GENERAL EDWARD REDFIELD (PROLOGUE)

The Great War started and ended on Saturday, twenty-third of October, 2077. The world's most powerful nations launched nuclear weapons, mainly the United States, China, and the USSR. According to most survivors' accounts, the exchange lasted approximately two hours.

Once the last atomic bomb and nuclear warhead had fallen, the world sank into the thick darkness of a nuclear holocaust. Most of the world is now a desolate wasteland, filled with greed, death and chaos. War. War never changes.

The day is Tuesday, 27th of February, 2281, over two hundred years after the Great War shifted the land into a new apocalypse. A young woman was in a cemetery near a thriving community called Goodsprings with her companion, a grey husky; they were paying respects to the recently deceased.

A small rip in the fabric of time and space briefly opened in the air by the woman, and coming out was a young man at high velocity down the hill towards the town. The man tossed and turned slowly down the rough terrain before stopping at the bottom; he was in critical health when the woman's dog sniffed him out.

The woman had brought him to the town's doctor to recover. The man was in his early-twenties and wore a blue combat armour, unlike her green one. His body was tenderised and broken; the journey from who knows wasn't an easy one.

Waking up from a lumpy bed without covers, the man glared at his bare legs; it was too humid to be in boxer shorts. Moreover, he was dazed and disoriented from his recent arrival. The town's old doctor waited patiently for the man to awaken fully.

The ideal doctor noticed his patient was coming into consciousness. To help him recover faster, he helped the sick man sit up; it was a miracle he was still alive. "I should advise you to rest some more to regain more sense. Considering that, I did everything I could with what I got. How'd I do?"

The man rubbed his face. "Urgh! My head's spinning..."

"Let's start with your name."

"David..."

"I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

"Never heard of it."

"Where are you from, son?" asked Mitchell softly.

"Beverly Hills..." David placed his hand over his face and laid back down.

"Beverly Hills? Hmm, I'm not familiar."

"Doesn't matter anyway," David muttered, retracting his hand to examine his perfect body. "Did you patch me up, Doc?"

Mitchell reached out for a small notepad and read some notes he had scribbled earlier. "On your arrival here, you had four fractured ribs, a damaged spinal cord, a broken hand, a broken nose and your jaw was also dislocated. Huh... quite a lot for a lad like you. Despite that-"

"Wow… that's a new record."

"Despite that… you made a complete recovery. Guess there's no reason to keep you here in bed now. Been resting for days now; you must be good to go." Mitchell helped David off his back and out of bed.

"Thanks, dude. What do I owe you?"

"First treatment is free, son," Mitchell said, adjusting his glasses, "It's why I'm here."

"That's awesome, Doc." He's no George Hamilton, but he's got the skills to pay the bills. He shortly reflected on all the times Dr Hamilton had to patch him up after work. It was almost fun back then.

David noticed Mitchell's home is an old timely wooden single-floor bungalow, '60s style fashioned with a simple but old modern style of furniture. Doc Mitchell was an elderly bald man in his late-sixties, wearing a farmer's attire. David was still in his boxer shorts, curious about where his equipment was.

"Where's my stuff?" David politely asked.

"It's on the table here." Mitchell turned away and led David to the table to his left with no extra hassle, the one table with all his gear neatly set. "Can't help but notice your armour. Would you happen to be a mercenary for hire?"

"Nope."

David put on his combat armour in silence; the kevlar bottoms slid on smooth, and the same for the top. He didn't like having several empty pouches running down his torso and sides, but he was running light at the time of the incident. David lost all his loose accessories, such as his flashlight, radio and gasmask; he was especially sore when he found out his favourite handgun was also gone. Finally, after gearing up the best he could, David took a short breath.

"Ah, bullocks. No phone either."

"Hmm?"

David huffed. "I'm a member of STARS."

"STARS?" Mitchell questioned, scratching his head in confusion. "Never heard of them."

"Really?" David silently stared at Mitchell as if he had three heads. "Never heard of the LAPD. Special Tactics And Rescue Service?" Mitchell's only response was a frown and a slight shrug. "Seriously? Not even Beverly Hills?" David sighed. "Whereabouts in America are we?"

