Emma: I don't normally write my stories in a way that readers have to know what is going on in order to understand them. But because I'm crazy about Resident Evil, I wanted to contribute a story that did not interrupt the official storylines. I wanted a story that flows along with the official storyline, adding yet another dimension, another perspective to it. That's why in order to understand this story, a reader must have a clear idea on what has happened in the Resident Evil universe.

Yue Michiru Nagarisawa Miko: You're right that Kenny is important to Wesker. But it's Alfred that's trying to kill Kenny, and Alfred's not allied with Wesker in any way. All he cares about is the Ashford family name and his importance on Rockfort Island, not that the place is much of anything anymore. And yes, I've played Silent Hill and I own Silent Hill 2. I must say – I absolutely despise that series. It's too long of a story to fit on here.

Lost Survivor: Thanks! I didn't intend for that to be a cliffhanger, but I thought it was a suitable place to end the chapter. I think Kenny knew that Alfred was a nutcase long before this chapter. I mean, anyone who's played Code Veronica could probably tell from the moment he came on screen.

FlamestrikeIt gets waaaaay pissier, my friend, when you haven't had a decent, uninterrupted cigarette break in over twelve hours.

E-Z B : I know what you mean when the computer starts giving you problems. That's when you smash the damn thing, sell the parts and use the money to go to a new computer. I'm glad to see that you have a lot of ideas, and judging my the information overload on your new RE fic, I can tell that you care about your character to the point where you want us to get to know him, even though you presented him in a method that didn't work for me. But it's that same "passion" for your own creation that, with the right skills, will enable people to see Jake Cavanaugh the way you do.

Jojo10: Ok, big update this time. Hopefully there's enough that happens here to tie you over for awhile.

JanoDude, don't you know that anyone who doesn't have a name gets killed of in stories?! ;)

"H-how l-long more?" I asked the pilot, shivering violently. I sat crouched at the back of the plane sitting atop a crate with my knees pulled into my body, my arms wrapped tightly around them, hoping to provide some warmth. We were close to the Antarctica – the blinding blizzard visible from the windows and the giant ice blocks afloat in the water was a giveaway. My clothes were still damp from the showers that Rockfort Island had undergone, and in this kind of temperature, my damp clothes were no doubt about to freeze onto my body. I looked down at my clothes, calculating what kind of warmth they would provide against the freezing temperatures of the South Pole. I had no shoes, a pair of plaid pants and a white T-shirt – my typical sleepwear. Okay, so the next step was to come to grips with the fact that I was going to freeze to death.

"About another fifteen minutes," the pilot replied sadly from the navigator's seat, elbows resting on the console with his head in his hands. "Only fifteen minutes of our lives left to enjoy."

"Y-you're not gonna g-give up are y-you?" I asked.

He turned around to face me. "There should be an extra uniform and some boots in that trunk." He tipped his chin at a large trunk – one that looked surprisingly like the one I saw in Alfred's office – that sat beside the crate I rested on. "We keep extra uniforms just in case somebody needs it, for any reason. It's a long sleeved jumpsuit that looks like mine, so it should keep you at least a little warmer."

"T-thanks," I mumbled, not having any energy to come up with anything more enthusiastic.

"But, like I was saying earlier," he pilot continued, "I am giving up." He grunted as he lifted the heavy lid of the trunk and pulled out a jumpsuit. "What size are you?"

"Small, men's."

"Because our whole struggle for survival is a hopeless cause."

"How can you say that? We've made it so far!"

"Yeah, only to be frozen to death in the Antarctic. All of our efforts … wasted. Does it fit?"

"It's a little baggy, but I'll survive. And we have to find some way of surviving at our destination too! No doubt all the other planes that took off before us will be headed there too. So that way, we could probably find some way of sending out word for help. I think there might be an Australian base somewhere on that continent …"

"You're on your own, kid," the pilot suddenly snapped.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I don't think I can go on any longer."

"You have to! We'll make it out of this mess, I know it! I've got a friend, his name is Chris Redfield. I can contact him via the internet – assuming this Antarctic base has access to the web. All I need is the co-ordinates of the base on the screen."

The pilot cocked an eyebrow. "You're shitting me."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't, not when we're in a situation like this."

"Do you have a gun on you?"

"Yeah, a magnum revolver."

