2 Chapter 1

Jill Valentine was late for the briefing, yet she somehow managed to drop her keys into her coffee on the way out of her room. There was a muted ting as they hit the bottom, Jill paused in mid-stride, staring in disbelief at the steaming ceramic mug, then the thick stack of files in other arm slid onto the floor. Paper clips and sticky notes all over the tan carpeting.

"Damn," she cursed while checking on her watch, swiftly goes back toward her kitchen.

Wesker had called the meeting for 19:00 sharp, and she only had nine minutes left to make the ten-minute drive, find the parking spot, and get her ass into the chair.

This was the first full disclosure meeting since S.T.A.R.S had gotten the case- hell, it was her first real meeting!

And of course, she was going to be late.

'Probably my first time to give a rat's ass about being on time, and I fall apart by the door...," she muttered gloomily as she strode to the sink, feeling tense and angry for not getting ready earlier.

It was the goddamn case's fault, she had picked up her copies of the ME files right after breakfast and spent all day digging through the reports, searching for the missing clues, only to feel more frustrated by the end since she discovered nothing new.

She dumped the coffee and picked the warm, wet keys, wiping them on her jeans before running back to the front door, crouches to gather the files.

Jill suddenly stopped, a glossy color photo caught her attention on the above of all files.

"Oh, girls..."

She picked it up gently, knowing she didn't have the time and yet unable to glance away from the blood-spattered faces. Jill felt the knots of tension that had been building all day intensify, and all she could do is to take a breath while staring at the crime scene photo.

Becky and Priscilla McGee, nine and seven years old.

She had flipped past it earlier, telling herself that she had nothing to see in it.

But it isn't true, is it? You can keep pretending, or you can admit it- everything's different now, it has been different since the day they died.

When Jill first moved to Raccoon, she had been under a lot of stress, feeling uncertain about the transfer, not even sure she actually wanted to be part of S.T.A.R.S.

She was good at her job, but had only taken it because of Dick; after the indictment, he had started to pressure her to get into another line of work. It had taken a while, but her father persistently told her again and again that one Valentine in jail was enough, he even admitted that he had raised her in the wrong way.

With her training and background, there weren't a whole lot of options but S.T.A.R.S, at least, appreciates her skills and disregards how she had gotten them.

The pay was decent, there was the element of the risk she had grown to enjoy. In retrospect, the career change had been surprisingly easy; it made Dick happy and gave her the chance to see how the other half lived. Still, the transfer had been harder on her than she had realized. For the first time since Dick had gone inside, she truly felt alone and working for the law as if starts to seem like a joke.

The daughter of Dick Valentine, working for truth, justice, and the American way.

Her promotion to the Alphas, a nice little house in the suburbs-it was crazy, and she had been giving serious thought to just blowing out of town, giving up all of this, and going back to what she had been before.

Until two little girls who lived across the street showed up on her doorstep and asked her with wide, tear-stained eyes if she was a cop. Their parents at work and they couldn't find their dog.

Becky in her green school dress, little Pris in her overalls, both sniffling and shy.

Their dog had been wandering through a garden only a few blocks away, no sweat and she had made two new friends, as easy as that.

The sisters had promptly adopted Jill, showing up after school to bring her messy bunches of flowers, playing in her yard on weekends, singing her endless song they learned from movies and cartoons.

It's not that the girls had magically taken away her loneliness and idea, but somehow she no longer eager to move away.

For the first time in her twenty-three years, Jill started to feel like she is part of the community she had lived and worked, the change was very subtle and gradual that she barely noticed them.

Six weeks ago, Becky and Pris wandered away from their family picnic, and they became the first two victims of the psychopath that had terrorized the isolated city.

Her hand trembled, sparing her at nothing.

Becky laid on her back, staring blindly at the sky as her mouth gaped; a ragged hole in her belly.

Pris sprawled next to her, arms outstretched, chunks of flesh ripped savagely from the slender limbs.

Both had been eviscerated, dying of massive trauma before they had bled out.

Their scream, heard by no one.

'Enough!' Jill put down the photo, 'they are gone, but I finally can do something about it.'

