Into the Night

At the start of the 1990's, Umbrella Pharmaceutical was the nation's, if not the world's, fastest growing corporation in the field of medicine. Numerous medical breakthroughs were made by either Umbrella scientists, or researchers backed by Umbrella money. Umbrella was a name on everyone's tongue, and no American household did not contain its products, in some form or another.

Ten years later, Umbrella was a toxic asset. No one would touch the slowly dying super giant, as it was torn apart by internal strife, poor leadership, and public distrust. Umbrella's best and brightest young minds were dead, its home base in Raccoon City gone up in smoke with the rest of the town. Truly the mighty had fallen far.

But how did this extreme turn of events come to pass? Best to start at the beginning…

Prologue: Resurrection and Assignment

July 24th

Arklay Forest

Twelve Miles Outside Raccoon City

The young man stood atop a rocky outcropping high above the tree line, waiting. Arklay Forest, which ran from the mountains to the West to the twinkling lights of the city in the distance, was his domain. And now he laid a trap for those who had betrayed him. His revenge would be sweet…

The Ecliptic Express

Timothy Cain shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd been on the train since midday, and his back and rear ached. He was too swamped with last minute preparations to get up and stretch his legs.

Cain was in his early thirties, a man of obvious Germanic descent even before he began to speak. He'd been with Umbrella for ten years, ever since leaving the Army at the age of 24, working as a security advisor, because of which he had extremely high clearance when it came to Umbrella's more illicit activities.

Still, this was the first time he had been called to lead a team in the field. That puzzled Cain on some level. If Corporate wanted him to personally oversee a cleanup, it was probably bad.

Most of the operations Cain had been involved in were of a more hypothetical nature. If A occurs, what would be the best means of inducing Outcome B, without undue damage to Facility C? Cain had provided his technical and military knowledge (he'd retired a colonel in the Army, a notable rank for someone his age), been paid, and gone on his way. He assumed that his knowledge was being used for contingency plans, but he didn't worry about things too much about it. Need to Know had been drilled into his head at WestPoint so thoroughly he had trouble getting past it.

Now a small part of him was wishing he'd paid more attention to his own plans. It would have made preparing for this op much easier.

He reread his instructions.

You will lead a team of Biohazard Countermeasures Forces into the areas known as the Hive and the Management Training Facility, where you will supervise the sanitation of all infected personnel and test subjects. Any survivors are to be quarantined. Extreme caution is to be taken, as the virus (Progenitor Variant 101-Tyrant) is highly contagious and lethal.

Once the biohazards have been dealt with, send an all clear signal through the RED QUEEN computer system, located inside the Hive. If the situation becomes untenable, fall back to the predetermined rally point and signal for pickup. Extraction will arrive within the hour.

Wesker

Director, Umbrella Special Forces

They were fairly clear. They didn't make Cain any less nervous, though. This Tyrant virus must have been truly dangerous stuff, if Umbrella was willing to kill anyone infected with it. That meant it was going to be dangerous to his team. Well, Cain had prepared well. All eight members of his team were going in with full biohazard protection gear. He wasn't prepared to take any chances either.

His mind now thinking critically, Cain felt his butterflies disappear. This was no different from any of his consulting jobs. All he had to do was figure out the best way to fix the problem within Umbrella's parameters, and everything would be just fine.

Arklay Forest

He could see the train now, its lights showing in the humid darkness. It was heading for the city, undoubtedly full of workers returning home for the day.

The young man smiled, a truly chilling sight. The train was heading toward the city, but it wouldn't ever get there.

The young man inhaled deeply, threw back his head, and began to sing in a clear voice that carried throughout the forest. Below him, something began to stir…

The Ecliptic Express

(Enter TIMOTHY CAIN)

Cain took a break from his plans to check his watch. At first he was startled that he had allowed three hours to pass. Then he did a double take. The train should have reached the terminal in Raccoon City over half an hour ago. Irritably he flagged down an attendant.

After some difficulty understanding Cain's accent (which only made him madder), the attendant finally managed to reply. "I don't know what's going on, sir. I'm sure we'll arrive in due time."

"I am on a tight schedule!" Cain spat. "I don't have time for this!"

"I'll go talk to the conductor."

The Arklay Forest

There was no stopping it now, the young man knew. They were in his hand. Time to close the fist and crush them…

(Enter TIMOTHY CAIN)

"I understand your irritation" the conductor said, meaning he clearly did no such thing, "but I myself don't know what's gone wrong. You're right; we should have gotten back to the City forty-five minutes ago."

Cain rolled his eyes. Idiots. "Does anyone know what they're doing?" he shouted. Several other passengers looked up at his outburst, startled.

"Please sir, keep your voice down" said the conductor pleadingly. Cain grinned smugly. "The only thing I can think of is that we've somehow switched lines. That would explain why we're so far off our timetable, but that itself doesn't make sense." The conductor shook his head. "Look, I just want to go home too. We're working as hard as we can to get this situation cleared up. So I suggest you just return to your seat, relax, and enjoy the ride. Believe me, when we figure out what's gone wrong, you'll be among the first to know."

Clearly there was nothing more Cain could get out of this imbecile. "Fine" he said sourly, sitting back down. He'd been there for another fifteen minutes (an hour late, damn it), when something struck the window next to him. Cain had paid little attention to the view outside, as it was dark, rainy, and visibility was measured in inches. Now he looked up, startled. Hail, on top of everything else!

