Prologue

Sergeant Nolan Hale fast-roped down from the UH-60 Blackhawk hoverning above the South Pacific island. Landing feet-first among the ruins of what had once been Umbrella's private prison, Rockfort Island.

Mechanically pulling up his carbine by the handle.

The site was a mess. The survivor accounts given by the Redfield siblings mentioned the island being attacked recently—but Nolan had not anticipated it being to this extent.

"Hale." Captain Heller said mechanically. Pointing to the direction he was responsible for. Nodding, Nolan moved in compliance with two battle-brothers to join him. This operation was, after all, intended as a quick stop before the clean-up crew was expected to arrive.

Advancing forward to search the buildings one by one. All to Hale's displeasure as he found bodies lainout in blood stains as well as other bodies that need to be put down once again.

The sergeant envied his girlfriend, Caroline, and Echo-Six at that moment considering they had the cushier part of the operation; they got to search through the castle Ashford was previously implementing as his housing space.

"Sir." he heard Kellen over the coms. "There's a guillotine."

"Field work is not the time or place for prank calls, soldier. Do you want to end up like Coen? 'Cause you're tempting me."

"Uh, sir, he's not bullshitting." Lieutenant Fisher was then heard."There's an actual guillotine here. And it doesn't look like it's for show—there's blood stains."

"Carry on."

Nolan groaned. Just when I thought my opinion of Umbrella couldn't get any lower…

He had heard Umbrella was cruel and grandiose in that aspect, but this all reinforced that notion in spades. And the near year had only just begun.

A discovery soon brought him back to reality. Or a sound that led to the discovery.

The sound of a gun went off. Not from one of his own people. It was neither a carbine or any standard issue weapon that he had seen the other Spec Ops using. It was certainly not one of Dee-Ay's people. They used firearms which were nowhere near similar to that in terms of sound.

If he was to take a blind guess, Hale would say it was a Browning.

"Squad, do you have visuals on that gunfire?"

"No." Hale responded. "I'll investigate, sir."

Nolan rushed to the source. Killing the zombies to get in his way.

Then another series of gunshot rang out. This time sounding more akin to a Calico model 100P.

Whoever was shooting, they were well armed. Sergeant Hale just hoped he could reach them in time. Weaving through the wreckage brought about by an aerial attack. The handiwork of some of those zombies he had come across in military gear which did not match what the vogue standard Umbrella cronies were wearing. Finding his way to the spot where he could assume the shots had originated.

There scores of re-kiled zombies awaited him.

"Heh." He chickled at the sight. "Not bad."

The shootist was a pretty good marksman. Not military quality but still good.

Suddenly a noise caught his attention. Nolan aimed his carbine toward the direction of the source, barking demandingly "Show yourself!"

A pained groan was the answer.

He stepped closer, finding—of all things—a single individual, a young man who looked like he belonged on a college campus. And more surprisingly, he was unbitten.


Steve watched as his compatriot departed for the Maine-based city. He looked on with a degree of melancholy as his eyes narrowed their focus upon the bag dangling to his side—the latest in his pedagogue's machinations—as well a secret sense of shame in his heart.

This was wrong. At least, that was what a voice in his mind was telling him. Burnside had taught himself to ignore that piece of his mind—just as Wesker had mentored him to after falling into his care so many years ago.

"Are the preparations complete?" a voice soon forced him to put on his facade of apathy. He looked over his shoulder with that emotional mask to face his superior, Lucas Felix, who was approaching him with his usual smirking arrogance.

Steve nodded his head. "Yes, Felix."

"I can hardly wait for tomorrow's festivities." the man said as he rubbed his hands together excitedly, much to Steve's disgust.

He never liked Felix's sort. The breed of 'human' who seemed to get off on destruction and loss of life. For Wesker's former protege it was just a business he was stuck in, but for a psycho such as Felix it was all a game. He was the opposite of the woman from his dreams. He made him want to vomit just looking at him just as he imagined that woman would if she saw him now. But Steve forced himself to tolerate the man. The Morpheous Duvall of this circus show, Sinclair, would give him an ear full if he stopped hearing from Felix otherwise.