Then, she gathered the papers back into their folder, she stepped outside into the early evening, taking a deep breath.

The scent of freshly cut grass was heavy in the sun-warmed air. A dog barked happily amidst the shouts of children down the street.

Jill hurried to the small-dented gray hatchback, parked by the front walk, forcing herself not to look at the silent McGee house.

She started the car and pulled away from the curb, drives through the wide suburban streets of her neighborhood, pushing the speed limit while carefully watch for kids and pets.

There weren't many around because of the incidents.

The little hatchback shuddered as she accelerated up the ramp to Highway 202, the warm and dry air, whipping her long hair back from her face.

It felt good, like waking up from a bad dream.

She sped through the sun-dappled evening, the shadows of trees growing long across the road.

Whether it was fate or just the luck of the draw, her life had been touched by what was happening in Raccoon City. She couldn't keep pretending that she just some jaded ex-thief, trying to stay out of jail, trying to toe the line to make her father happy, or S.T.A.R.S was just another job.

It mattered now, it mattered to her that those children were dead, and the killers still on the loose.

The victim files next to her fluttered slightly, the top of folder caught by the wind; nine restless spirits, perhaps, Becky and Priscilla McGee was among them.

Jill rested her right hand on the ruffled sheet, gently stilling it, and she swore to herself that no matter what it took, she was going to find out who was responsible.

Whatever she had been before, whatever she would be in the future, she had changed and wouldn't rest until these murders held accountable for their actions.

(***)

"Sup, Chris!"

Chris Redfield turned away from the soda machine, sees Forest Speyer strode down the empty hall with a wide grin on his tanned and boyish face.

He was actually a few years older than Chris, but looked like a rebellious teenager; long hair, studded jean jacket, a tattoo of a skull smoking a cigarette on his left shoulder.

The man was also an excellent mechanic, and one of the best shots Chris had ever seen in action.

"Hey, Forest. What's up?" Chris scooped up a can of club soda from machine's dispenser and glanced at his watch, still a couple of minutes left before the meeting. Smiling tiredly as Forest stopped in front of him, his blue eyes gleaming, Forest was carrying an armful of equipment; vest, utility belt, and shoulder pack.

"Wesker gave Marini the go-ahead to start the search. Bravo's team goin' in." Forest excitedly said, his Alabama slang slowed his words to a stereotypical drawl. He dropped his stuff on one of the visitors' chair, still grinning widely.

Chris frowned, "When?"

"Now, as soon as I warm up the 'copter." Forest pulled the Kevlar vest over his T-shirt as he spoke, "while you Alphas sit and take notes, we're kicking some cannibal ass!"

"Yeah, well just watch your ass, okay? I still think there's more going on here than a couple of slobbering nut jobs hanging around in the woods."

"You know it," Forest pushed his hair to the back and grabbed his utility belt, obviously dedicated to the mission.

Chris thought about saying more, but he decided not to in the end. For all of his bravado, Forest was a professional; he didn't need the 'careful' word.

But, did he though, Chris? Do you think Billy was careful enough?

Chris inwardly sighed, slaps Forest's shoulder lightly and heads for ops through the doorway of the small waiting room upstairs and down the hall.

Although it was standard for the less experienced S.T.A.R.S to do recon first, this case wasn't exactly a standard operation. The number of death alone was enough to call for a more aggressive offense. The fact that there were signs of organized murders have brought it to A1 status, yet Wesker was treating like as if some kind of a training run.

Nobody else sees it; they didn't know Billy, Chris thought again about the late-night call he had gotten last week from his childhood friend. He hadn't heard from Billy in a while but knew that he had taken research position with Umbrella, the pharmaceutical company that was the single biggest contributor to the economic prosperity of Raccoon City.

Billy had never been the type to jump at shadows, and his terrified desperation voice had jolted Chris awake, filling him with deep concern. Billy babbled that his life was in danger, that they were all in danger, he begged for Christ to meet him at a dinner at the edge of town, but he never showed up. And no one heard from him since.

