Chapter 1: Deployment (The Descent into Chaos)
The blades of the helicopter sliced through the early morning air, the steady whump-whump-whump reverberating through the cabin like the heartbeat of some restless beast. Daniel Botia sat rigid in his seat, eyes narrowed behind his tactical helmet, scanning the rapidly approaching skyline of Raccoon City. It was supposed to be a routine deployment, another crisis for the books—a minor disturbance to keep civilian casualties low. But the hum of the engine couldn't drown out the growing unease in his chest.
Around him, UBCS Charlie Team sat in a strained silence. Some soldiers fiddled with their weapons, checking the action of their rifles or adjusting their Kevlar, while others tried to drown their nerves in idle chatter. Daniel's own weapon, a blackened M4A1, rested comfortably against his chest, ready and waiting. But the routine feel of the deployment, the familiar comfort of the weight of his rifle, couldn't shake a creeping suspicion gnawing at the edges of his mind.
"Another day, another evac," muttered Rodriguez from across the aisle. His voice had the kind of forced casualness that only someone who had seen too much combat could pull off. "In and out, no problem, right?"
Daniel turned his head slightly, offering only a curt nod. Rodriguez always had a knack for easing tension in the squad, but this time even his cocky grin seemed plastered on. They'd all heard whispers, rumors about the true nature of Umbrella's involvement in this city—about what was really going on here.
They were being sent in to "evacuate civilians," but the briefings had been vague. Too vague. And that was a problem.
Daniel's thoughts drifted back to the briefing room at headquarters. He recalled the way the higher-ups had avoided eye contact, their clipped tone as they spouted the usual jargon: situation under control, contain the panic, minimal resistance expected. But something had been missing. No mention of local authorities. No coordination with the city's emergency services.
No word on the real threat.
The helicopter dipped slightly, bringing them lower over the rooftops of Raccoon City. Through the small window, Daniel saw streets lined with abandoned cars, people moving in a state of barely controlled chaos, and something else. Amidst the panicked civilians, others moved in slow, shuffling patterns, as if in a daze.
"What's the deal with this evac?" asked Ramirez, one of the newer recruits, breaking the heavy silence. "If it's just panic in the streets, why are we rolling in like it's a warzone?"
"Because it is a warzone," came the gruff response from Captain Thompson, seated at the front of the cabin. His voice carried an edge that silenced further questions. "Umbrella's counting on us to secure key assets and personnel. Civilians are secondary. You follow orders, you stay alive. That's the mission."
Daniel frowned. Key assets and personnel. It wasn't the first time Thompson had used that phrase, and it always came with a bitter aftertaste. There was something they weren't being told, something dangerous enough to need Umbrella's private military contractors rather than standard law enforcement or the National Guard.
The helicopter banked hard, and Daniel caught sight of a plume of smoke rising from the heart of the city. Flames danced across a small block of buildings, and the street below had devolved into pure chaos. Cars lay overturned, some smoldering, and the people… there was something wrong with the people. They weren't just panicked—they were frantic, desperate, some of them swarming others in erratic movements, like animals.
Thompson's voice came through their comms. "Touching down in five. We're hitting the ground running. Secure the perimeter, evac any civvies we can, and hold for further instructions."
The helicopter began its descent, and the team gripped their weapons tighter. Daniel's heart pounded in his chest, every instinct screaming that something was off. His training told him to focus, to push the doubt aside, but a shadow hung over the mission, thick and suffocating.
As they neared the ground, the full scale of the chaos became clear. Fires raged unchecked, and the air was thick with the sound of distant screams. Bodies lay in the street—some motionless, others still writhing in grotesque spasms, their movements jerky and unnatural.
"What the hell..." Rodriguez muttered, leaning over for a better view. "That doesn't look like a riot."
The helicopter's skids touched down, and Thompson was the first to disembark, signaling for the rest of the team to follow. Daniel moved with mechanical precision, rifle at the ready as his boots hit the pavement. The stench hit him first—a mix of smoke, blood, and something else. Something sickly sweet, like rot left too long in the sun.
Charlie Team fanned out, securing their perimeter as they had done a hundred times before. But this wasn't like any other mission. Daniel could feel it in the air, in the way the city itself seemed to pulse with fear.
"Botia, take point," Thompson ordered, his voice sharp and clipped. "We move through the main boulevard. Clear the street, evac any survivors."
Daniel nodded, falling into formation with practiced ease. He led the team forward, his eyes sweeping the area for threats. The street was eerily quiet now, only the crackle of distant flames and the occasional moan breaking the silence.
The first body they came across was slumped against a burned-out sedan, a middle-aged woman in a blood-soaked dress. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the sky, her throat torn out in a way that sent a chill down Daniel's spine.
"Jesus…" Ramirez whispered behind him.
"Stay focused," Daniel hissed, moving forward. But the further they went, the worse it got. The bodies became more frequent, each one more brutalized than the last. And then, amidst the carnage, Daniel saw movement.
A man stumbled out from behind an overturned truck, his clothes tattered, his skin pale and waxy. His eyes were sunken, and his mouth hung open, drooling blood. He moved with an unsteady gait, his arms twitching unnaturally.
"Sir, we've got a survivor," Rodriguez called out, stepping toward the man. "Hey! You need help?"
The man turned slowly, his movements jerky, and as his gaze fixed on them, Daniel's stomach dropped. This wasn't a survivor.
"Rodriguez, get back!" Daniel shouted, raising his rifle.
Too late. The man let out a guttural growl and lunged, faster than anyone could react. Rodriguez barely had time to scream before the man's teeth sank into his neck, ripping through flesh with sickening ease. Blood sprayed as Rodriguez fell, clutching at his throat.
"Open fire!" Thompson barked, and the street erupted into gunfire.
Daniel squeezed the trigger, his rounds slamming into the attacker's chest, but it barely slowed him down. It wasn't until a round caught the man in the head that he finally dropped, crumpling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Holy shit," Ramirez gasped, eyes wide with shock. "What the fuck was that?"
Thompson knelt beside Rodriguez, but it was already too late. His lifeless eyes stared up at the smoke-filled sky, his blood pooling on the asphalt.
Daniel stood frozen, his mind racing. This wasn't just panic. This wasn't just some riot. Something was very, very wrong in Raccoon City.
And they had just stepped into the heart of it.
