((A piano plays a miserable tune. The sad melody, a story written in notes and told by the keys, is soon joined by a lone violin of equal gloom. A man with a deep voice speaks over the soft music, his tone ominous and foreboding.))
A Midwestern town in America: Raccoon City
A military island far off in the sea: Rock Fort Island
An island that would become the second Raccoon City: Sheena Island
A sunny, tropical island in the Pacific Ocean: Hawaii
An island of the coast of Africa: Madagascar
The island chain off the coast of Alaska: The—Ow! God damn it, that hurt!
((The music stops, the violin squeaking like a wretched, vile mole being tortured in the depths of hell. Piano keys are smashed, adding to the discord.))
Man with English Accent: You were supposed to stop after the first three.
Well you didn't need to throw your damn shoe at me!
Man: Yes, I did, you were going off on a tangent. And might I remind you that you're still narratoring?
I'm sorry, I just added Hawaii because it's pleasant and sunny and I've always dreamed of going there. After that, well, I have a problem; I don't usually know when to shut up...
Man: It's alright; just don't let it happen again. Continue.
Ahem...
There are still many unanswered questions about these seemingly unrelated, yet intensely traumatic events. But don't get your hopes up, I highly doubt any of these questions will be answered in the story about to be told, because none of this girl's story has anything to do with islands or military bases, though there are military police, but don't get mad at me because I'm just the narrator and I read what they tell me to—
Man: Shut UP! Stick to the fucking script, will you?
((The ominous music stops again, this time to the horrid noise of what, in some countries, would bring people out of the their homes and into the street searching for a car accident, or what is at least a sound effect good enough for a wonderful movie crash full of fire and flames and burning rubber and screeching tires. In actuality, the violinist has let his bow drag unceremoniously across the strings and the pianist has smashed his head upon the keys in frustration.))
Well I was just addressing the concerns that the reader may face. I mean, the story really has nothing to do with islands, does it? And yet it's mentioned right in the prologue. I was attempting make sure no one's hopes were too high.
Man: Script. NOW.
((A sigh.))
Though it is believed that the international enterprise Umbrella was somehow involved littleisknownastotheoriginofthisfacelesscorporation.
Man: I'm sorry, could you repeat that?
Thoughitisbelievedthattheinternational—
Man: Slower, please.
ThOOOOOugh... it... is... beliEEEEEEEEved... that... the... internAAAAAtiOOOOOnAAAAAl... EEEEEEEnterprIIIIIIIIIIIse... UUUUUUUUUUUUmmmmmmmbrEEEEEllllllllAAAAAAAA—
Man: Come on now, stop fooling around you stupid git. Or you'll not get your donut at lunch. Oh, and can we get the music back, please? Thank you.
((Another sigh. Piano and violin begin the melancholy air once more.))
Though it is believed that the international enterprise, Umbrella, was somehow involved, little is known as to the origin of this faceless corporation.
When was it—
((REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH))
Uh... estab—
((rrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRReeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEch))
—established?
Man: Good God, what is that horrid sound?
((The sound of a man nervously clearing his throat is heard.))
Nervous Musician: I'm terribly sorry, sir, but it's just me, Toby.
Man: Ah, Toby? You're the one playing the violin, am I correct?
Toby: Ah, yes sir, I'm afraid though that I haven't had much of a chance to practice this part of it yet. Sorry, sir.
Man: Well, continue as best you can, the sooner we're done the sooner I can get pissed and forget all this.
Toby: Right, sir. Thank you.
((Grumbling is heard, but the beautiful, bittersweet tune prevails and once again fills the air with its enrapturing sorrow.))
When was it established?
((SCREEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEch))
BY WHOM?
((By now the demonic sound of the stringed instrument is so loud one must shout to be heard over the devil's musical incarnate, that awful noise that attempts to pass as melody, which drowns out the piano as the moon drowns out the sun in an eclipse and leaves the world in utter darkness and despair until the glorious light shines forth once again as an angel in heaven whom has received his halo and glimmers for the faithful to see, a star in the morning, a beacon at night, a light in the storm, hope for all...))
AND HOW WAS THE T-VIRUS—
((ReeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEETch RrrrrEeEEeEeEeE!111!1111!oneEeEEEEE—AAACK!))
Man: What the hell is it now?
I... I think... well, the pianist appears to have killed the violinist.
Man: What? How?
((Foot steps are heard, and then a gasp.))
Man: Good Lord, he appears to have... shoved the poor man's bow so far up his arse it's... come out his jugular. And the pianist has... fled.
Well, you should call the police, this is a serious matter.
Man: Indeed... but first, we're going to finish this. We'll manage without music.
...Alright.
Man: When you're ready.
When was it established?
By whom?
And how was the T-Virus created?
To uncover the truth, we must delve deeper into the events which transpired in the beginning... before the mansion incident. Oh, come on, do we really have to?
Man: CUT!
...I mean, this was seriously unnecessary, and now that poor man is dead, all so we could build up suspense for a story that's not even going to—
Man: I SAID CUT!
—answer half the audience's questions, and it's going to add a new character, and who really cares about—
Man: I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!
((As the deep-voiced man continues, crazed running steps are heard. Then the sound of a window opening, and a scream followed by a very meaty SPLAT.))
—and that's why we should have just done it with finger puppets instead... hello? Are you there?
((There is silence for a moment, and then a sudden BANG at the door. Footsteps.))
Hello... where are you? And who's at the door?
((BANG.))
Um... alright, I'll answer it...
((Creeeeeak... and then the sounds of unearthly groans of mindless pain and hunger fill the air. A man's scream, and then the sound of skin being ripped to shreds. The noises of many animals feeding hungrily.))
Insane Pianist: Mwahahahahaha... feast upon his flesh, my minions!
((The sound of a crazed musician running away in the dark...))
Author's note: Well, apparently this is what I'm going to do when I'm out of ideas for my other fic. If it doesn't go over well I'll quit, but I've seen a lot of parodies get tons of good reviews and just thought I'd try my hand at it. So comment, please, if you read. :) We'll see if I end up writing more. My first attempt at funniness. Be nice. :P))