Chapter two

September 27, 1998

Mr. Death leaned back against the cold steel wall of his cell. That cold, lifeless feeling felt good against his muscled back. He inhaled the crisp, chemically clean air, staring up at the single green glow that stared back from the bars of light. Then he stared at his energy cells, big machines slowly moving, cranking, winding, and pumping so that he could stay alive. His eyes followed the hundreds of wires that hung from the ceilings, dangling down to his naked body. Their they snuck like mechanical serpents into his skin, under his flesh and rooted into his body to fuel him.

His cell was cramped, between the many needles and wires that protruded from his perforated flesh he could barely walk more then a step. To any normal man this would hurt, feeling chemical after chemical being slowly pumped into your body, filling your heart and veins with its black, hot liquid. But to him, it was a high that could only be heightened by the excruciating pain. He moved, feeling the many needles that were stuck into his temples and cheeks, all around the back of his skull and neck.

Steam ebbed up from the vents of his floor, rust and decay cracked and made its way down from the ceiling. There was only one sign of decoration: a single poster that had been plastered to the opposite wall decades ago. It was the logo of the Umbrella Corporation, the very reason that Mr. Death lived and breathed. He smiled to himself, thinking of the excellent life he had. No worries, no complaints, no unique thought whatsoever. He was told what to do, then allowed to relax and be fed these toxins for days, even months. It had only been three days since his last mission down to Raccoon Forest. It was one of his most difficult. Not that he found it hard to accomplish, he had taken out all of the carriers and destroyed any evidence linking Umbrella to the destruction scene at the Spencer Estate. It was simply his most difficult.

It was then that the door hissed as it opened electronically, slowly creaking to the side. Dr. Forde stepped inside Mr. Death's chamber and took a seat across from him.

"Good morning, doctor," Mr. Death said in his dark, croaking tone.

"Good morning, Hunk. How are you feeling?"

Mr. Death inhaled that wondrous chemical smell again and smiled blatantly, "Refreshed."

"Excellent, because I have some news that you may or may not take to."

Mr. Death liked Dr. Forde. the doctor was a crisp, heartless man who only found care and concern for Mr. Death. After all the good doctor had raised him like a son, teaching him to become the ultimate killer. If there was ever a question to get rid of Mr. Death, Dr. Forde fought it until it was no more. Mr. Death appreciated that, he knew that one day if the time came he would return the favor.

"Dr. Forde, you know I always take to business."

The doctor smiled, "Yes well, as for the rest of us, this job's going to be difficult."

"Go on."

"As you are aware there is an underground laboratory beneath the very streets of Umbrella's birthplace, Raccoon City. It is where we facilitate most of our biological weaponry, including a few B.O.W.'s. As a matter of fact it is where you were trained and raised."

"Of course."

"Well, as you were aware Dr. William Birkin, one of the leading scientists, had been working on a new virus prototype known as the G-virus."

"Of course, he was the man I assassinated to obtain the information about the virus."

"Yes, of course, and afterwards new scientists fresh from Umbrella were brought in to continue work in that massive laboratory. However, there is a problem."

"Which is," Mr. Death didn't care for subtle pauses.

"The virus was somehow spilled, and we have lost all communication with the lab."

"Are you not aware of what happened?"

"In a rough estimation, yes. Thanks to the data you collected at the Spencer Estate, we realized that all of our biological weaponry was accounted for accept for one. The J-327 project, formerly known as Jessica Trevor. we believe she found her way into the laboratory, and destroyed everything."

"How many are left alive?"

"No one."

"Very well, I can neutralize her and collect anything you wish for me to."

"Well, I'm afraid, Hunk, it won't be that easy. You see, we digitally scanned the underground facility. She's not there."

"Are you trying to tell me that she got out?"

"Yes, that is our estimation. We can guess and make assumptions on where she is now, but judging from her ballistic actions before...she's heading for the city."

Mr. Death was silent. This was bad for Umbrella. Quickly, he began speaking again, "Are you trying to tell me that the J-327 could be attacking Raccoon City and spreading the infection?"