"Good for you." Steve responded. "Should I prepare the other cells?"

"No. I have already set things in motion." Felix told him. "The boss wants you in town tomorrow. So get some rest. Tomorrow will certainly be something Redfield and Kennedy won't forget."

"Works for me." Steve did not even utter a complaint. He bolted away from the man and headed into the safe-house. He disgusted him just that much. Whatever tomorrow promised him, Steve Burnside doubted it would be anything different than the countless other events he had participated in, and he doubted very strongly it would do-in either Chris Redfield or Leon S. Kennedy.

Not even the promise of revenge on Redfield would intrigue him. He had moved long past such petty concerns, it was only his stagnation being involved in bioterrorism which forced him to associate with such scum.

If he had it his way, Steve would just draw his Samurai Edge and end it all but he would just be left with a massive headache. So he tolerated it all, tolerated the nightmare of a reality he found himself inhabiting.

He wondered, briefly, of what his life could have been had that bitch not violated him with her virus, of what his life must have been like had it not happened. But such fantasies were of little benefit so he put aside the thoughts and continued to move.

If humanity had hoped that Wesker's demise would dilute the threat of bioterrorism, they were bound for an unpleasant surprise not too long from that moment.


Claire Redfield awoke to the sound of her alarm clock. Groaning as her hand reached over to slam the off button. As had her friend, Rebecca Chambers, who awoke with her usual innocent look about her.

"Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Claire groaned, with a hint of sarcasm. "Rebecca, how about yourself?"

"As well as able." Rebecca told her.

Sleep was like the flipping of a coin for the two friends. Some nights it was bliss, others it was a horror show. The downside to so many encounters with Umbrella's callousness. They tried not to think about it much but Claire had to admit it became tedious at times. They could do without them, in all honesty. Not seeing hordes of zombies, or the faces of those they failed miserably to save.

Claire shrugged off thinking of those things. Finding little benefit in allowing them to drag her down. They would not like that, or so she preferred to tell herself—it would not bring them back regardless.

She did not have survivor's guilt to her own knowledge, but Claire would not be surprised if she did.

Pulling herself up, they proceed to dress themselves for the day. Wearing their typical civilian attire.

"So what's the plan for the day?"

"Make it up as we go." Claire told her. "I have enough regimentation on the day-to-day. I say we just enjoy this one as it goes."

"Works for me."

They found their way to the streets of Caliban Cove—a thriving coastal city—making their way down a few blocks when suddenly there was an explosion and then in the chaos they bolted for the nearest building.


Trouble, there's always trouble. It did not matter how often the legacy of Umbrella's callousness is combated—either by the heroes to survive the original duo incidents to spark this nightmare of a reality to life in time or the others who dealt with the messes to come to light such as Bruce McGivern and Fong Ling—there is always new and exciting bull shit levels of trouble on the horizon.

Always!

Damien "Rabbit" Walker, a member of the BSAA/DSO taskforce Blackwatch knew that well. It was why he presumed his superiors summoned him to this Belle Reve knock off of a location from the Megiddo base.

He didn't know why the suits had ordered him to be there nor did it matter much—he rarely had a say where he was being dispatched next—but he was at least going to not be there on an empty stomach. He found himself a nice spot to wait and pulled out a grain bar as James "Stump" Baird joined his side.

"Rabbit." Stump said curtly.

Rabbit nodded with a response just as curt. "Stump."

"So they tell you anything? Like why they called us here."

"Not a damn thing."

Stump glanced around the celebrities of their world among those who were apparently to be joining them in the coming congregation. "Quite the motley crew they've called together." The presence of Redfield, Valentine, and Kennedy was a surprise. Even the cute newcomer to their caliber, Alomar, was present. They were never asked to work with them; the Boss would lose her shit at the thought of it. Then he noticed a particular redhead among them. "Miller's here?"

"Yeah." Rabbit said before biting down on the grain bar. "She was called back with our people sent to Canada."

"I bet you're happy." Stump smirked snidely. Not attempting to conceal the implication of his words. Practically asking so why aren't you all over her? Rabbit did not take the childish bait. Still tired from the long flight from five states over. "What? Still no luck so far."

