December 24, 1998, 11:43 pm

"Yo, Chris!"

Chris turned away from the soda machine and saw Forest Speyer striding down the empty hall toward him, a wide grin on his tanned, boyish face. Forest was a few years older than Chris, but looked like a rebellious teenager - long hair, studded jean jacket, a tattoo of a skull smoking a cigarette on his left shoulder. He was also an excellent mechanic, and one of the best shots Chris had ever seen in action.

"Hey, Forest. What's up?" Chris scooped up a can of club soda from the machine's dispenser and glanced at his watch. He still had a couple of minutes before the meeting. He smiled tiredly as Forest stopped in front of him, blue eyes sparkling. Forest was carrying an armful of equipment-vest, utility belt, and shoulder pack.

"Wesker gave Marini the go-ahead to start the search."

Chris frowned. "When?"

"Now. Soon as I warm up the 'copter." Forest pulled the kevlar vest on over his T-shirt as he spoke.

"While you Alphas sit taking notes, we're gonna go kick some cannibal ass!"

"Nothing if not confident, us S.T.A.R.S. Yeah, well... just watch your ass, okay? I still think there's more going on here than a couple of slobbering nut jobs hanging around in the woods."

"You know it." Forest pushed his hair back and grabbed his utility belt, obviously already focused on the mission. Chris thought about saying more but decided against it. For all of his bravado, Forest was a professional; he didn't need to be told to be careful.

Chris slapped Forest's shoulder lightly and headed for ops through the doorway of the small upstairs waiting room and down the hall. He was surprised that Wesker was sending the teams in separately. Although it was standard for the less experienced S.T.A.R.S. to do the initial recon, this wasn't exactly a standard operation. The number of deaths they were dealing with alone was enough to call for a more aggressive offense. The fact that there were signs of an organization to the murders should have brought it to A1 status, and Wesker was still treating it like some kind of a training run.

Chris thought about the late-night call he'd gotten last week from his childhood friend Billy. He hadn't heard from Billy in a while but knew that he'd taken a research position with Umbrella, the pharmaceutical company that was the single biggest contributor to the economic prosperity of Raccoon City. Billy hadnever been the type to jump at shadows, and the terrified desperation in his voice had jolted Chris awake, filling him with deep concern. Billy had babbled that his life was in danger, that they were all in danger, begged Chris to meet him at a diner at the edge of town, and then never showed up. No one had heard from him since.

Chris had run it over and over again in his mind during the sleepless nights since Billy's disappearance, trying to convince himself that there was no connection to the attacks on Raccoon and yet was unable to shake his growing certainty that there was more going on than met the eye and that Billy had known what it was. The cops had checked out Billy's apartment and found nothing to indicate foul play... but Chris's instincts told him that his friend was dead and that he'd been killed by somebody who wanted to keep him from talking.

He pushed the thoughts aside as he turned the corner, his boot heels sending muted echoes through the arched second-floor corridor. He had to focus, to keep his mind on what he could do to find out why Billy had disappeared, but he was exhausted, running on a minimum of sleep and almost constant anxiety that had plagued him since Billy's call. Maybe he was losing his perspective, his objectivity dulled by recent events...

He forced himself not to think about anything at all as he neared the S.T.A.R.S. office, determined to be clear-headed for the meeting. The buzzing fluorescents above seemed like overkill in the blazing evening light that filled the tight hallway; the Raccoon police building was a classic, if an unconventional, piece of architecture, lots of inlaid tiles and heavy wood, but it had too many windows designed to catch the sun.

When he'd been a kid, the building had been the Raccoon City Hall. With the population increase a decade back, it had been renovated as a library, and four years ago, turned into a police station. It seemed like there was always some kind of construction going on.

The door to the S.T.A.R.S. office stood open, the muted sounds of gruff male voices spilling out into the hall. Chris hesitated a moment, hearing Chief Irons's among them. Just call me Brian Irons was a self-centered and self-serving politician masquerading as a cop. It was no secret that he had his sweaty fingers in more than a few local pies. He'd even been implicated in the Cider district land-scam back in '94, and although nothing had been proved in court, anyone who knew him personally didn't harbor any doubt.

Chris shook his head, listening to Irons's greasy voice. Hard to believe he'd once led the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S., even as a paper-pusher. Maybe even harder to believe that he'd probably end up as mayor someday.

Jill and the rookie Leon S Kennedy were quietly talking.

