Raccoon City – 26 September 1998. 0:01
Huff, huff, huff, huff…Almost…There…
Jamie Orth was so close to salvation he could taste it.
It was barely ten minutes ago he was ready to take another way out. He shuddered at the thought of it: The cold, steel barrel pressed against his temple. He would've done it, too.
Damned morons!
Those morons – The other survivors – didn't let him do it. Said he wasn't worth a bullet, said they'd need every last one to get out of the city alive. They wrestled the gun out of his hands, threw him to the floor and left him. Alone. Unarmed. In a city full of zombies.
And called him a coward.
But I got the last laugh! Haha!
After they'd gone, leaving him in the gutter howling like a spoiled child, it happened. He had seen it. A rescue helicopter.
It swooped low overhead, singing to him through a tornado of dirt it left in its wake. A block over, it descended. Landed. And was now out of view. Orth could still hear the thump-thump of the helicopter's rotors – It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
He was almost there.
"Are you alone?" The rescuers would ask when he got there.
"Yes." Orth would lie. He wouldn't tell them about the group he had almost led to death, nor of the pregnant woman he had locked in an apartment block toilet because she was slowing them down. Why should he? They humiliated him, made fun and they didn't listen! If they'd listened, he could've saved them all!
Fuck 'em.
He was there. He had made it.
He burst into the park with time enough to see the helicopter take off.
"Hey!" He screeched, waving frantically. "Over here!"
But the big ol' rescue bird didn't listen – She passed right over him, still singing her sweet song.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
What the fuck?
Orth's heart sank as he watched it go. He began to cry again, crumpling to his knees as--
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
He turned back towards the landing site and what met his eyes made his heart soar: Nine clad soldiers, visibly armed with rifles, were stood in formation, dispatching a few unfortunate zombies that dared too near. A rescue party!
"Hey!" Yelled Orth. "Hey! I'm alive! I'm alive!"
At the time his words were spoken, they were accurate. Several assault rifle bursts, however, forced immediate change in the circumstances.
Jamie Orth was dead before he hit the ground.
"Alright, who did that?" It was the voice of Commander Shiro Xavier, leader of the Umbrella Strike Squad, though somewhat muffled through the gasmask he wore.
Gunfire ceased. His words were met with innocent silence from the unit. Someone coughed.
"He seemed very threatening at the time, sir." Owned up the also-muffled voice of Staff Sergeant Jack Raven. He had been the shooter.
There were sniggers from the unit. Shiro himself smirked.
"Fair enough," Said Shiro dismissively. "Okay, gentlemen, we all know what we're doing, so let's get to it. Red Team, on me."
Four individuals detached themselves from the group. Three of them were tall, broad individuals who conveyed a very quiet air of professionalism with their every gesture – The fourth was smaller, narrower and generally clumsier. From the way the man's rifle sagged in his arms, one would deduce he had never held a weapon. This was Jake Banin.
"Come along, Mister Banin." Prompted Shiro, failing to mask the amusement in his voice.
Jake Banin didn't have a rank – He was a thirty-four year-old Umbrella analyst who was unlucky enough to have been attached to Shiro's unit as an inspector when it was called up for duty. Commander Xavier tried unsuccessfully to ditch him, but finally lost to Banin's argument that he could conduct research for his report while in the field when the decision was made from higher up.
Shiro hated politics.
But he made the most of it, and insisted that Mister Banin be battle ready if were to accompany the unit, as an idle soldier is a dead soldier.
The entire unit knew the guy didn't have a chance – They also knew that was exactly what Shiro was counting on. And they were behind him one-hundred-percent.
With his legs cramping under the weight of everything he was carrying, Banin pathetically attempted to step up the pace, trailing behind the three real soldiers with a somewhat uneven stride.
Up ahead Shiro, MP5 sub-machine-gun in one hand and Global "Tracking" Satellite (GTS) in the other, lead the way towards Red Team's first objective.
The Umbrella Strike Squad, or U.S.S., had actually been inserted with two priority objectives: The first was what the U.S.S. commonly referred to as an 'Assassination Run'. A process whereby the unit was instructed to facilitate the untimely deaths of several men and women – Deaths that would prove extremely beneficial to the Corporation. This sort of mission was nothing surprising – Hell, most of the U.S.S. accepted that they were merely glorified killers. What mattered was how well Umbrella paid. Compared to other establishments – The US Government for example – they were earning top dollar.