"She as well as any of the carriers that she infected. If they somehow managed to find their way above the labs into the streets, there would be chaos. We can do nothing to control it, that laboratory was in itself the size of the city."

"Quarantine the city."

"The big heads up top think it's too risky, draws too much suspicion to the company and the town."

"So what do we do?"

"We wait. Wait until the city has been completely overrun. As much as our Lord Oswell Spencer hates to see his city go, it is a necessary sacrifice."

"A good choice."

"It is an isolated town, so we should be able to keep the infection from spreading for at least a few weeks. Umbrella will send in a few small highway blockades to anyone who tries to escape. However we believe that the attack will come so swiftly, that the people of the town will have no amount of time to retaliate."

"And then when everything is desolate, I move in."

"Exactly. We will deal with the infected. You however, have two objectives. The first is to obtain a sample of the G-virus from the underground laboratories, as well as any possible research on it."

"Very well, and the second?"

Dr. Forde struggled with his words. His eyes searched about behind his glasses. Something was digging at him.

"Dr. Forde."

"The second involves a man."

"Should I assassinate him?"

"No, we want him alive."

"May I ask why?"

"All I've been told is that he was one of the S.T.A.R.S. members who witnessed what occurred in the Spencer Estate. The ones who accuse us for what happened. I've been told we are to bring him in for research on what he could have contracted from his interactions two months ago."

"But if this particular S.T.A.R.S. member did become infected, he would have surely mutated or become a carrier by now. It's been two months."

"I know, which brings me to the conclusion that he could be the possible proof to Albert Wesker's theory about the T-virus."

"...meaning he is...the perfect soldier?"

"That is my guess, and that is why they want you bring him to us."

"Who is this man?"

"His name is Leon Scott Kennedy."

---September 27, 1998---

St. Teresa's Catholic Church had always doubled as an orphanage, ever since it had first opened nearly a century ago. It was small, as many things in Raccoon City were, but very important to the few children who wound up there. A rundown, modestly-constructed church hiding in the midst of tall oak trees that sprouted up from the park which encircled the building itself. There was a small graveyard in the back where some of Raccoon City's finer citizens had been buried over the decades.

It was a cloudy, cold day. However it wasn't that dark, dismal cloudy. More of a lightly grayed sky that hung over Raccoon City and made everyone want to go home and be with someone else. It was eleven-thirty, and Claire Redfield could hear the serenading music of children laughing as she crossed the small park. Her boots crunched into the leaves, and she inhaled the crisp hair as she brushed her bangs away from her face. She was a little late... well, nearly a half hour late...and Sister Anna was going to give her on hell of an earful once she got in. But Claire didn't care, she loved coming to work at the orphanage. She adored children, and took gladly to the duties she had been allotted.

Claire hastened her steps as her boots clicked against the stone steps, up to the two thick, wooden doors. She smiled, listening to the echoes of children playing and giggling slowly become louder as she stepped into the foyer and went down one of the halls. She walked past the empty classroom's and the pastor's office, all the way to the single door at the far end. "Orphanage Quarters" stood in chipped, old text on the door's window.

Claire reached it and opened slowly, peeking in as the full cacophony of kids on the loose jumped at her. She spied Sister Anna and Mary tending to the children. Sister Anna was a kind, elderly lady who was full of wisdom, more then she let on. Mary was some typical Catholic housewife, obnoxiously squabbling about how loud or "awful" the children were. Thankfully she only worked part time, and she wouldn't even be here were it nor for the short supply of help these days. She and Claire didn't really get along, in her eyes Claire was a "dirty, wild girl who would only learn the error of her ways once she was burning in the fires of hell".

At the moment Mary was scurrying about, squawking at the children for various, pathetic reasons.

"Alex you put that down! Josephine don't treat the dolls like that! Christopher Jeanne Watkins that's now how you play cooking dinner!"

Claire pushed the door completely open and called out, "Hey, kiddos!"

"Claire!" Every kid called out gleefully.

