S. D. Perry - Resident Evil 03 - City Of The Dead

PROLOGUE

Raccoon Times, August 26,1998

MAYOR ANNOUNCES 'KEEP CITY SAFE' PLAN

RACCOON CITY—On the front steps of City Hall, Mayor Harris

announced in a press conference yesterday afternoon that the City

Council will be hiring at least ten new police officers to join the

Raccoon police, in response to the continued suspension of the

Special Tactics and Rescue Squad (S.T.A.R.S.), in effect since the

brutal murders that plagued Raccoon earlier this summer. Joined

by Police Chief Brian Irons and all of Raccoon's Council members,

Harris assured the gathered citizens and reporters that Raccoon

City will once again be a safe community in which to live and

work, and that the investigation into the eleven "cannibal"

murders and three fatal wild-animal attacks is far from closed.

"Just because no one else has been attacked in the last month

doesn't mean that the elected officials of this city can relax,"

Harris stated. "The good people of Raccoon deserve to have

confidence in their police force and to be secure in the knowledge

that their political representatives are doing everything possible to

ensure each citizen's safety. As many of you know, the

S.T.A.R.S.'s suspension is likely to become permanent. That unit's

gross mishandling of the murder investigations and its subsequent

disappearance from Raccoon City suggests that they don't care

about this community - but I want to assure you that we care,

that myself, Chief Irons, and the men and women you see here

today want nothing more than to make Raccoon a place in which

our children can grow up without fear."

Harris went on to detail a three-point plan designed to bolster

public confidence and keep Raccoon citizens from falling victim to

violence. Besides hiring between ten and twelve new police

officers, the citywide curfew will remain in place through at least

September, and Chief Irons will personally head a task force of

several officers and detectives to continue searching for the killers

who took the lives of eleven people between May and July of this

year. . .

Cityside, September 4,1998

RENOVATION OP UMBRELLA COMPLEX PLANNED

RACCOON CITY— The Umbrella chemical plant just south of

downtown Raccoon is due for major construction efforts, slated to

begin next Monday. This will be the third such structural

renovation in the last year for the thriving pharmaceutical

company. According to Umbrella spokesperson Amanda Whitney,

two of the laboratories inside the main plant will be fitted with

several million dollars' worth of new equipment designed for

vaccine synthesis, and the building itself will receive a state-of-

the-art security system. In addition, all of the connected office

buildings will be upgrading computers over the next several

weeks. But will this be a problem for downtown traffic? Said

Whitney, "With the Raccoon police building just finishing up yet

another one of their renovations, we know that local commuters

are getting pretty tired of blocked streets. We're going to do our

best not to get in the way of downtown traffic; most of the

construction is internal, and the rest we'll be doing after business

hours." The courtyard in front of the RPD building, our readers

may remember, was recently repaved and landscaped after several

mysterious cracks appeared in the cement and topsoil; traffic had

to be diverted around two blocks of Oak Street for six days.

When asked why so many "overhauls" as of late, Whitney

replied, "Umbrella has stayed ahead of the competition for as long

as it has by keeping up with current technology. It's going to be a

busy couple of months, but I think it will be well worth the effort

when we're finally through. . ."

Raccoon Weekly Editorial, September 17, 1998

IRONS TO RUN?

RACCOON CITY— Mayor Harris may be in for a rough race next

spring. Weekly sources inside the RPD are saying that Brian Irons,

chief of police for the last four-and-a-half years, may be running

for the city's top office in the next election, facing off against the

popular and as yet unopposed Devlin Harris, already in office for

three consecutive terms. Although Irons would not confirm his

possible entry into the political arena, the onetime S.T.A.R.S.

member also refused to deny the rumor.

With his approval rating at an all-time high ever since the

cessation of this summer's savage murders (as yet unsolved) and

the planned expansion of the RPD, Chief Irons may indeed be the

man to knock Harris out of City Hall; the question is, will voters

be able to forget Irons's alleged involvement in the 1994 Cider

District land scam? Or his rather expensive tastes In art and

interior design, which have turned parts of the RPD building into

something more like a museum than a working office? Assuming

he means to throw his hat into the ring, this reporter - for one -

- will be looking forward to examining Irons's financial

records. . .

