Part One: The Mansion Incident

July 24, 1998

Prologue: A Call to Arms

"HA!" Barry laughed, flipping the newspaper in half. Chris sat on the edge of his desk, watching the older man with his arms crossed. Barry lifted the newsprint so that the article's photo was visible. "This city on the water they are building…this Teragarisa-thing? It's never going to work." Barry chuckled to himself as he tossed the paper onto his desk.

"Maybe if you believed, instead of nay-saying-" Chris said.

"Chris, I'm almost forty-years-old," Barry said, chuckling. "The only things I believe in nowadays are hard liquor and big guns, and Kathy would wring my neck if she knew I was partaking in one."

Barry gave one of his booming laughs and even Chris found himself smiling. That's one of the things that Chris liked about Barry, even back when they first met in the Air Force—He could always put a smile on your face.

Chris glanced around the room. Other than Valentine and Vickers, he and Barry were the only other people in the S.T.A.R.S. office. Wesker had told them all to be here at 1900 hours. It was a quarter till.

"Relax," Barry said, taking putting aside the newspaper and started polishing his .44 magnum.

"You know me," Chris muttered.

His OCD always got the best of him, especially when it came to meetings and engagements. It was the reason why he left the Air Force.

Or one of the reasons, at least.

Frost entered, nursing a cup of coffee. The only one yet to arrive was Captain Wesker. Chris checked his watch. It was five till.

"You alright?" a voice said to his left. Chris turned to see Jill look over in concern. He smiled and nodded, to which she returned and leaned back in her seat. She seemed nice. Other than Barry, she seemed to be the most welcoming of the group.

The door opened once again. Albert Wesker walked through the threshold. His blonde hair was combed back and his eyes were obscured by sunglasses. Since Chris met him, he always thought the Captain's need for constant eyewear a bit obnoxious. Yet, it didn't hinder his features—with his high cheekbones and ridged jawline. In fact, it gave the captain a certain Terminator-esc mystique.

"Evening," Wesker muttered. Scattered, muffled responses returned the greeting. Chris merely nodded. Wesker approached his desk, his heavy boots loud against the wood floor. Chris drummed his fingers against his desktop. Anytime now! Yet, Wesker seemed to take his time as he picked up a file in a tan folder from his desk and thumbed through it.

"Right," Wesker finally said, replacing the file onto his desk. "There still hasn't been word from Bravo team." Silence befell the room, everyone shifting in their seat. Though Chris had only been there for a few weeks, even he found it concerning. An entire team disappearing without a trace…not to mention those bizarre, cannibalistic murders that have been occurring. Could it all be connected? "We're going to check the site of their last transmission. Vickers, I expect you have the chopper fully loaded. We don't want to be going in blind."

"Yeah, I'll have it loaded by the time we take off," the Alpha pilot, Brad Vickers, said in a low voice.

"Good," Wesker said, his manner never changing. Always cool and indifferent. "We leave in 2000 hours. I suggest you all prepare yourself."

That was it? After all this waiting, that was all the information that they were going to be given? Chris inspected the Captain for any sign that he might be hiding something. Perhaps, he was just trying to hide the true situation—as not to spoil the team morale.

"Like what you see?" Barry said with a chuckle.

Chris quickly adverted his eyes.

"Shut up, Barry," he said in a low voice. "There's just something about him…"

"Oh, Wesker's like that. He's a bit of a prick, but he gets the job done. Now come on!" He said, lightly clapping Chris on the back. "Let's get some coffee. Something tells me this is going to be a long night."