In a galloping, parading mass they scampered over to her and sent out those cheerful cries and pleadings as each one began to beg her and pull at her to come and play with them first.

"Claire! Claire! Come and play dolls-!"

"Won't you help us make the Thanksgiving feast-?"

"Braid my hair again!"

Then the ever vigilant savior Mary broke in, "Angela, darling, you have no need to have Claire mess up your precious hair like that. It's not very church-like."

Claire gave the bitch a look and said monotonously, "Yea, great to see you too, Mary."

"Yes well, I would have say the same were it not for your being half hour late!"

Claire walked past her, the aura of children slowly depleting as they each went back to their little games. Claire approached Sister Anna, sitting in her rocking chair in the far corner and doing that oh so Sister Anna thing...reading the bible as she watched over the kids. Her wrinkled old face occasionally gazing up with watchful blue eyes behind half-circle glasses. She smiled at Claire who took a seat beside her while Mary went off to go pester the children more.

"Good morning, child," Sister Anna said.

"Good morning, Sister Anna."

"You know, you're a bit late."

Claire chuckled, "Gee I didn't think you'd notice."

Sister Anna laughed as well, "Well just don't let it happen again. I understand that college and this waitress job is a very important thing for you, but I believe that the children would find your presence much more enlightening then...Mary's."

Claire smiled, "I know. Last night was just a late night...and..."

Sister Anna took her eyes off of her knitting and brought all attention to Claire's blushing face. She gazed at the young woman for a moment, before smiling, "I know that look."

Claire rolled her eyes with a smile, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who is he?"

Claire smiled sheepishly, "Well his name's Leon, and he used to work with my brother."

"He used to work with Chris? Oh really..."

"Yea, and he's very polite...a little too polite for my tastes."

"Well, then he certainly wouldn't have fit in with your brother."

Claire laughed. She and Chris had come to this very orphanage when their parents had passed away. In fact, Sister Anna had raised she and Chris herself. Sister Anna and the children were the only reasons that Claire came back to this place, everyone else here was just like good ol' Mary.

"Well anyways, I have a date with him tomorrow night. So I guess we can see just how much of a gentleman he is," Claire said, only her voice had begun to trail off.

In the far corner of the play room, a little girl sat in a chair, staring out into the city through one of the tall, arched windows. Claire watched her with pity and sorrow. The kid's name was Sherry Birkin, she was only ten years old and her parents had died in some sort of accident at work only three months ago. The girl sat staring out the window; her innocent, rounded face plagued by fear and haunted by a ruined life. The girl hadn't said a word since she arrived at the orphanage a month ago. She hardly ate, and almost never slept.

"How is she doing?" Claire asked with her gaze still on the poor thing.

"Oh, considering how she's been she's doing all right. She ate a few bites of her breakfast this morning. I'm just glad the child got out of bed today," Sister Anna said remorsefully, "Claire, dear. You should go and speak with her, you seem to be the only one who she somewhat responds to."

Claire nodded solemnly, and she stood to walk over to Sherry, grabbing a chair long the way.

"Good morning, Sherry," Claire said sweetly, stroking the back of the girl's honey-blonde hair for a second.

Sherry only gazed at her, completely detached from those bright blue eyes.

"Mind if I join you?" Claire asked courteously.

Claire was never fake or superficial with the children. Especially Sherry, Claire could tell that Sherry wanted to be spoken to straight-forward. She was one of those children who's parents induced her to grow up too fast. Sherry only shrugged, that child's unresponsive shrug that they used to cloak up whatever was bothering them.

Claire took a seat and leaned back with a sigh, "You know, when I was your age, I used to go to this orphanage."

Sherry shot her a surprised look, her bangs combed neatly before her eyes.

Claire smiled, glad to get some kind of a rejoinder from the kid.

"Oh yea," she continued, "You better believe it, babe. My brother Chris and I, we used to torment Sister Anna like there was no tomorrow. We used to play out in that park in the summer time. Sometimes we'd even try and escape from this place, I know it gets kinda dull around here."