"We better keep it close by. There's no telling when the zombies in the cargo hold are going to wake up, go berserk, and smash through that door. I can't believe this …" He shook his head.

"Can't believe what?"

"You being able to get help. It's just too good to be true."

"Well it is true. If you can, just make sure you land this plane properly."

"That's not an option," he replied, "cause this thing's on autopilot. Hell, it's on auto-everything!" He wiggled the controls between stiff, cold hands. "I can't tell it to do anything!"

"God, Alfred's not planning to kill us by crashing this plane into the ice, is he?!"

"Your guess is as good as mine," the pilot said, shrugging.

"He can't be," I said, trying to reason against reason. "An explosion would alert any military outpost in the area, risking Umbrella's cover."

"But who's to say there's any military outpost here?"

"I can hope."

Somebody up there loves me, I'm convinced of it because about five minutes of debating on whether or not Alfred planned to crash the plane, we noticed the plane slowly descend from the sky, the ice blocks now looking a lot bigger. Going by the speedometer readings, we were slowing down too. I hoped this was a sign that we weren't gonna die in a crash – no we could just die from the cold instead.

The aircraft landed on a thick sheet of ice in the middle of a blinding blizzard. I couldn't tell where the plane was going, but the autopilot sure knew. By the time the wheels touched the ice, the pilot and I – come to think of it, I didn't even know his name yet – were tightly strapped in the chairs, our heads bobbing up and down with every little bump the plane ran over. The entire cockpit was shaking so badly that even the crate that I was sitting on before rattled along the ground.

We waited patiently for the aircraft to stop moving, assuming that it was parking somewhere. I'd never head of a plane that parked itself before, unless somebody was manually controlling it from the control tower – assuming there was one. There was no way of making out the surrounding terrain between the billions of snow flakes falling from the sky, whipping at the shell of the plane with the strong winds. I could vaguely make out the large rectangular shapes of the nearby building, although it was impossible to tell the purpose of the structure just by its shape and sheer size. When the craft finally came to a stop, the pilot and I unbuckled ourselves from the seats and headed for the doors – the very same doors that unfolded from the side of the plane into a set of stairs.

The pilot looked at me just before hitting the eject button for the stairs. "Do you think you're ready for this?"

"No, but I don't have much choice, do I?"

He slammed his palm on the blinking red button to the side of the door frame and the stairs opened. They had only opened just a crack when I could feel the fierce, biting air of the cold against my skin. I pulled my hands into the jumpsuit sleeves, wrapped my arms around my body and tucked my lower face into the collar, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the plane.

The wind was indescribably strong. The force it whipped the snowflakes around was so overwhelming that I could've sworn the snowflakes scratched my face as they flew past. I turned around to see the pilot, as pathetically protected against the cold as I was, trudging through the knee high snow just behind me. When we made eye contact, he pointed at the structure that was beginning to get clearer. It looked like some kind of aircraft hangar with a giant silo right beside it. I doubt the silo was used to store grain but a part of me hoped. The thought of food was making my stomach grumble.

"We've got to find a door!" I hollered. But upon hearing no response, I realized the howling wind must've drowned out our voices. So I just relied on hand motions, waving him towards me when I wanted him to follow, and he would throw snowballs to get my attention. I didn't find it funny but I could tell he enjoyed it.

Ten minutes later …

We found the door to the hangar and entered the building, using a ladder to climb onto a walkway that hung just above a fighter jet plane. My hands had a hard time holding on, due to the low temperature of the building, and the even lower temperature outside. We hadn't even been in the Antarctic for fifteen minutes and we were already cold as hell. In the coldest place on earth, I guess that's to be expected. I immediately found myself cursing at the architect of this building. I concluded that whoever put the plans down for this place was an utter moron. The walls of the hangar were concrete – or so I guessed from how well they stood against the force of the winds, no creaking, no bulging, nothing. Stone is not good for insulation. And the walkway that our feet clanked on was made obviously of metal, with patches of ice here and there. I slipped on a patch and nearly fell off the walkway as a result. I would've survived the two storey fall, but it would've hurt like a bitch. And plus, this wasn't the ideal place to get hurt.