Baocoan Times, September 22,1998

TEENAGER ATTACKED IN CITY PARK

RACCOON CITY—At, approximately 6:30 P.M. last night, fourteen-

year-old Shanna Williamson was accosted by a mysterious stranger

in downtown's Birch Street Park on the way home from softball

practice. The man came out from behind a row of hedges at the

south end of the park and knocked Ms. Williamson off of her

bicycle before attempting to grab her. The teen managed to get

away with onty a few scratches, running to the nearby residence of

Tom and Clara Atkins; Mrs. Atkins alerted the authorities, who

conducted a thorough search of the park but found no sign of the

attacker. According to the girl (through a police statement issued

earlier this morning), the man appeared to be a transient; his

clothes and hair were dirty, and she described a bad odor coming

from him, a "smell like rotten fruit." She also said that he seemed

drunk, staggering and falling after her as she ran.

With the plague of cannibalistic murders from May to July still

unsolved, the RPD is taking Ms. Williamson's encounter very

seriously; the assailant bears a striking resemblance to eyewitness

reports of the "gang" members spotted in Victory Park last June.

Mayor Harris has called a press conference for later today, and

Mice Chief Brian Irons has stated already that with the first of

the newly hired police officers expected next week, regular patrols

will extend their routes to include the downtown park blocks. . .

ONE

SEPTEMBER 26, 1998

WITH THE GUYS WAITING OUTSIDE IN BAR-

ry's truck, Jill did her best to hurry. It wasn't easy; the

house had been tossed since the last time she'd been

there, the floors were strewn with books and papers,

and it was too dark to navigate around the debris

easily. That her small home had been violated was

upsetting, though not much of a surprise. She figured

she should just be thankful that she wasn't really the

sentimental type - and that the intruders hadn't

managed to find her passport.

She grabbed random handfuls of clean socks and

underwear in the cramped darkness of the bedroom

and stuffed them deep into her weathered backpack,

wishing she could turn on the lights. Packing a bag in

the dark was harder than it sounded, would be even if

one's house hadn't been trashed; but she knew they

couldn't afford to take any chances. It was unlikely

that Umbrella still had all of their houses staked out,

but if there was anyone watching, a light in the

window could draw fire.

At least you're getting out. No more hiding.

There was that much. They were headed for foreign

soil, to storm enemy headquarters and very likely get

killed in the process, but at least she wouldn't have to

hang out in Raccoon anymore. And from what she'd

read in the papers lately, maybe that was for the best.

Two attacks in the last week ... Chris and Barry were

skeptical about the danger, even knowing what the

T-Virus did to people - Barry thought it was some kind

of a PR stunt, that Umbrella would "rescue" Raccoon

before anyone got hurt. Chris agreed, insisting that

Umbrella wouldn't crap in their own back yard, so to

speak, what with the Spencer estate disaster so recent.

But Jill wasn't prepared to assume anything; Umbrel-

la had already proven that they couldn't contain their

research. And with what Rebecca and David Trapp's

team had faced in Maine ...

Now wasn't the time to think about that - they had

a plane to catch. Jill scooped the flashlight off the

dresser and was about to head for the living room

when she remembered that she only had one bra with

her. Scowling, she turned back to the open drawers

and started to dig. She had enough clothing already,

chosen from what Brad had left behind when he'd fled

Raccoon; she and the guys had been holed up in his

vacant house for several weeks, ever since Umbrella

had hit Barry's house, and although none of Brad's

stuff fit Chris's tall frame or Barry's massive one,

she'd been able to make do. Lingerie, however, wasn't

something the S.T.A.R.S. pilot had stocked up on.

She didn't particularly want to hop off the plane in

Austria and have to go bra shopping.