Brad Vickers, the Alpha pilot, was drinking coffee and staring at the main computer screen a few feet away, a sour expression on his mild features. Across the room Captain Wesker was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, smiling blankly at something Chief Irons was telling him. Irons's bulk was leaned against Wesker's desk, one pudgy hand brushing at his carefully groomed mustache as he spoke.

"So I said, 'You're gonna print what I tell you to print, Bertolucci, and you're gonna like it, or you'll never get another quote from this office!' And he says," "Chris!" Wesker interrupted the chief, sitting forward. "Good, you're here. Looks like we can stop wasting time."

Irons scowled in his direction but Chris kept his poker face. Wesker didn't care much for Irons, either, and didn't bother trying to be any more than polite in his dealings with the man. From the glint in his eye, it was obvious that he didn't care who knew it, either.

Chris walked into the office and stood by the desk he shared with Ken Sullivan, one of the Bravo team.

Since the teams usually worked different shifts, they didn't need much room. He set the unopened can of soda on the battered desktop and looked at Wesker.

"You're sending Bravo in?"

The captain gazed back at him impassively, arms folded across his chest. "Standard procedure, Chris."

Chris sat down, frowning. "Yeah, but with what we talked about last week, I thought" Irons interrupted. "I gave the order, Redfield. I know you think that there's some kind of cloak and dagger going on here, but 7 don't see any reason to deviate from policy."

Irons turned back to Wesker. "I'll expect a report when Bravo returns. Now if you'll excuse me, Captain"

Wesker nodded. "Chief."

Irons stalked past Chris and out of the room. He'd been gone less than a minute before Barry started in.

"Think the chief took a shit today? Maybe we all ought to chip in for Christmas, get him some laxatives."

Jill chuckled and Brad laughed, but Chris couldn't bring himself to join in. Irons was a joke, but his mishandling of this investigation wasn't all that funny. The S.T.A.R.S. should've been called in at the beginning instead of acting as RPD backup.

He looked back at Wesker, the man's perpetually composed expression hard to read. Wesker had taken over the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. only a few months ago, transferred by the home office in New York, and Chris still didn't have any real insight into his character.

The new captain seemed to be everything he was reputed to be: smooth, professional, cool, but there was a kind of distance to him, a sense that he was often far removed from what was going on.

Wesker sighed and stood up. "Sorry, Chris. I know you wanted things to go different, but Irons didn't put a whole lot of stock into your... misgivings."

Chris nodded. Wesker could make recommendations, but Irons was the only one who could upgrade a mission's status. Not your fault.

Barry walked toward them, scruffing at his short, reddish beard with one giant fist. Barry Burton was only six feet tall but built like a truck. His only passion outside of his family and his weapons collection was weight lifting, and it showed.

"Don't sweat it, Chris. Marini will call us in the second he smells trouble. Irons is just pullin' your chain."

Chris nodded again, but he didn't like it. Hell, Enrico Marini and Forest Speyer were the only experienced soldiers in Bravo. Ken Sullivan was a good scout and a brilliant chemist, but despite his S.T.A.R.S. training, he couldn't shoot the broad side of a barn. Richard Aiken was a top-rate communications expert, but he also lacked field experience.

Rounding out the Bravo team was Rebecca Chambers, who'd only been with the S.T.A.R.S. for three weeks, supposed to be some kind of medical genius. Chris had met her a couple of times and she seemed bright enough, but she was just a kid.

He cracked open his soda but didn't drink any, wondering instead what the S.T.A.R.S. were going up against, Billy's pleading, desperate words echoing through his mind yet again.

(They're going to kill me, Chris! They're going to kill everyone who knows! Meet me at Emmy's, now, I'll tell you everything...)

Exhausted, Chris stared off into space, alone in the knowledge that the savage murders were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

Barry stood by Chris's desk for a minute, trying to think of something else to say, but Chris didn't look like he was in the mood for conversation. Barry shrugged and walked to his desk, worried about Chris for the first time since this whole thing had started. He'd recruited the younger man for the S.T.A.R.S. a few years back thanks to a chance encounter in a local gun shop. Chris had proved to be an asset to the team, bright and thoughtful as well as a top-notch marksman and able pilot.

But now...

Barry gazed fondly at the picture of Kathy and the girls that sat on his desk. Chris's obsession with the murders in Raccoon was understandable, particularly since his friend had disappeared. Nobody in town wanted to see another life lost. Barry had a family and was as determined as anyone else on the team to stop the killers. But Chris's relentless suspicion had gone a little overboard.