Mitchell was honestly surprised that his new patient was unknown of the current situation in the world. Wastelands, and all that. "The old America is gone; welcome to the Mojave Wasteland, son."

"Mojave? What the fuck is a Mojave?"

"Haven't you heard about the Great War?"

"What war?!"

"The Great War of 2077."

David began to drift into denial and regret of the unknown; he didn't know how to react to something so horrible. "I hope you're joking… Please tell me you're joking..."

"You must've taken a blow to the head, like that courier. Come, I'll show you."

Mitchell walked David to a window to see the outside world. The Wasteland was a thriving, dusty, desolate, dry land of greed and hate. The America David once knew was nothing more than a dead wasteland, scorched and brown as ever.

Out of shock, David fainted in Doc Mitchell's arms. He fainted, like what older people often do out of some dreadful emotions. Mitchell had to lay David on the ground to revive him. He showed signs of being visually and emotionally scarred; he trembled on the floor while his face ran white.

"What happened? What the fuck happened?!" David's voice calmed down. "What happened to my country...?"

"The Great War ended the Old World and condemned us with this new one. That's what the legends say."

"What year is it?" David calmly asked.

"Third of March, 2281," Mitchell mumbled, hoping to soften the impact on David if he were to take it the wrong way.

"WHAT?!"

During David's panic, Mitchell restrained David and spoke calmly to him, even though he showed severe signs of trauma and denial. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there." He held David in place. "Please, calm down."

Buried beneath his irritation, David was deeply shocked and clouded with sadness and regret. "How can you ask me to calm down?!" He let go of Mitchell and shuffled to a table, placing his head on it without regard. "I can't… I can't…" he sobbed.

"Is there anything you remember before you arrived here?" asked Mitchell with open arms.

With bated breath, David wiped away his tears and spoke calmly back to Mitchell. "A catastrophe… a machine, and a monster." He relaxed even more and stood up from the table, addressing Mitchell. "My name is David; I'm a… well, I used to be a member of the LAPD STARS Alpha Team... It was still 2021, last I remember..." He hesitated and lost his calm demeanour. "Have I been sent into the bloody future?! Impossible..."

"I'm just a doctor; I can't answer that."

"It's over for me..." David sobbed.

Mitchell stood by David to comfort him. "David…"

"I've been away for two hundred and sixty years, Doc…" David sobbed. "that's a long time to be away from your family." He wiped away his tears. "Everyone in my life is dead! What do I have left to live for?"

"Come now, don't be like that..."

"I had a family; wife, two sons… a career… All gone. I shouldn't be alive."

"Why?"

David gritted his teeth; reflecting on his past wasn't easy. His history was twisted and unsavoury; a homicidal grandfather and life-threatening situations were among the few. "I risked my life to save my family…" he said with slight reluctance. "My suffering was supposed to be over, to die a hero."

"Do you remember what happened exactly?"

"I was fighting near a machine called the Nexus… It exploded, and before you know it, I'm here with you."

"Well, you're here now, and I don't think anything can change that. If it makes you feel better, I had a family once. Kids left home to go to Vegas while my wife had fallen ill and bedridden for years. It's been two months since she passed."

David took off his helmet and placed it on his chest out of respect. "My sympathies."

"She's at peace now. The point I'm making is that we need to live our lives to the fullest, no matter how bleak it is. We can't dwell in the past forever; it's history for a reason."

"That's what people say when someone you love dies," David said lamely.

"It's my choice, and I'm happy with it. It's not too late for you, though."

"I understand what you mean; I just don't want to believe it." David sighed, pacing around the small room, contemplating reasonably hard. "I am partial to live, for now. The least I can do is see what the Wasteland has to offer me."

He took out a photo from his wallet and stared at it. "My dearest Samantha…" he continued, "I'll never forget you, but I guess you forgot about me a long time ago." He put the photo back into his wallet and then the wallet back into his pocket. "Looks like David Wesker is here to stay."

"Wesker? That's a name an' a half…"

"Yeah… that's me..." David folded his arms and stood idly, staring at his feet with a frown.