"Vanity, thy name is underwire," she muttered

softly, pawing through the rumpled heap. She found

the elusive article only after she'd gone through the

drawer twice, and crammed it into the bag as she

jogged toward the small front room of the rented

house. It was only the second time she'd been there

since they'd gone into hiding; she had the feeling she

might not be coming back for a while. There was a

picture of her father on one of the bookshelves that

she wanted to take.

Stepping nimbly through the dark clutter, she

hooded the flashlight with one hand and trained the

narrow beam at the corner where the shelf had been.

The Umbrella team had knocked the whole thing over

but apparently hadn't bothered to go through the

books themselves. God only knew what they'd been

looking for in the first place. Clues as to where the

renegade S.T.A.R.S. were hiding, probably; after the

attack at Barry's house and the disastrous mission at

Caliban Cove, she no longer had any illusions about

Umbrella simply ignoring them.

Jill spotted the book she wanted, a rather lurid-

looking paperback entitled Prison Life; her father

would have laughed. She picked it up and rifled

through the pages, stopping when the light fell across

Dick Valentine's crooked grin. He'd sent the picture

along with one of his more recent letters, and she'd

tucked it into the book so that she wouldn't lose it.

Hiding important things was a habit she'd gotten into

young, one that had just paid off yet again.

She let the book drop, the need to hurry suddenly

forgotten as she gazed down at the photo. A faint

smile played across her lips. He was probably the only

man she knew of who looked good in the bright

orange jumpsuit of a maximum security pen. For just

a moment, she wondered what he'd think of her

current predicament; in a roundabout way, he was

responsible, at least for her getting involved with the

S.T.A.R.S. in the first place. After he'd been sent up,

he'd urged her to get out of the business, even saying

that he'd been wrong to train her as a thief. . .

. . . so I take a legit job, actually working for society

instead of against it and people in Raccoon start

dying. The S.T.A.R.S. uncover a conspiracy to create

bioweapons with a virus that turns living things into

monsters. Obviously nobody believes us, the S. T.A.R.S.

that can't be bought by Umbrella are either discredited

or eliminated. So we go underground, try to dig up

proof and come up empty-handed as Umbrella contin-

ues to screw around with their dangerous research and

more good people are killed. Now we're off on what will

probably be a suicide mission to Europe to see if we can

infiltrate the headquarters of a multibillion-dollar cor-

poration and stop them from destroying the goddamn

planet. What would you think, I wonder? Assuming

you'd even believe such a fantastic tale, what would

you think?

"You'd be proud of me, Dick," she whispered,

scarcely aware that she'd spoken aloud and not at

all sure if it was the truth. Her father wanted to see

her in a less perilous line of work, and compared to

what she and the other ex-S.T.A.R.S. were currently

up against, burglary was about as dangerous as ac-

counting.

After a long moment, she carefully placed the photo

into a pocket of the backpack and looked around at

the broken remnants of her small home, still thinking

about her father and what he'd say about the strange

path her life had taken; if things went well, maybe

she'd be able to ask him in person. Rebecca Chambers

and the other survivors of the Maine mission were

still in hiding, quietly networking through the

S.T.A.R.S. organization for support and waiting to

hear what she and Chris and Barry could tell them

about Umbrella's headquarters. The official HQ was

in Austria, although they all suspected that the minds

behind the T-Virus had their own secret complex

elsewhere - which you won't find out if you don't get your ass

in gear; the guys are gonna think you stopped to take a

nap.

Jill shouldered the bag and took a final look around

the room before moving toward the back door,

through the kitchen. There was a lingering scent of

rotten fruit in the dark air, coming from a bowl of

apples and pears on top of the refrigerator that had

long since disintegrated into mush. Even though she

knew better, the smell caused a chill to run up her

spine; she hurried for the closed door, trying to block

out the sudden vivid flashes of memory of what

they'd found at the Spencer estate ...

... rotting as they walked, reaching out with wet

and withered fingers, faces melting with pus and de-

cay -

"Jill?"

She barely contained a cry of surprise at the sound

of Chris's soft voice just outside. The door opened,

Chris silhouetted against the darkness by a distant

streetlight.

"Yeah, right here," she said, stepping forward.