Chris had run it over and over again in his mind during the sleepless nights since Billy's disappearance, trying to convince himself that there was no connection to the attacks on Raccoon-and yet was unable to shake his growing uncertainty about the whole situation of the case.

Billy must have known what it was. The cops had checked out Billy's apartment and found nothing strange, but Chris's instincts told him that his friend was dead, and he had been killed by someone who wanted him away from talking.

But Irons didn't give a shit about it, and the teams thought he just torn up over the loss of an old friend.

Chris pushed aside his thought as he turned around the corner, the boot heels sends low echoes through the arched second-floor corridor.

He must focus, keeping his mind on what he could do to find out Billy's disappearance- but he also exhausted, running on a minimum of sleep and constant anxiety that had plagued him since Billy's call.

Maybe he was losing his perspective, his objectivity dulled by recent events.

Chris forced himself to not think about it as he neared the S.T.A.R.S office, determines to be clear-headed for the meeting.

The buzzing fluorescents above seemed like overkill in the blazing evening light that filled the tight hallway; Raccoon police building was a classic, if an unconventional, piece of architecture, lots of inlaid tile and heavy wood. but it had too many windows designed to catch the sun.

When he had been a kid, the building was Raccoon City's hall. With the population increased a decade back, it had been renovated as a library, and four years ago, turned into a police station. It seemed like there was always some kind of construction going on.

The door to the S.T.A.R.S office stood open, the muted sounds of gruff male voices spilling out into the hall.

Chris hesitated a moment, hearing Chief Irons among them.

Iron was a self-centered and self-serving politician masquerading as a cop. It was no secret that he had his sweaty fingers in more than a few local pies. He had even been implicated in the Cider district land-scam back in '94, and although nothing had been proved in court, anyone who knew him personally didn't harbor any doubt.

Chris shook his head, listening to Iron's greasy voice, he hardly believes that the man once led Raccoon S.T.A.R.S, even as a paper-pushed. Maybe even harder to believe that he would probably end up as mayor someday.

'Of course, it doesn't help much that he also hated your guts, does it, Redfield?'

Yeah, well. Chris didn't like to kiss ass, and Irons didn't know how to have any other kind of relationship. At least Irons wasn't a total incompetent, he had some military training.

Chris pasted on a straight face and stepped into the small, cluttered office that served as the S.T.A.R.S filling cabinet and base of operations.

Barry and Joseph were over by the rookie desk, going through a box of papers and talking quietly.

Brad Vickers, the Alpha pilot, was drinking coffee and staring at the main computer screen a few feet away, wearing a sour expression on his mild features.

Across the room, Captain Wesker leaned on his chair, hands behind his head as he smiled blankly at something Chief Irons was telling him.

Irons' bulk was leaned against Wesker's desk, one pudgy hand brushed at his carefully groomed mustache as he spoke.

"So I said, 'You're gonna print what I tell you to print, Bertolucci, and you're gonna like it, or you'll never get another quote from this office!'

"Chris!" Wesker said as he interrupted the chief, sitting forward and says, "Now that you are here, we can stop wasting time."

Iron scowled in his direction but Chris kept his poker face. Wesker didn't care much for Irons either and didn't bother trying to be polite with the man.

From the glint in his eyes, it was obvious that he didn't care who knew it, either.

Chris walked into the office and stood by the desk he shared with Ken Sullivan, one of the Bravo team.

Since the teams usually worked different shifts, they didn't need much room.

He placed the soda on the battered desktop and looked at Wesker, "You're sending Bravo?"

"Standard procedure, Chris." the captain said while folding his arms across his chest.

Chris sat down, frowns, "I know, but since the topic, we talked last week, I thought-"

Irons interrupted, says, "I gave the order, Redfield. I know you think that there's some kind of cloak-and-dagger going on here, but I don't see any reason to deviate from policy."

What a prick.

Chris forced a smile, knowing it would irritate Irons.

"Of course, sir. No need to explain yourself on my behalf."

Irons glared at him, his piggy little eyes snapping, then the man apparently decided to let it slide.

He turned back to Wesker, says, "I'll expect a report once Bravo returns. Now if you'll excuse me, Captain."