The walkway led to a circular room. Well it wasn't exactly a room. The ceiling was over a hundred feet over our heads and from where we stood, I couldn't see the bottom. We were probably in the silo. We were standing on yet another walkway, one that ran around the perimeter of the room. There was a second walkway below ours, a ladder connecting the two. The lower one led to two doors.

"Let's get in there and see if we can find anyone," the pilot said pointing at the second set of doors at the farthest end of the second platform, right beside a flight of stairs heading down. "It should be warmer the deeper we go into the structure, instead of staying in this freezer of a building." I nodded in silent agreement and we both began heading in the general direction of the second platform.

Upon entering, I had to pinch my nose at the stench that erupted from the room. It had the sweet, sick stench of rotting … no … "They can't be here too," I said, backing towards the door in horror.

"What?" the pilot said, entering behind me. But I could tell he knew exactly what I was talking about when he suddenly gasped. "God, that's awful."

"I've gotten pretty used to the smell of zombies," I said turning around to face him, "and I think they're here too … AAAHH!!!"

I didn't notice the sloppy wet footsteps of an undead, sneaking from the shadows behind the door until it grabbed the pilot from behind, placing is diseased, rotting, gray hands on his shoulders and chomping its teeth down on his neck.

I reflexively shut my eyes, and just in time too, before a spray of blood splattered on my face. I clawed at my face with my finger tips, hoping that I didn't let it get into my eyes, nose or mouth. It was fresh blood, from an uninfected person, but in the brief contact with the zombie's teeth, I didn't know if it had contracted the virus or not.

The pilot's cry of fear and agony pierced my ears. I opened my eyes – big mistake. He was gushing blood from his wound. My whole body was covered by little blood droplets. But that wasn't what shocked me. It was him kicking his legs as he was being devoured, the horror in his eyes in realization that he was being eaten alive. It was the way his jaw was permanently locked in a big O, paralyzed that way partly from fear, partly from pain. It was the same look the woman on the plane gave me as she was being killed. And I knew what to do.

Two loud shots finished the job – one through the head of the pilot, and the other through the zombie. Within seconds, there were two bodies on the ground and one giant pool of blood as the zombie's own coagulated fluids mixed with the pilot's fresh ones.

There was another moan, this one from deeper in the room. For the first time, I actually noticed the contents of the room. There were bunk beds – one that sat on the opposite side of the room from where I stood, the foot ends of the beds facing me. I could see the edges of a few more around the corner, but I was sure as hell not going to go there.

As hungry as I was, my first priority was to find a computer where I could contact Chris. I would need access to a computer, and I left my Umbrella identification back at Rockfort. I searched the pilot's corpse for any identification. Fortunately, I didn't have to go very far in my search because the moment I patted the chest pocket, I could feel the rectangular shape of the id card inside its plastic casing and the beaded chain it was attached to. I slipped the card out of the pilot's pocket, stepped over the zombies rotting corpse with my fingers pinching my nose tightly, and exited the room, making sure that the door closed firmly behind me. I wasn't going to take any chances of those things coming after me.

I took the stairs leading down, just beside the doorway. There was always something scary about stairs that went down. It felt as though I was descending into the depths of hell. And to make things worse, the electricity wasn't running in this joint, making me walk down into darkness. My first instincts were to panic – after all, I was a piece of food with predators lurking at every corner. The darkness didn't do much to comfort me either.

So instead of going down, I decided to try my luck and go through the other set of doors just a few feet away to my right. It was a set of metallic double doors with handles that were terribly icy to the touch. I pulled one of them open with a grunt from myself and a heavy groan from the doors as if they didn't want to be opened. I closed them behind me and took a second to catch my breath. The room was dark in here too, but it wasn't completely pitch black. I listened closely for any sounds of life – good or bad. There were shuffling footsteps, of zombies, no doubt. After a few more seconds, my nose began picking up their stench, confirming my initial impressions.

How was it that they were here too? Was every Umbrella base just a zombie factory? There was no way they could've kept the T-Virus here too, was there? Some of the Rockfort survivors must've had the virus in them and spread it upon arriving at this facility. How could it be that I was not yet infected? Given the rate of infection, you'd think it was airborne or something. But no, that's not how the virus is spread. While it was true that one could contract the virus by breathing it in, it only remained airborne for a short amount of time. It no longer becomes contractible by breathing after the oxygen in the air has done something to it – I forgot how it goes. So after that, the T-Virus relies on its hosts to spread the virus, destroying all senses of its subject except for the primitive carnivorous craving. So when the host takes a bite into an uninfected, the virus spreads from the saliva deposited into the wound.