"Sorry it took me so long. Umbrella's been through

here with a bulldozer."

Even in the bare light she could see the half grin on

his boyish face. "We were starting to think the zom-

bies got ya," he said, and although his tone was light,

she could hear real concern beneath it.

Jill knew that he was trying to ease the tension but

couldn't find it in herself to smile back. Too many

people had died because of what Umbrella had un-

leashed in the woods outside of town; if the spill had

happened closer to Raccoon ...

"Not funny," she said softly.

Chris's grin faded. "I know. You ready?"

Jill nodded, although she didn't feel particularly

ready for what lay ahead. Then again, she hadn't felt

ready for what they were leaving behind, either. In a

matter of weeks, her concept of reality had undergone

a massive shift, turning nightmares into the common-

place.

Evil corporations, mad scientists, killer viruses. And

the walking dead ...

"Yeah," she said finally. "I'm ready."

Together, they stepped outside. As Jill closed the

door behind them, she was suddenly struck by a

strange and ominous certainty that she would never

set foot in the house again, that the three of them

wouldn't be coming back to Raccoon City at all ...

... but not because anything happens to us. Some-

thing will happen, but not to us.

Frowning, hand on the doorknob, she hesitated for

a moment and tried to make sense of the bizarre

thought. If they survived the recon, if they were

successful in their fight against Umbrella, why

wouldn't they come back to their homes? She didn't

know, but the feeling was uncomfortably strong.

Something bad was going to happen, something. . .

"Hey, you okay?"

Jill looked up at Chris, saw the same concern on his

youthful face that she'd noticed earlier. They'd gotten

pretty close in the last few weeks, although she

suspected that Chris might like to get a bit closer.

Oh, and you don't?

The sense of impending unpleasantness was already

fading, other confusions and uncertainties stepping in

to take its place. Jill shook herself mentally and

nodded at Chris, letting the feelings go. The flight to

New York wasn't going to wait for her to indulge in

self-analysis ... or to worry about things that she

couldn't control, imagined or otherwise.

Still, that feeling . . .

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, and

meant it.

They moved out into the night, leaving the house

dark behind them, as lonely and silent as a tomb.

TWO

OCTOBER.3, 1998

TWILIGHT HAD SETTLED ACROSS THE MOUN-

tains, painting the jagged horizon in shades of purple

dusk. The winding blacktop snaked through the gath-

ering darkness, surrounded by shadowed hills that

towered into the cloudless sky, stretching toward the

first faint glimmerings of starlight.

Leon might have appreciated the majestic view a

bit more if he wasn't so goddamn late. He'd make it to

his shift on time, sure, but he'd been hoping to get

settled into the new apartment first, take a shower, get

something to eat; as it was, he might have time to hit a

drive-through on his way to the station. Changing into

his uniform back at the last rest stop had saved him a

couple of minutes, but basically he was screwed.

Way to go, Officer Kennedy. First day on the job and

you'll be picking cheeseburger out of your teeth during

roll call. Very professional.

His shift started at nine and it was already just after

eight; Leon let his boot ride a little heavier on the gas,

even as his Jeep whipped past a sign that told him he

was half an hour away from Raccoon City. At least the

road was clear; except for a couple of semis, he hadn't

seen anyone for what felt like hours. A nice change,

considering the traffic tie-up just outside of New York

that had cost him most of the afternoon. He'd actu-

ally tried to call the night before to leave a message

with the desk sergeant that he might be late, but

there'd been something wrong with the connection.

Nothing but a busy signal.

What little furniture he had was already moved into

a studio apartment in the working-class but basically

decent Trask district of Raccoon City, there was a

nice park not two blocks away, and it was only a five-

minute drive to the station. No more gridlock, no

more overcrowded slums or random acts of brutality.

Assuming he could survive the embarrassment of

showing up to his first shift as a full-blown officer of

the law without having unpacked his bags, he was

looking forward to living in the peaceful community.

Raccoon is about as far removed from the Big Apple

as you can get, thank you very much - well, except for

the last few months. Those murders . . .