Sherry looked at her with a kind of sadness, and Claire could tell she wanted to speak. But something was holding her back. Claire's smile faded, seeing the little girl's inner desperation.

"Sherry, sweetheart. You can talk, it's all right," Claire said touching her on the arm briefly.

Sherry looked at her a second longer before abruptly turning her head back towards the window. Damn, Claire thought, she'd been coming so close to opening the kid up. Sherry just needed someone close to talk to again, she needed to confide in an adult. The problem was, the trauma of her parents death had been so great that she couldn't seem to find that trust with anyone else. Claire sighed, "It's okay, Sherry. You don't have to talk, but I think it would be better if you did."

Sherry turned back around to face Claire.

Claire got down low and whispered in the little girl's ear, "Just uh...just so long as you don't squeal like Mary over there."

The little girl smiled and giggled a little, and the sight made Claire smile as well.

---September 28, 1998---

Leon heard the door of the apartment open and slam. He stepped out from the kitchen, setting down the bowl of dog food for Argus to burrow into.

"Hey man! Where the shit have you been?" Joseph called out from behind a wrinkled paper bag of groceries in his hands.

Leon smiled and shrugged, "Just here, work, and the diner."

"Well jesus, man. We live together and I haven't seen you in two days. Don't tell me that's fuckin' normal."

Leon chuckled as he watched Joseph saunter by and set the groceries down on the counter top with his back to Leon. Leaning in the door way, Leon said with his hands in his pockets, "How's the auto shop working out?"

"Same shit, day in day out, man."

"So it's not that great, then?"

Joseph laughed as he lit a cigarette, "Ha, are you kidding me? Getting fired from that piece of shit S.T.A.R.S. job and coming to work for the auto shop is the god damn best thing, man. They let you drink on your lunch break, Leon. On you lunch break."

"Sounds like the American dream."

"Hell yea, baby."

"So you don't mind living here with me and Argus?"

Joseph turned to Leon and grinned as he shrugged honestly, "Hey...come on man. Us bein' roomies is great with me. I dig this life."

Leon watched his friend turn back to the counter, Joseph's skin was that reddish color that came from periodically working out in the sun and not caring how burned you got. He still wore his grease-stained muscle shirt and ragged jeans, loosely clinging from his skinny muscles. His curly blonde hair cut short and unevenly by none other then Leon in front of their bathroom mirror. The two had been needing to cut back on a lot of things since their budget had become so trimmed. Haircuts, movies, real food. Now they were just stuck with this "Best Decision" crap; some imitation product that was a cheap knock off but didn't completely starve their wallets.

"So," Leon said with his mind on food, "What'd you get at the store?"

"Oh you know just the bare essentials..." Joseph was careful to keep his eyes from making contact with Leon's.

"Joseph..."

"What?"

"What'd you buy?"

"Just some chips, beef jerky...and uh...beer."

"Joseph!"

"What! I can't even buy beer! Fuck man, should I start calling you mom? I mean seriously, what crawled up your ass and decided to puke all over itself before dying!"

"JOseph, you said you would cut back. We don't have the money for all this anymore."

Joseph whipped away from Leon, trying to relax his anger.

"You gotta stop buying beer, Joseph."

Oh, that was too much. Joseph threw the paper bag hard back against the wall, "You know something, Leon? I don't give a fuck! I don't care what we do and don't have the god damn money for! I'm sick and tired of living so fucking quietly, afraid to show our faces when all we do is just make money and come home to the fucking television! That's all we ever do!"

"Don't you get it? Umbrella is watching us! They tore apart Barry's and Jill's houses; Rebecca is still being harassed. They have too much power here and we need to get out."

"Is that all you care about? Getting out?"

Leon was baffled, "How could you not care about that? It's the only way we can keep living decently."

"Oh, oh fine. And just where the fuck do you want to go when we get out? Do you want to live in the deep south? Or how about Canada! No piece of shit town is better then what we have here!"