That was just my theory, based on what Chris discussed with me. He used a lot of big scientific words and quite frankly, a lot of it bored me. It's kinda shocking too, cause I always thought Chris was a little on the dumb side. But don't tell him I said that. Anyway, I should have paid more attention because here I was again, in a life a death struggle with ravenous zombies and other freak creations that defied nature.

You're probably wondering how that knowledge about the T-Virus would have protected me. Well it wouldn't. It's not like I would've run up to the zombies and been all like – "Lay thy weapons down for I have discovered how thouest work!" But at least I would've had a clearer idea of what was going on. Really, to quote one of my favorite doctors, Dr. George Hamilton, it's "not knowing what lies ahead" that's scary, just because I didn't clearly understand what was going on at present to begin with. I just had theories. I really, REALLY should have paid more attention on Chris.

Anyway, I'm talking too much. So I could hear the zombie footsteps but they seemed quite distant. Understanding that I could hear nothing close to me, I decided to stay rooted to the spot for another few moments while my eyes took the time to adjust to the darkness. And then the outline of the new room became clear. This was a giant room, like the silo, had a platform running along its perimeters. The bottom of the room was actually one level below, where I guessed the zombies were. Along this … balcony … that I was standing on, there were three doors to go to - one to the left wall of the room, and two to the right. I walked to the left one first, opening it slowly to check out what was in there. And you know what? There was nothing in there. I didn't feel comfortable going through the darkness like that – I needed to find a flashlight or something.

But my curiosity had the better of me at the moment, so I decided I'd see where the other two doors led first, then I'd go on my search for a flashlight. Running along the balcony to the opposite end of the room, I tried the first door to the right – and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a zombie smash against some kind of metallic cage beside me. I quickly pointed the magnum in the direction and waited for the cage to give way. There was no telling in this kind of lighting exactly what it was that kept the zombie confined, but a cage is the only thing I could think of that it sounded like. It battered the metal fencing with its decaying fists. It rattled under the creature's strength, but I felt confident that it wouldn't give.

I headed farther into the room, feeling my way around, bumping into all sorts of corners. God, how many tables did this place have? My hand brushed up against something cold and metallic. Instinctively, my body reacted, sending a cold chill up my spine. But when I got my nerves back together and felt it, hoping it was some kind of weapon, I ran my hand up and down the object to get a feel of its shape. I felt like a metal bar or something, quite heavy and when I shook it, it felt like there was something heavy inside. Batteries? The bar widened at one end … could it have been just what I was looking for?

I twisted the end of the bar and to my luck, the "bar" formed a pool of light against the wall. For the second time since entering that room, my heart leapt – this time with joy! I could see! It was so nice to be able to see again after spending all this time in darkness. I could almost kiss the granite walls … but I didn't. Who knows if the virus clung to the walls too? God, wouldn't that be hilarious. "Teen escapes virus against odds, but succumbs by kissing a wall!"

I turned around with the flashlight in hand and screamed in horror when I saw two pairs of pupil-less eyes, set deep in smelly, rotting faces coming straight for me. The zombie in front had its hands fully outstretched and was within a few inches of grasping me. I scolded myself mentally for being too wrapped up in my excitement to even notice I was being ambushed.

Screaming out of fear and adrenaline, I shot at the creatures, by my aiming was off. I successfully blew off a right arm to the zombie in front, and another bullet that ripped off the lower portion of its left leg. It fell to the ground and stopped moving, giving me enough time to gather my senses and execute the second one behind it quickly and efficiently.

I stepped forward, over the body of the first creature – big mistake. It grabbed my foot with insane reflexes, one that I would never expect from a rotting corpse, and pulled its head towards my leg, hoping for a delicious bite. I never jumped so fast in my life. With my right leg in its grasp, I brought my left leg into the air and came down with a vicious stomp upon its skull with my newly booted feet. There was a wet sound and a wet splash. Then something cold and moist slapped against my cheek. My stomach turned as I wiped the cold goo from my face with my sleeve. I shone the flashlight downwards to see the zombies head, its teeth holding onto the tip of my boot with a death grip, the back of its decaying head cracked open, leaking out black shit all over the floor. My stomach turned again. It was time to leave.