A knock came about at the front door of Mitchell's home; as usual, Mitchell went off to answer the call. He was heard talking with someone outside by the front door and soon returned to David after a single minute. He brought back a brunette woman in green combat armour and a grey female husky. He felt she was the same age as him.

Mitchell quickly introduced the woman; David felt a weird connection with her. "This is Sunny Smiles and her companion, Cheyenne; they were the ones who saved you."

"Thanks for saving me, ma'am," said David, "I owe you my life."

Sunny brushed her hair back and blushed lightly. "Don't worry about it, handsome, just helping the needy. Doc told me all about you while I was at the door. Are you really from the Old World?"

"If by 'Old World' you mean before the stupid war, that's unfortunately true."

Sunny hugged David. "You poor thing; I'm so sorry."

David let go of sunny in the least insensitive way he could; her body felt gentle against his, but he had to hold back. "As long as I live, my family will always live through me. Either way, they're at peace, and there is nothing I can do to change that. Might as well move forward."

"Your armour." Sunny looked at David with a curious glare. "Were you a mercenary?"

Mitchell folded his arms. "I thought that too."

"I was a police officer, but I might have to consider mercenary work since I'm out of a job."

"How about we grab a drink at the saloon and talk about it some more?"

"Saloon? You mean a bar, right?"

"Not this one," Sunny said, holding her hand out, "Wanna come with me?"

"I could use a whiskey, actually," David muttered, leaving the room alone.

Sunny lowered her hand. "You want a drink too, Doc?"

Mitchell politely declined, waving his hand slowly. "I don't drink anymore. You kids enjoy yourself."

"Don't worry; we will. Later Doc." Sunny left the room shortly after.

"They're good kids."

Once David and Sunny set foot outside, David froze briefly, breathless and fearful of seeing the Wasteland in person. The country he fought for was in absolute chaos. Scrap metal and junk littered the land, and mutated animals cattled by farmers in '70s attire; times were different. When Sunny led David to the saloon nearby, she noticed he was hurting inside.

"Are you alright, David?"

"It's just hard to see my country like this..."

"The Wasteland is no fairy tale; it's a harsh world now. Only the strong survive."

"Any advice?"

"Keep a gun handy and learn how to adapt; that's how I learned."

"Living in this period will be tough," he said, rubbing his forehead dryly.

"I can teach you our ways," she said, holding David's hand with promise, "if you want."

"You'd do that for me?"

"It would be irresponsible of me to let you face the world on your own; wits like yours might not stack up."

"What do you propose?"

"For a start, I can teach you our way of life."

David let go of Sunny's hand and looked around aimlessly. "I always find a way to survive, even if... I have absolutely nothing..."

"Care to prove it to me over a job, then?"

"I'll pass. I am a quick learner; I work better thrown into the heat."

"Maybe next time."

"I need a weapon."

Sunny raised her eyebrow. "You don't have one?"

David revealed his combat knife strapped to his chest; it was in fabulous condition with the blue STARS logo still noticeable at the hilt, despite the age. With a button press, a set of blades shot out of his right gauntlet; a contraption had concealed two flawless steel blades.

"Oh..."

"Just this."

"My, my… you're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I try…" David sheathed his wristblades. "Sadly, many of these pouches are empty; got nothing useful on me." He patted the empty spots around his waist and his right heel. "Oh, balls."

"What?"

"Lost my nightstick and baton. Lost everything other than this knife, and well..." He shook his right hand. "This."

"Well, here's a handgun," she said, handing David a 9mm handgun. "I assume you know how to use it?"

"Sure, I do." He examined the handgun and holstered it at his waist. Browning HP. Powerful and accurate. Goody.

"Ready for a drink?"

"Always…" David smiled, holding Sunny's hand.

"Cool... Cool." She nodded and handed David two more magazines for his Browning HP. "Here's some ammo, just in case. Take it."

David took the ammo and followed Sunny into the small saloon; she thought it would be best to talk about survival in the Wasteland over a drink. But, realising his immediate situation, it was an official time to hit the bottles and let the alcohol flow.