The other objective was less common.
Shiro's Sub-Commander, Xander Darovich, had been charged with the responsibility of securing the second objective – Quite literally. U.S.S' second priority was laying their hands on a sample of the G-Virus.
All in the U.S.S. had encountered the T-Virus and it's devastation at some point or another. Cleaning up facility spills was a regular job – An easy one, too, comparatively. They would be the first to admit that dealing with the already-dead was disturbing to begin with, but once you got over the shock factor it was quite a walk in the park. Until today, no one had heard of the G-Virus.
This second objective was a late-comer – It had been radioed in while the unit was in transit towards the city. The only information they were given was that an informant in the underground laboratories had contacted H.Q. offering a sample in exchange for safe passage out of the city. H.Q. accepted.
Shiro split the team up in mid-flight and laid out the plans: He would take half the unit himself for the 'Assassination Run' while Xander took the other half to the underground labs and procured the sample. Both teams would then rendezvous upon completion and exfil together.
When the Commander relayed this change of plan back to H.Q., they objected – They wanted Shiro after the G-Virus. He could only assume his reputation for getting things done had been tossed around a boardroom somewhere. But it was tough shit – He had his own reasons for wanting the Assassination Run to himself.
Anyway, the opinions of executives didn't matter two-shits when they were stood right in front of you, never mind hundreds of miles away.
"No," He had said. "Going forward as previously stated. Xavier out."
Now trekking through the most dangerous city in the entire world, Shiro's mind was focused on completion of the task. He was, after all, a professional.
Not far from where they had landed, members of Blue Team were having a far more eventful time.
"YOU'LL NEVAH TAKE ME ALIVE, MOTHA FUCKAS!"
BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA
The team had come up upon the Raccoon Police Department – A deceiving building that harboured the quickest route to the underground laboratories – Only to find its main doors feebly guarded by a crazed cop with an itchy trigger finger and an M60.
Everyone had hit the dirt when the first shot scorched the air. Staff Sergeant Owen "The Baron" Kennedy was sat with his back against a conveniently placed police squad car that had seen better days. He couldn't see anyone else.
"Xan here. Blue Team, sit-rep." The voice of Sub-Commander Xander Darovich burst over the radio network.
"Owen here." Replied Kennedy, his Southern drawl steady as a rock. "Pinned down, can't get a shot."
"Logan here." Came the voice of Master Sergeant Logan "Apollo" Alexander. "I'm with Lex – She's been hit. Repeat, Lex has been hit."
Goddamn newbie Kennedy thought vindictively. He hated them – They always fucked up somehow. He couldn't help hoping it was a headshot.
Lex Starfire was indeed a newcomer to the unit. Like everybody else, she was a UBCS veteran who had been scouted for Special Operations. Unlike everybody else, she was female: The first in U.S.S.
The heavy-machine-gun was still firing infrequently. The guy wasn't totally stupid – He was firing bursts here and there to keep everyone's head down, still shouting to whoever would listen. If the thing was belt-fed, it could go on all day--
Silence. It stopped.
Kennedy peered over the squad car's bonnet. The body of the demented cop slipped from Xander Darovich's bloodied knife. It was rather more lifeless than it had been moments ago.
"Area secured." Xander instructed. "Move up."
"Veterans," Kennedy grinned. "Gotta love 'em."
Far beneath Raccoon City, a single gunshot echoed through one of the most technologically advanced laboratories in the world. It was the sound of Doctor Ivan Aleksandrev Kerensky pulling the plug on one of his latest experiments.
He had been stuck in the subterranean levels for almost a full day and had defaulted to his natural self: Ivan the Curious.
When the labs had been secured, he had found escape impossible – Only the right cardkey on the outside reader would shift the seal. Locked in with no company but the reanimated remains of his former co-workers, he improvised ways to keep himself busy.
Currently, he had just completed observing the effects of small-arms trauma on the infected mobility. Everything he did he recorded, in some fashion or another – Mostly in his work diary that was clearly set out to receive such results.
Now, the experiment was…Aha…terminated.
Ivan checked his watch. Twenty-five to one and still no sign of his escort. The urge to sigh was kerbed only by a far more appealing thought: Time for another experiment.
From the work table opposite the restrained, now dead, zombie, he collected his equipment – Which consisted of a personal-defence tazer and not much else – and headed out to the corridors, in search of another colleague.