too much so to recognize that blatant fact. "What are we going to do?" I asked, playing along with his ridiculous charade.

"Kill them," he said, loading his sniper rifle. He cocked his chin at the large trunk beside me. "I discovered some weapons in that trunk. Take your pick and remember to stock up on ammo."

I opened up the heavy lid, grunting with surprise at its weight. Alfred wasn't joking! There was a huge stockpile of weapons ranging from a serrated hunting knife, to a grenade launcher. I thought about taking the launcher, but it would definitely weigh me down by itself, let alone its ammo. Remembering the magnum I stole off the prisoner earlier, I patted my pockets and found it. The thing was so heavy I was practically pulling my pants down as I stood up to open the trunk. Extracting the gun from my pocket, I eyed it briefly, saying, "I think this should be enough for me. Any magnum rounds in this trunk?"

"I was hoping to find one," Alfred said, "that's why I picked up as much ammunition I could find. But you can keep this." He laid a shiny box of bullets on the desk, about a foot long and half as wide. "They should be compatible with your weapon."

"Thanks," I said, opening up the roulette, placing the rounds in.

There was a sudden bang of a door, like someone had just entered a room. Not this one, thankfully. It surprised Alfred and I, both of us looking to the door, out combative senses on full alert.

"Someone's in the hall," he whispered.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"You're in my office, in the mansion located right beside the military training facility." I suddenly felt a little honored to be in this room. This was the Ashford mansion, not to be confused with their mysterious palace at the highest point on the island. Nobody except the highest officials on the island and special guests were allowed to enter its halls. "I'm going to check it out and I want you to stay here. Shoot anyone that tries to enter this room."

"Yes, sir," I said, gripping the magnum with both hands. There was a fine redwood door just next to the desk that Alfred used to exit the room, leaving my behind clutching perhaps the deadliest handgun man ever made.

He was sure to close the door quietly and the room was enveloped in a deathly silence too quickly. I heard his footsteps outside the door, heavy at first, gradually fading away as he got farther from the door. I don't like to admit it now, I but was sincerely hoping he was okay. I felt safe with the wielder of that sniper gun on my side. If Alfred got killed, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it off the island with just a magnum alone.

Back in Raccoon City, these strange creatures with no skin and exposed brains lurked the city streets. They were made of pure muscle from what I could tell, sheets of the stuff covering whatever internal organs they had. A characteristic feature of these creatures was an impossibly long tongue that lashed viciously at victims, both unsuspecting and aware. A large razor claw about half as long as their own bodies were attached to each of their "hands" that they used to impale potential food with before devouring them. Thankfully, I only encountered one of such creatures when I was in a police car with Billy at wheel. The thing was so intent on getting us that it used its claw to peel apart the roof of the vehicle with horrifying ease. Billy crashed the car into a lamppost or something, killing the thing. To think a car crash saved my life …

That's how fucked up things get when Umbrella has a disaster. And then I find out later that Raccoon City was so screwed they had to nuke the place completely. I shuddered when I began considering what might happen to this place. All I wanted was to get out of here. I made myself a promise at that moment, in the middle of that room, trapped on a virus infested island – I was going to drop all this bullshit. I was going to quit Umbrella and completely remove myself from everything. I'd sacrificed enough for that company, and Chris, along with the rest of the Umbrella resistance members. As much as I care about Claire, Leon, Chris, Jill and Barry, their cause just wasn't worth being in constant danger. They seemed to be taking their sweet time taking Umbrella out anyway! I know it sounds selfish now, but hey, you're not the one with a creepy boss who looks at you while you sleep as your only ally on an island with sick creatures that could eat you faster than you can shoot.

Thump … My mind had wandered but the resounding echo pulled it back into reality. I still can't believe that this was my reality. Someone was approaching the door. The footsteps weren't as heavy as Alfred's … which meant it could've been someone else … like Wesker!! I suddenly jumped off the nice chair that I still had my ass planted in and crept around the door, waiting patiently for the new intruder to open it and take a bullet right between the eyes. I clutched the gun with such a death grip, I wonder how I wasn't able to pull the trigger. My heart pounded in my chest, and the butterflies in my stomach were flying around chaotically.

The door opened with a light click and I aimed my gun with expert timing, right at the intruder's forehead. That was when I also noticed the barrel of a handgun aimed at my own. It wasn't Wesker, thankfully, or I would've been dead by now. This survivor was a girl with light brown hair and these gentle hazel eyes, set in stone with an angry look.