The second door on the right led to a narrow passageway. To the left was a room that contained the electric generator for the facility where with a few button pushes and the moving of a lever, I was able to restore electricity to the joint. Thinking back, I don't think I set the lever properly because I don't remember hearing a click, a sure signal that it was locked on "ON". And that would work to my disadvantage later on. I went to the end of the corridor where there was an elevator that only brought me down one level. During the short ride down, my I panicked, realizing that I was heading down deeper underground in one of Umbrella's mysterious labs. I just had to find a computer or a phone, and Chris would do the rest.

But did I find myself in a lab? No … I was in some weird GARDEN!! It looked as if it had been ripped straight out of a child's storybook. There was a little manmade river that ran through the courtyard, and a pair of merry-go-round horses. The walls were sky blue with fluffy clouds painted towards the ceiling. I was so awestruck with confusion that I could hardly move. What the hell would a room like this be doing in an underground laboratory? What kind of crazies sat on top of the Umbrella hierarchy?! What the hell kind of people bought and owned ME?!! Shaking my head, I went into a grand set of doors set into the right wall. I had to get away from here or else I knew I'd be driven to insanity with confusion.

But this new room wasn't any easier to comprehend. It wasn't so much a room as it was a grand hall. Some rich people must live down here. I was sure of it. The floors were made of marble stone. There was a red carpet that ran from the doorway where I stood, down the room, and up a set of stairs that separated into two flights, one leading to the left, the other to the right. The upper level of this hall was made up of a platform on the opposite end where the stairs led to, and a balcony.

Just above the landing before the staircase split off into separate flights, a portrait of the Ashford family hung proudly on the walls. I didn't recognize anyone in the painting, except the head honcho of Rockfort, Alfred Ashford. He looked like a girl when he was younger too. I found myself smiling at that fact, trying hard to stifle a laugh. I swear, if it weren't for his shorter hair, he would be indistinguishable from his sister. There were three strategically place grooves in the portrait, as if they were meant for something to be fitted in. Why would anyone want to fit something into the painting? Unless … its purpose was more than just a portrait …

That realization compelled me to knock on the art piece. It vibrated. Okay. I knocked on the wall beside the picture. No vibration. There was space behind this picture – an emergency exit, perhaps? I charged against the portrait but it refused to budge, instead sending sharp pains up and down my shoulder. I rubbed it, tears of pain wetting my eyes and I scowled at the three faces that looked back down condescendingly at me.

My eyes caught sight of a little card reader right beside the portrait. The pilot's card! It was in my pocket. I whipped it out from its plastic casing and slid it down the reading slot. There was a low pitched beep and a woman's computerized voice spoke from the thing.

"Unable to grant access."

"Fuck!"

"Access restricted to Sr. Researcher rank, General rank, and higher. State your Umbrella Corporation identification number."

Holy shit! The thing talked. It wanted me to respond! I couldn't see any visible microphones to talk into. So I just cleared my throat and spoke as loudly as I could.

"Rockfort-16320."

"Access granted. Welcome, Kenneth Feng, to the Umbrella Corporation Antarctic Transport Terminal Establishment." The portrait shifted in its place, releasing a shower of debris down on me. It revealed a metallic passageway deeper into the building. How in the world was I able to gain access? Did the computer not say that access was only given to ranks above "General" and the senior researchers? I wasn't part of the scientific division and I definitely wasn't above "General" in the military division unless …

"Alfred!" I found myself exclaiming out loud. Just earlier last light he was talking to me about a promotion, and how I should consider one. No wonder he was so insistent on me accepting his offer. He'd already upgraded me in Umbrella's ranks. For once, he actually did something good for me.

I stepped through into the passageway as the portrait slid back into place, cutting off my exit. Before going farther into the room, I tried the door to my right.

"YES!!" I shouted out loud, pulling a fist towards my body. It was a computer room – probably where the scientists did their research. They were lined up along two sides of the room. The farthest wall harbored a short flight of stairs that led up to a door, but I had no interest in seeing where that path would've taken me. I had found what I was looking for this whole time!