Wesker nodded, "Chief."

Irons stalked past Chris and out of the room. He had been gone less than a minute before Barry started to talk.

"Think the chief has taken a shit today? Maybe we all oughtta chip in for Christmas. get him some laxatives."

Joseph and Brad laughed, but Chris couldn't bring himself to join the fun. Irons was a clown, but his mishandling of this investigation wasn't funny. S.T.A.R.S should have been called in at the beginning, not acting as RPD's back up.

Chris looked at Wesker, the man's perpetually composed expression was hard to read. Wesker had taken over Raccoon S.T.A.R.S since a few months ago, transferred by the home office in New York, and Chris still didn't have any real insight into his character.

The new captain seemed to be everything he praised for; smooth, professional, cool-but there was a kind of distance to him, a sense that he was often far removed from what was going on.

Wesker sighed and stood up, "Sorry, Chris. I know you wanted things to go different, but irons didn't put a whole lot of stock into your... misgivings."

Chris nodded, Wesker could make recommendations, but Irons was the only one who could call the decision.

"Not your fault."

Barry walked toward them, scruffing at his short, reddish beard with one giant fist.

Barry Burton was only six feet tall but built like a truck. His only passion outside of his family and his weapons collection was weight lifting, and the result had proven.

"Don't sweat it, Chris. Marini will call us in the second he smells trouble. Irons is just pullin' your chain."

Chris nodded again, but he didn't feel like it.

Enrico Marini and Forest Speyer were the only experienced soldiers in Bravo. Ken Sullivan was a good scout and a brilliant chemist, but in spite of his S.T.A.R.S training, he couldn't shoot the broad side of a barn. Richard Aiken was a top-rate communications expert, but he also lacked field experience.

Rounding out Brave team was Rebecca Chambers, who had only been in S.T.A.R.S for three weeks, supposed to be some kind of medical genius.

Chris met her a couple of times and she seemed bright enough, but eventually was just a kid.

It's not enough. Even with all them of may not be enough.

Chris cracked open his soda but didn't drink any, wondering what kind of threat that S.T.A.R.S actually facing, Billy's pleading and desperate words echoed through his mind again.

"They're going to kill me, Chris! They're going to kill everyone who knows! Meet me at Emmy's, now, I'll tell you everything!"

Chris stared off into space with exhausted face, alone in the knowledge that the savage murders were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

Barry stood near Chris' desk for a minute, seemingly try to say something, but Chris doesn't look like in the mood to talk.

Barry shrugged inwardly and headed back to where Joseph was going through files. Chris was a good guy, but he took things too hard sometimes; he would get over it as soon as it was their turn to step in.

'Man, it was hot!' Barry inwardly said, endless sweat as if rolled down his spine, gluing his T-shirt to his broad back. The air-conditioning was on the fritz as usual, and even with the door open, the tiny S.T.A.R.S office was uncomfortably warm.

"Any luck?"

Joseph looked up at him from the pile of papers, a rueful smirk appeared on his lean face.

"Are you joking? It's like somebody hid the damn thing on purpose!"

Barry sighed and picked a handful of files, "Maybe Jill found it and took back to her home, she still here when I left last night, going through the witness reports about the hundredth time."

"What are you two looking?" Brad asked.

They looked at Brad, still sitting at the computer console with the headset on. He would be monitoring Bravo's progress throughout their fly-by of the forested district, but it will happen later, so he looked as bored as hell.

"Barry claims there are floor plans of old spencer estate inhere, some architectural digest that came out when the house was built-" Joseph said before he paused, then grinned at Brad, "except that I'm thinkin' that ol' Barry had gone senile on us. They say memory is the first thing to go~"

Barry scowled, says, "Ol' Barry could easily kick your ass into next week, little man."

Joseph looked at him with mocking smile, "Yeah, but would you remember it afterward?"

Barry chuckled and shook his head. He was only thirty-eight but had been with Raccoon S.T.A.R.S for fifteen years, making him the senior member.

It was understandable many will mock him with old-age jokes, well, mostly came out from Joseph.