"No idea what you're talking about."

Rabbit was aware lying or playing coy was not going to make the problem go away. Especially with Stump involved. Stump had always been aware of his interest in Angela since they first met upon the three's inductment into the ranks of the Blackwatch taskforce; and always relished the opportunity to torment him over it, even when his then girlfriend was around.

"Maybe time to change tactics…" Stump suggested.

I didn't ask for help!

"Could always learn some of her interests, like what she likes. Just shadow her a little."

Again! I didn't ask.

The wording of the latter suggestion caused him to look at Stump slightly taken aback. "So I should…what, stalk her like Cetcham did Jessica?"

"Oh, no, I'd hate for you to turn up with a collection of gunshot wounds." Stump smirked. "Work would be a tad more awkward, I imagine."

"Jackass…"

A pair of nice legs stopped not far from them. "Who are you two talking about?"

Rabbit glanced over to see Ingrid Hunnigan from Field Operations Support—thinking to himself really wish you weren't here either—standing there, then returned to looking at his bar. "Nothing." Not wanting to look back up. Life was easier that way: eyes forward, head down. This had been what ensured a less tedious way of life; and it had often been easier for him since the day he was emancipated from the hellish prison on Rockfort island.

"Just busting your ex's balls is all, Hunnigan."

"Ass hole." Rabbit sighed. Pulling himself onto his feet with an empty wrapper in hand.

Traversing the room, earning a side glance from Redfield who was not that pleased to see him. Rabbit ignored it. Throwing away the wrapper before getting another snack from the vending machine, needing something to distract himself in this tediously boring, unstimulating environment.

He heard the foot falls of heels approaching from behind. He assumed it was Hunnigan, coming to give an earful as always. She was the only one present in the oversized room he had been expecting to. Jill Valentine was not above wearing those on special occasions—or so he remembered back when he and Claire were still friends—but was typically more prone to dress…not tomboyish but urbanly with heels not being as likely, or so his memory was telling him. Conclusion: it must have been Ingrid.

"What is it now, Hunnigan?"

"Hunnigan?" He suddenly heard a british-like African accent.

Oops. He jerked around to see Sheva's pretty smiling face and dressed in her more professional attire which was near redolent to Ingrid's own attire. "Oh, sorry, Alomar."

"It's fine, Damien." her smile continued. Inspiring a soft one from Rabbit.

It wasn't much of a scratch to say he liked Sheva, too. She was a righteous person, a bit like Chris and Jill. Possessing a good heart. The kind of woman to drive him crazy—not too different from Miller and Hunnigan, and as attractive. One of those she met during the end of her USSTRACOM days. She was tough in a fight and fun to talk to, and the business look she had at the moment gave her an extra appealing look. The only downside was their slight distance in age.

Then again the age gap was not that different than it was with Angela either. It was less asinine than Leon's obssession with Ada Wong, from his perspective. Regardless, he liked her all the same; even if he probably had problems expressing feelings that concerned romantic matters. That used to infuriate Hunnigan, making it hard to gague him as a person.

Before Rabbit could say anything, Sheva spoke up again. "Is there something wrong? You look upset."

Rabbit's face snapped left to right rapidly. "I don't…think so." he tried to lie. "Just Stump's usual antics." But Sheva did not seem to fully buy his story, and ended up giving him a funny look. It was enticing, like much of her mannerism when they interacted outside of field work. The looks that made him want her more than usual. "And wondering what this is all about. You wouldn't happen to know by any chance, would you?"

Sheva shrugged. "Afraid not. The higher ups were cloak and dagger in the message."

What the hell…?

As they were chatting, a coarse voice called out. "Get in here!"

Sheva looked at him with another of her smiles. "Looks like you'll finally get some answers."

"Yay." Rabbit said dryly, following behind her.

Fortunately it seemed Rabbit was at the very least going to get some answers. The entire group was escorted into a briefing room with a screen on the wall. Where there were a few men and women already waiting.