I hopped into a chair at one of the computers. It was already on, and all I had to do was wriggle the mouse to remove the screensaver. While waiting for the desktop to load, I looked around the room and caught sight of a phone. And then I began to think. Wouldn't it be faster to phone Chris instead of emailing him? After all, his cell number was saved on the phone he gave me and I'd dialed it so many times that I had the bloody thing memorized.

I reached for the phone and brought the receiver to my ear. I let out a sigh of relief when I heard a dial tone. I phoned Chris from Rockfort my first day on the island, so he was most likely able to receive long distance phone calls. My heart began beating faster, as the realization dawned on me – rescue was only a phone call away.

Remembering the international code, dialing 1 and then his cell number, I held the receiver to my ear and waited.

Ring …

And I continued waiting. I kept in touch with Chris through email during my time in Rockfort, but I never phoned. Knowing the wackos that made up Umbrella's higher end of the corporation's hierarchy, I wouldn't have put it past them to rig phone lines.

Ring …

Somebody please just pick up! If Chris didn't pick up because he didn't recognize the number, and I died because of that, I vowed that I would haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. "Chris, I swear if you don't fucking pick up …"

"Redfield here."

"Chris!"

"Who is this … shit, KENNY?!"

"Yes, it's me!" My mouth suddenly became very dry, as if all the moisture in my body headed straight for me eyes. Tears began running down my face – tears of relief – gathering at my chin and dripping onto the desk.. "I thought you wouldn't pick up."

"Are you okay?!" he asked with urgency in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." I replied, taking a breath. "But I won't be for long. You have to get over here, I'm trapped."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the Antarctic, in one of Umbrella's secret establishments."

"What?!"

"I'm not kidding you, Chris. I'm here, zombies are all over the goddamn place looking for a warm meal, and I'm fucking cold!"

"Look, buddy," he said, "I know you've been through a lot but I'm still gonna need you to hang on for me, alright? I'm just going to pick up Claire right now. And right after that, I'm coming right for you. You got it?"

"Claire, she's …"

"She emailed her co-ordinates to Leon," Chris interrupted, "and he's relayed that information to me. I know exactly where she is."

"The place is called Rockfort Island," I continued. "There is a military training facility, a prison, and some underground labs on that island and God knows what kind of creatures running all over the place. Be careful there. That's where the infection started, and its spread over here. There's a freak you gotta watch out for – a real girly man named Alfred Ashford with a fuckin hunting rifle, and …"

"Thanks for the heads-up, kiddo," he said, cutting me off. "But I gotta let you go. I've got your co-ordinates saved onto my phone and I promise you, after I get Claire, I'm coming straight to the Antarctic base for you. I just need you to hold on for a couple more hours, okay?!"

Another couple of hours? I suppose I could lock myself in this room and not move … shoot every single zombie that comes my way. I'd already used up almost half of the ammunition Alfred gave me, but if I used the rest sparingly, perhaps …

"Did you hear me, Kenny?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"But Chris, you also have to watch out for Wesker! He's alive and he's gotten stronger … its almost like he's not human. Chris?" The walls of the vibrated, as if an explosion occurred somewhere far away. Suddenly, the lights went out. The jolt must've loosened the generator's lever, shutting it off. "Chris! Are you there?!" I suddenly found myself crying out loud into the phone in complete darkness. But the line was dead. "Chris?!" No breathing, no static, nothing …

I forced down the urge to panic, forcibly regulating my breathing as I brought my knees to my body while still sitting on the swivel seat. I reached around blindly in the darkness for the flashlight. Twisting the bottom, a small pool of orange light once again erupted from the wider end where the bulb was embedded.

The emergency call had been made. Help was on its way. But if something happened to Chris on Rockfort, or on his way over here, there was no way for me to know. I would be subjected to death in this frozen prison and I would never know until it was too late. I guess there was always the magnum that could help ease my suffering … I tried not to think about it. In the darkness, countless floors underground where no natural light reached, armed only with a flashlight to preserve my sanity in the abyss, there was nothing more I could do but wait. I don't remember how long it had been before I cried myself to sleep.

Author's Note: A character by the name of George Hamilton was referred to in this chapter. For the readers that are unaware, George Hamilton is a character in Resident Evil Outbreak. It is not a name I've made up. The only element of this story that isn't officially part of the Resident Evil games is the main character, Kenneth, and random, nameless civilians I've decided to include in the story.