"Claire!"

"Kenny?"

There was another click, one signaling the safety of both guns going back on. "You're alive!" I cried, wrapping my arms tightly around her waist, unexpectedly lifting her off the ground.

"Oh … Jesus …" she cried, biting her lower lip in pain. "You got strong …"

"Sorry," I said, setting back onto the ground. "I've been training for the past three months." I may have been a few inches shorter than her, but I guess I must've definitely improved strength wise.

"What are you doing at an Umbrella Facility?" she asked curiously.

"It's a long story," I replied, "but before I explain anything, I just want to tell you how sorry I am."

She furrowed her brows, giving me a confused look. "I don't understand."

"I told you that Chris was in Paris, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"I was misinformed. Turns out the day I told you, after we escaped Raccoon City, he hadn't left yet. I sent you to Umbrella headquarters without a goal …"

"It doesn't matter now, Kenny," she said, rubbing her hand on my shoulder. "What matters to me is that he's all right. But I'd also like to know what you're doing on Umbrella property."

I sighed, predicting the look on her face, but I didn't want to hide this from anyone anymore. "I'm on a covert mission," I said sheepishly.

Claire stifled a giggle. "I'm sorry," she said blinking. "You're on a what mission?"

"I'm training as an Umbrella Agent to get the inside scoop on the company. It was convenient actually, because Umbrella wanted me for something called the Shadow Technology, which is something I have in me, apparently."

"Whatever they want, it can't be good if it's in their hands. What is this technology you're talking about?"

"I've been in the dark about it myself, but I'm thinking they're going to use it and combine it with their bioweapons or something. I really don't know, it's just a guess."

"But you're fifteen years old! Isn't it against the law to recruit someone under eighteen?"

"And you're suggesting to me that Umbrella plays by the rules?"

"Good point."

"Anyway, I've been relaying information to your brother since I started working here, and he's been hoping that something useful has come up. Sofar, nothing."

"I can't believe him," Claire said, putting her hands on her hips. "How could Chris let you do that? It's dangerous!"

"Yeah but I was the one who insisted. And frankly, when I broke the news to him, he was too damn far away to do anything about it."

"So you're in constant contact with him then."

"Yeah but the cell phone he gave me ran out of batteries awhile ago, so now we contact each other through email."

"He didn't even give me his email!"

"Chris was trying to keep his operations under wraps, even if it meant hiding the truth from you. Claire, you don't understand how badly he didn't want you involved in this mess."

"Too late now," Claire said. "Is there anything useful in this room?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well in Raccoon City," she explained, "the way out of the city was a series of secret tunnels leading from the police station, to the sewer, and to an underground Umbrella facility." I pointed to the trunk that I snooped through earlier, stocked full with ammunition. Shit, Alfred!

"Claire, on your way up here, did you happen to run into anybody?"

She snorted in response. "A rather interesting individual, yes."

"Blond hair, blue eyes?"
She nodded.

"Girly voice?"

Another nod. "Who is that?" she asked.

"His name is Alfred Ashford," I replied. "He's the bigwig of this island."

Claire rolled her eyes. "For a company as paranoid of being discovered as Umbrella, I'm surprised they would appoint a nutcase to this training facility, especially after going through the trouble of building it on some remote island."

"What did he do to you?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Kill me."

"What?! You'd think he would be trying to round up all the survivors to help escape this viral hellhole!"

"Kenny, you know him better than me and I would never assume he'd do something as logical as that." Claire made her way over to the trunk and lifted the lid, grunting with the same amount of effort I did. She went down on one knee and dug her hands straight into the box, rummaging around inside for a bigger, badder weapon than the handgun she brought in, now snug on the fine rug that decorated the floor. "The guy aimed his laser guided hunting rifle at my head and tried to blow it off – he nearly succeeded too."

"You're kidding!" I said, eyes wide with surprise whereas Claire gave me the details nonchalantly. Her head emerged from the trunk and in her arms, she carried a wicked looking automatic crossbow, one that could shoot three barbed arrows at once.

"I'm not. But anyway, that freak is gone – to where, I don't know. But all that matters is that he isn't here … hey get a load of that …" Claire pointed beside the entrance door to where the room extended farther.