Then he saw the logo on one of them: Blue Umbrella. Chris and Jill noticed it as well. Chris specifically seemed to be considering physical action. "What are they doing here?" Looking at the one in the room who he knew, a gruff and stern looking man by the name of Slade Porter, accusingly. Then Leon asked, "There a reason for them?"

It was a natural reaction—debatably. Blue Umbrella was the scarce non-B.O.W. remnant of the Umbrella Corporation not actively carrying out their own malicious influence in the world (allegedly) as they were, officially, acting as a ally in the War on (Bio)Terrorism in the years following the Terragrigia Panic of 2004. However, despite the reconstituted group's claimed desire to prove themselves not like their predecessors, many still had a great deal of…wariness to use a more generous description, and that was of the more civil opinions shared in public record and discourse, if not (non-casino related) reservations. Many such as those to survive the Mansion Incident and Raccoon City such as Chris, Jill, and Leon would be those to have distrust of them. Even the less involved in the fight against bioterrorism such as Barry Burton or Rebecca and activist organizations such as TerraSave were not that flattering of them.

Debatably, they were as disliked as the Blackwatch taskforce. The deviation is that the Biterrorism Security Assessment Alliance and Division of Security Operations abated their disdain for Rabbit and Stump's people because a number of their own people were among their ranks. That and the motivation behind the abhorring of their taskforce was that they were commanded by a woman with past affiliation to the Federal Bioterrorism Commission.

So the reasons for acrimony directed toward them was based on prejudice based on association.

It made Rabbit like them somewhat.

He found them to be not as bad based on his own experiences based on the interactions in the joint operations between them and his own people, especially in that one mission to go well in Lanshiang shortly before Simmons went more off the reservation than usual.

The bad blood had never interferred with them getting work done—in the vast majority of interactions—and they were still able to conduct themselves professionally enough with Special Operations Units.

Back on point.

Chris had some involvement with them on an op or two, but it did not dissuade his distrust of them as a whole. The verse was more or less the very same with Jill.

"Why does it matter? They're not my problem today…I'm assuming." Rabbit said, much to the protestation of his former Raccoon City denizen contemporaries.

"Correct." the DSO lead figure in the room, Will Shaw, told them. Looking as on edge as always.

Gazing over to them, Shaw asked them "Are any of you familiar with Caliban Cove?"

Ugh…

Rabbit did and cringed at the mention of it, as the Raccoon City clone was a place for shore leave he knew from personal experience. Sighing he answered reluctantly "It's a…bit like Raccoon City and Harvardville. Only it's more coastally situated in Maine."

There was not much else to it. The small city was an old one. Reported to have been founded as one of the older settlements in the halcyon days of the Stephen King state's history. Founded by one of the more docile colonist groups. It was once said to have even had some influence from the now defunct Umbrella corporation, however it was sufficient to say that was long dead. Beyond that there was little else to say of it.

Hunnigan looked at him in the corner of her eyes with a you better not expression, expecting him to make some stupid comment any second. Particularly to embarrass her personally in front of Kennedy. If the thought crossed his mind—or was aware of her gaze and concern—he may have even considered it.

"As of forty-eight hours ago it fell victim to a coordinated biohazard, of sorts." Slade told them.

The hell is that supposed to mean?

Rabbit had been out of the country for a few weeks with a mission in Germany and had gotten back home less than even one week, granted, so he would not have been aware of every aspect of life or events transpiring in the states but for this to have escaped his awareness was something else altogether.

Images were brought onto the screen. Showing the images of a city now overrun with people infected with the T-virus, as well as a multitude of B.O.W.s. All to their disgust and Rabbit's bewilderment.

"This was unfortunately not the extent of the problem." Shaw explained. "Shortly after these zombies began to crop up there was an attempt to dispatch forces to contend with the situation only for them to be eliminated with gunfire."

Chris and the rest had a confused look, while Rabbit and Stump were tilting their heads.

"The ones responsible for this event had people on standby, waiting and ready for our response. They've since then gone as far to deploy not only B.O.W.s into the fray but have ground forces acting in the area. We eventually received a video from the culprits." Shaw said before pressing on a panel.