The two friends were in each other's faces. Argus watched horrified with his tail between his legs and his whimpers completely muffled by the men's yelling.

"What we have here! What we have here, Joseph! I'll tell you what we have here! We've got a town that hates us and a company so powerful they can lute out our entire lives!"

"What makes you say that it would be different anywhere else! We're hated by all of America! And Umbrella is so fucking big we can't go anywhere! The investigation was an international story! Everyone knows about it!"

"Anywhere's better then here, Joseph!"

"Maybe for you, city boy! But I was born and raised in this town, and no matter how much they hate me I would kill for this place. So if you want to go out, be my fuckin' guest, asshole, because you're on your own."

Leon stared at Joseph, taken aback by what he had said. All this time they had stuck together, quietly accepting all the shit that had gone wrong. And now...this. Joseph's gaze was both steady and furious but...but it was also tired. Joseph really was exhausted by how they had been living, and it then hit Leon that he was just as far gone. Without saying another word, Leon left the kitchen. He'd settle this dispute later, right now he had a date he had to get ready for.

Leon heard Argus whimper as he walked out across the main room into his bedroom. He flipped on the light and stepped solemnly into the bathroom, closing and locking the door.

There he hovered over the sink, his hands tightly clenching its porcelain rim as he tried frantically to swallow his anger. Joseph had a right to be so pissed off, hell so did Leon. Their lives had been ruined. Now they were nothing but unwanted hermits trying desperately to get away. Leon didn't want this anymore. He and Joseph had to face facts, things weren't going to get better anytime soon so they might as well bite their lips and pray. He relaxed, inhaling deeply until he was calm again.

His irritations disposed of, Leon reached for the door knob, already summing up an apology for his friend. But something stopped him. He froze, his fingers gripping the rusted brass of the knob. Oh god no...not now...please not now. But it was happening.

Beginning as only a stinging sensation just behind his eyes, slowly it began to grow and prosper. He could feel his veins begin to pop and grow, the blood beginning to run like fire throughout his body up to his temples. His eyes began to twitch, and suddenly he was quivering.

"NO!" he cried, but a sudden burst of pain cracked his spine and sent him to his knees.

His ribs felt as though they were being ripped from his flesh, his organs twisted and knotted about each other as his every muscle flexed and flinched, beginning to burst and trickle with sweat through his clammy skin. Heaving, seething pain beat again and again inside his every bone and muscle. He tried to scream but he felt his throat close up, his head felt as though it would split.

Kill kill kill kill kill kill...

"Leave me alone..." he snarled with a whimper of a broken man, his body suddenly beginning to convulse as he was thrown to the floor in a spasm.

Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill!

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he bit into his arm to try and subdue the pain. But it wouldn't stop, only ebbing away at his conscience. He was losing himself, he was going to go back to that awful night, again becoming what he had been. Again he would be that awful killer. He would kill Joseph, Argus, and anyone else that came before him-No!

Rising against the tremors that took place throughout his crawling flesh, Leon clambered to his feet and threw open the mirror cabinet, the mirror shattering and raining its silvery fragments down upon the tiled floor. Frantically he took out the metal box, slamming it into the sink and opening it. In desperation, he loaded the first syringe, accidentally stabbing his fingers as he lost more and more control of his muscles. He filled the first needle and thrust it into his arm, feeling the cold liquid of sedation begin to relieve him.

But the feeling was still too powerful, it wouldn't be silenced. Leon let out a soft scream, and fell. His mouth slammed into the edge of the bathtub and blood was hurled from his throat, his body collapsing into the jagged pieces of the broken mirror. Desperately, he filled another syringe and again stuck himself. Another, and another. Four full syringes, and at last he felt the ripping agony begin to wash away.

Breathing in the taste of puke and blood, Leon fell back amidst the tile floor, the glass piercing his skin. In a puddle of his own blood, he began to sleep. He had overdosed, and he knew it. But that didn't matter, so long as everyone else was kept safe from the monster inside of him.

With his last fading thought of the T-virus, Leon blacked out.