"What is it?" I went to join her by her side to get a good view at the hall. It didn't extend very much farther back, only by a couple of feet. But at the end was a wooden door with an elaborate gold plate on it. There was a pair of indents on the surface of the gold plate shaped like a certain kind of gun.

"The Lugers …" Claire whispered in realization.

"What?"

"I saw a pair of guns just now, in a mini-museum room downstairs. They were embedded in the wall in a similar fashion that these indentations indicate."

"Then let's go get them!" I cried, heading for the entrance door.

Claire put a hand up to stop me. "When I took them out of the wall, the little chamber they were contained in closed off and the room became superheated, like an oven almost. It's another one of those nasty traps Umbrella's set up in to protect themselves against internal thieves."

"AAAIEEE!!!" came a scream from somewhere deep inside the mansion. "Help me!!"

"That sounds like Steve!" Claire cried, bringing her hand to her mouth. "We have to help him!"

"Steve? That stupid prick of a prisoner?"

"How do you know him?"

"We got off on a bad foot. Let him die, I say," I joked. But Claire didn't seem to appreciate it, as indicated by her disapproving frown.

"It sounded like it came from downstairs," she said. "Let's go!"

The two of us dashed out the office with amazing speed, feeling the rush of air sweep our faces and hair. Despite the cooling effect it had on our bodies, the adrenaline pumping through our veins kept us on top of things, our reflexes sharp. We were greeted on the stair landing by a small group of zombies.

Claire prepared her crossbow but the thing was too big and bulky to operate smoothly. I instinctively pointed the magnum at the first creature's forehead and pulled the trigger. A small spray of blood a brains shot out like a little fountain from the back of the zombie's head as it crashed to the ground with a sickening, wet thud. I turned to my right to see Claire gawking at me, surprised by the fluidity of my actions.

I shrugged in response. "Training …"

"You weren't kidding."

A second zombie – this one was dressed in a gore-stained army camouflaged jacket that was ripped in several places – grabbed for Claire's ankles, who screamed in protest. There was a blood-stained pouch of the shirt bulging out at the abdominal area. Judging by the amount of blood, free flowing and crusted, and the number of flies surrounding the area, I could only guess that it was produced by a wound in that area, allowing rotting internal organs to spill through. It was amazing that even though their digestive systems had rot to hell, the virus was powerful enough to drive the primal desire for fresh meat. Deciding to conserve some ammunition, she kicked at the monster's head with one swift motion, severing the rotten skull from its body.

The final zombie lurched forward, releasing a disgusting concoction of acids from its stomach. I dodged just in time, but a few drops of the vile stuff had made contact with my skin, and it was beginning to burn. The acid ate mercilessly through the first few layers of skin as I hoped and prayed to anybody listening that it wasn't enough to burn a hole right through my arm. While praying, I aimed the magnum at the zombie's head again, pulling the trigger. Through the pain I was suffering, I felt some form of pleasure, watching its rotting, peeling face get blown into decaying chunks.

By the time we were finished with the zombies, blood had been splattered all over the walls and floor, some even down the stairs. The headless corpses of the zombies lay twitching on the ground, their blood deepening the color of the carpet.

"Steve!" Claire cried out, urging him to cry out again. But there was no response.

"Did the zombies get to him?" I asked, but bit my lip upon realizing that Claire may not have wanted to even consider the possibility. I thought that maybe she had a thing for this asshole of a prisoner, but I wasn't sure. After contemplating the thought for a second, I decided it would be better if I just tended to my wound I received from the puking zombie.

Claire ran to the back of the entrance hall, where there was a door. I ran to the west door and opened it up. Immediately, the stench of feces assaulted my senses. Knowing my recent luck, I had opened the door to a washroom. A quick glance around the room and I concluded, a little hastily, that Steve was not in there, and there was no way I was going in to look.

"Kenny!" Claire suddenly screamed from the adjacent hall.

"What?!" I called back.

"Help me!!" Steve's voice echoed through the hall. It sounded much weaker this time. But fortunately, since we were closer to the source, Claire was able to more accurately determine the direction from which it came. I ran out of the bathroom and joined her by the doorway of the north wall at the back of the entrance hall. She pointed down the passage to the large double doors at the end.

"Do you think …" I asked gravely.

She nodded silently. "I think he went for the Lugers. Let's go get him outta there!!"