A video came onto the screen, with a lone masked figure visible. It was the typical standard terrorist video. No different than those to arise in the years since the bioterrorism trend was kicked off. Only no flag, no logo; no general identifiable feature to distinguish themselves from the other members of their ignoble kind.

"Greetings, champions of the corrupt profligates." The man's mask mounted head looked up to the camera. "We are the Talon, and this is the beginning of our retribution upon you for your failings. We are the lost, forgotten, and spurned souls. Those you left to die in the pursuit of your own glory and whose true saviors you slew as if they were a dragon for personal gain. Caliban Cove is now our domain, we have begun the process of intensifying the hostility which the survivors to peak your interest will contend with. And your efforts to enter were not only pointless but as futile as they were pathetic. If you wish to not suffer a similar shame in the future, then the following are to be among those who enter the no-go zone or we shall spread the reach of the B. :" then a series of faces popped onto the screen. Faces Rabbit recognized all too well. "Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy, Jill Valentine, Damien Walker, James Baird, Angela Miller, and Sheva Alamor."

Other names were shared as well images of those they wished to have entered the no-go zone in this video recorded demand.

"Failure to comply in the following week shall result in escalation of our efforts. Good day." The passive threat was received loud and clear.

The video feed then cut off.

Rabbit was quick to ask with a pointing finger "And we're dancing to these fuckers' tune….why?"

Shaw's ironclad glare met Rabbit. The operative did not waver, standing his ground firmly—his curiosity was too strong. His fellow Blackwatch members were looking at him with a you're dead look in that silent moment with the tension so thick they could have cut it with a knife.

"Because of the fact that they already have scores of hostages at their mercy, and if this is not reason enough for you…" Shaw pressed a button to bring an image to the screen. "I would think this may entice you." And boy did it ever; in the worst possible way.

Rabbit's eyes widened in shock. The image showed a woman with a familiar ponytail alongside Rebecca Chambers in the streets of Caliban Cove. They had not been captured, but they were being pursued by a squad of spec ops who resembled the old Umbrella Security Services that Rabbit would see his brother work with before their arrest. Using similar tactics, and firing at the women—aiming for their legs; missing but showing hostile intent all the same.

"Shit…"

"Yes. Shit." one of the Blue Umbrella members said from his reclined position in one of the chairs, relaxing.

Rabbit faced toward him. Then jerked his head back to the now dead screen. "I take it you're familiar with these pricks?"

"We were in the process of investigating them—in connection to the research conducted by Alex Wesker on Sein Island—before this happened."

"So this is your mess, then?" Leon asked accusingly.

The man's superior came to his defense. "Ghost, here, and we were investigating a group that we had good cause to believe were smuggling a virus or seven and this led to Caliban Cove. We informed your government as soon as they deemed fit to finally answer our calls—the day before the biohazard began."

Leon was ready to say more, as was Chris, but Rabbit beat them to uttering his words first. "Who are they? Do you really know anything about them?"

"Not much." Ghost said. "Our guys who infiltrated the auction said that a few of 'em mentioned being survivors of some past biohazard, and a few of them used a choice of words that sounded like they were left over from H.C.F."

H.C.F.? That caught Rabbit's attention. He would never forget those guys. How could he, factually speaking? They caused the biohazard that emancipated him from Rockfort Island on that dark, nightmare of a christmas night to shatter his notions of reality. The one that led to Burnside's death.

"We think they're the remnants of various bioterorirst or bioterrorist-like factions. As well as the . Granted it's just speculation at this point, but based on the documents our infiltrators had procured it seems to be the case. It's possible that they've recruited a survivor or two of past biohazards, but we can't be certain."

"Why would…never mind."

"For now we are forced to play along." Slade told them. "We will be dispatching all of you with our Blue friends here and an army of soldiers and operatives tomorrow. Both BSAA and DSO."

"For the record," Rabbit spoke up, looking at Slade, "This is probably not a bad idea."

"Duly noted." Shaw told him. "Now sit down and shut up."

"Sure How 'bout I pop you one while we're at it?"

The briefing continued regardless, Grim was going to give him an earful, though, when they were finished. He'd bet money on that.

The latest verse is, as always, the same as the first.