Brad wrinkled his eyebrows, "The Spencer place? Why would it be in a magazine?"

"You kids gotta learn your history," Barry said, "it was designed by the one and only George Trevor, just before he disappeared. He was that hot-shit architect who did all those weird skyscrapers in D.C- in fact, Trevor's disappearance may have been the reason why Spencer shut his mansion. Rumor says that Trevor went crazy during the construction and when it was finished, he got lost and wandered the halls until he starved to death."

Brad scoffed, but looked uneasy, "That's bullshit, I never heard anything like that."

Joseph winked at Barry, "No, it's true. Now his tortured ghost roams the estate at night, all pale and emaciated, and I've heard tell that sometimes you can hear him, calling out, 'Brad Vickers... bring me, Brad Vickers---"

Brad flushed slightly, says, "Yeah, haha, Frost is a real comedian."

Barry helplessly smiled, wonders again how Brad had ever made it to Alpha. He was no doubt the best hacker working for S.T.A.R.S, and a decent enough pilot, but he wasn't so hot under pressure.

Joseph had been calling him "Chicken-heart Vickers" when he wasn't around and while the S.T.A.R.S generally stuck up for one another, nobody scolded him.

"So why Spencer shut it down?" Brad said to Barry, his cheeks still red.

Barry shrugged, "I don't really know myself. It was supposed to be some kind of guest house for Umbrella's top execs. Trevor did disappear right about the time of completion- but Spencer was a whacko, anyway. He decided to move Umbrella's headquarters to Europe, I forget where, and just boarded up the mansion. Probably a couple of million bucks, straight into the crapper."

Joseph sneered, "Right, like Umbrella ever lacked money."

True enough, Spencer might have been crazy, but money and business made him capable to hire the right people. Umbrella was one of the biggest medical research and pharmaceutical companies on the planet.

Thirty years ago, they lose a few million dollars but still a giant up to this date.

"Anyway," Joseph went on, "the Umbrella people told Irons that they would send someone out to check the mansion and that was secure, no break-ins."

"So why look for blueprints?" Brad asked.

"Because it's the only place in the woods that hasn't been checked over by the police, and it's practically in the middle of crime scenes. And because you can't always trust what people say."

It was Chris who answered him, has walked to join their conversation and startling Barry.

His expression was tensed, even almost obsessed.

Brad frowned, "But if Umbrella sent somebody out..."

Whatever Chris was going to say in response, Wesker's smooth voice had cut it out.

"Alright, people, time out, and it appears Ms. Valentine doesn't keen on joining us, let's get started, shall we?"

Barry walked into his desk, worried about Chris for the first time since this whole thing had started. He had recruited the younger man for S.T.A.R.S a few years back thanks to a chance encounter in a local gun shop.

Chris had proved to be an asset to the team, bright and thoughtful as well as a top-notch marks-man and skillful pilot.

But now...

Barry gazed fondly at the picture of Kathy and the girls that sat on his desk. Chris's obsession with the murders in Raccoon was understandable, particularly since his friend had disappeared.

Nobody in town wanted to see another life lost. Barry had a family and was as determined as anyone else on the team to stop the killers.

But Chris' relentless suspicion had gone a little overboard, the words he said before...

"You can't always trust what people say?"

Either he said Umbrella was lying or Chief Irons was...

Ridiculous, Umbrella's branch chemical plant and administrative buildings on the outskirts of town supplied three-quarters of jobs in Raccoon City; it would be counter-productive for them to lie.

Besides, Umbrella's integrity was at least as solid as any other major corporation's- maybe some industrial espionage, but medical secret-swapping was a far cry from murder. And Chief Irons, though a fatty, weasely blow-hard, wasn't the kind to get his hands any dirtier than they would get accepting illegal campaign funds; the guy wanted to be mayor!

Barry's gaze lingered in the picture of his family, a moment longer before he turned his chair around to face Wesker's desk, and he suddenly realized that he wanted Chris to be wrong.

Whatever was going on in Raccoon City, that kind of vicious brutality couldn't be planned. And that meant...

Barry didn't know what the hell that meant.

He sighed and waited for the meeting to begin.