In spite of himself, he felt a tiny thrill at the

thought. What had happened in Raccoon was horri-

ble, of course, sickening, but the perps had never

been caught and the investigation was really just

getting started. And if Irons liked him, liked him as

much as the heads of the academy had liked him,

maybe Leon would get a chance to work on the case.

Word had it that Chief Irons was kind of a prick, but

Leon knew his training had been top-notch - even a

prick would have to be a little impressed. He'd

graduated in the top tenth, after all. And it wasn't like

he was a stranger to Raccoon City, since he'd spent

most of his summers there as a kid, when his grand-

parents were still alive. Back then, the RPD building

had been a library and Umbrella was still several

years away from turning the town into an actual city,

but in most ways it was still the same quiet place he

remembered from his childhood. Once the cannibal

killers were finally put away, Raccoon would be ideal

again - beautiful, clean, a white-collar community

nestled in the mountains like a secret paradise.

So I get settled in and a week or two passes, and

Irons notices how well written my reports are, or sees

how good I am on the target range. He asks me to take

a look at the case files, just to familiarize myself with

the details so I can do some footwork and I see

something that no one else has seen. A pattern, maybe,

or a motive on more than one of the victims ... maybe

I run across a witness report that reads wrong. No one

else has caught it because they've lived with it for too

long, and this rookie cop just comes along and cracks

the case, not a month out of the academy and I. . .

Something ran in front of the Jeep.

"Jesus!"

Leon hit the brake and swerved, shocked out of his

daydream as he struggled for control of the vehicle.

The brakes locked and there was a screech of rubber

that sounded like a scream. The Jeep half-turned to

face the darkening trees that lined the road—and

came to a stop on the shoulder, dying after a final

lurching jolt.

Heart pounding and stomach in knots, Leon

opened the window and craned his neck, scanning the

shadows for the animal that had darted across the

highway. He hadn't hit it, but it had been close. Some

kind of a dog, he didn't get a clear look - a big one,

anyway, a shepherd or maybe an oversized Dober-

man, but it had looked wrong somehow. He'd only

seen it for a split-second, a flash of glowing red eyes

and lean, wolfish body. And there was something else,

it had seemed kind of...

... slimy? No, trick of the light, or you were just so

shit-scared that you saw it wrong. You're okay and you

didn't hit it, that's the important thing.

"Jesus," he said again, softer this time, feeling both

relieved and suddenly quite angry as the adrenaline

leaked out of his system. People who let their dogs run

loose were idiots - claiming they wanted their pets to

be free and then acting surprised when Fido got

squashed by a car.

The Jeep had come to a stop just a few feet away

from a road sign that read RACCOON CITY 10; he

could just make out the lettering in the growing

shadows. Leon glanced at his watch; he still had

almost half an hour to get to the station, plenty of

time - but for some reason, he simply sat for a

moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Cool

pine-scented air breezed across his face; the deserted

stretch of road seeming almost unnaturally quiet - as

if the landscape was holding its breath, waiting. Now

that his heart had resumed a more normal pace, he

was surprised to find that he still felt unsettled, even

anxious.

The murders in Raccoon. Weren't a few of those

people killed by animal attack? Wild dogs, or some-

thing? Maybe that wasn't someone's pet dog at all.

A disturbing thought - and even more disturbing

was the sudden feeling he had that the dog was still

close by, maybe watching him from the darkness in

the trees.

Welcome to Raccoon City, Officer Kennedy. Watch

out for things that may be watching you. . .

"Don't be an asshole," Leon mumbled to himself,

and felt a little better at the sound of his no-nonsense

adult tone of voice. He often wondered if he would

ever outgrow his imagination.

Daydreaming like a kid about catching bad guys,

then inventing killer dog-monsters lurking in the

woods - let's try to act our age, eh, Leon? You're a cop,

for God's sake, a grownup...

He started the engine and backed onto the road,

ignoring the strange sense of unease that had some-

how managed to take hold of him in spite of his

mind's chiding voice. He had a new job and a nice

S. D. Perry - Resident Evil 03 - City Of The Dead

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