But the thing that had struck the window wasn't hail. It wasn't rain, either, though it looked wet. It stuck to the window like some sort of slug (if slugs got to be the size of baseballs), and soon it was joined by more such…things. Someone behind him gasped. Apparently this was not a phenomenon localized to his own window…

That gasp turned into a scream as the window behind him shattered. At first Cain thought that the flying glass had cut the luckless passenger, but then he realized that the globs on his own window were moving. The surface (skin?) of one of them rippled, pulled back, and revealed…

"Gott in Himmel!" shouted Cain. Then the lights went out. Somewhere ahead a warning siren began to blare as more and more windows shattered. But by then, Cain was already screaming with the rest of the passengers.

Office, Special Weapons and Tactics Teams

Raccoon City Police Department Headquarters

Raccoon City Metropolitan Area

Mathias Dawson (Mat to his friends) was ready for bed. He'd been at work since 7 AM that morning, catching up on some paper work. Anyone who thought the life of a sergeant in SWAT was all danger and excitement was sorely mistaken. Some days he thought he had enough forms to fill out that he could have heated his apartment complex for several years.

But now it was time to go home. Mat checked his watch and swore under his breath. It was too late for the buses, so he'd get to walk home. It wasn't the first time. Raccoon City was a rough place after dark, but Mat was packing his standard Browning HP 9mm, so he figured he'd be a tough sell for any junkie turned mugger he ran into. Still, it wasn't a short walk from the RPD HQ to his apartment, and he was tired.

"Heading out?" Mat turned to look at the only other SWAT officer still in the building. Chase Mathison was in his mid thirties, had perpetual five o'clock shadow, and served as the SWAT A team's sniper. He also had a thick southern drawl, and further cultivated his cowboy image by wearing an enormous Stetson and tough leather cowboy boots when he wasn't on duty.

"Yeah" answered Mat. "Figure I'll call it a day."

"A'ight. See ya tomorrow."

Mat stepped toward the door. Before he could reach it, though, the knob began to turn. In burst Heather Jones, one of the RPD's secretaries. Heather was pretty, had long dark hair, and very brusque in demeanor. Still, she and Mat got along fairly well.

"Oh" she said when she stepped into the office and saw Mat standing there, surprise on his face, hand still out to grab the door knob. "Just the man I wanted to see." She placed a piece of paper in Mat's hand. "Late operational orders" she said apologetically.

Mat was puzzled. "Who starts an operation at," he glanced at his watch, "eight thirty at night?" He paused, reading through the document. "Oh," he said, understanding dawning, "the cannibal case. You don't want me, you want LJ. He's around here somewhere…"

Heather shook her head. "Nope, LJ called in sick today. You're it."

"Me? Why me?"

Heather shrugged. "How should I know? But Captain Marini asked for you personally."
"He did?" Enrico Marini, captain of the STARS Bravo team, was a notoriously hard man to impress. If he was calling Mat's number…Then maybe I have a shot after all.

Mat, like most of the RPD, had applied to join the newly formed Special Tactics and Rescue Service. He'd figured he'd have a better shot than most at gaining a spot, since he had worked with both Barry Burton and Richard Aiken in the past, as well as having known Bravo team's medic, Rebecca Chambers, since third grade. But in the end, it hadn't mattered. Mat had gotten back his application unopened, along with a note telling him essentially that he was too young for the position.

"What are you doing standing here?" Heather snapped at him. "Captain Marini wanted you there ASAP. Get moving!"

"Right" said Mat, heading for the door.

The briefing was in the old classroom, on the first floor. Since the SWAT offices were in the newer annex building across the back lot from the main precinct, Mat had to run in order to get there in anything even resembling a reasonable amount of time.

He was still five minutes late when he finally burst into the classroom. All heads turned to stare at him.

"Ah, Dawson" said Captain Marini, looking up from the lectern. "We were about to send a search party."

"Sorry, Captain" Mat said sheepishly, taking a seat in the back.

"As I was saying" said Marini, "the purpose of this operation is to meet up with our contact, a hunter named Jason Allen, who claims he knows where the killers are hiding. We'll use him to guide us right to them."

Mat felt a thrill rise inside of him. They were going after the group of murderers had dubbed the Arklay Cannibals. They had been terrorizing the area for almost four months, killing individuals on the outskirts of town, where the Raccoon City met the Arklay Forest. The most recent killing had been an entire family, eaten alive in their tents on a camping trip.

Marini continued. "Bravo team will go in first, make contact with Allen, and begin a search of the area." He gestured to a map hanging on a bulletin board behind him. "This is the area we will cover first, where Allen claims the killers' hideout is." He pointed to two locations on the map. "These two are private estates, private property owned by Umbrella Incorporated. Under no circumstances are you to set foot on those grounds. Umbrella says they have their own security teams stationed there, and they've seen no sign of the killers. It will make our jobs a lot easier."

Marini stepped away from the lectern, allowing another man to take his place. While Marini was medium height, broad shouldered, and had the dark complexion brought on by Italian ancestry, Alpha team's captain was tall, thin, and blonde. He wore a pair of mirrored aviator's sunglasses, and his uniform was of a darker blue than most police officers'. Albert Wesker nodded to his subordinate, and then began to speak.

When Marini spoke, his voice was deep and gruff, the lasting effect of serving as a sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. But when Wesker spoke, it was the kind of voice that made someone want to listen. The sort of voice that said Listen to me, I get what's going on better than you do, and if you're lucky I might explain it to you. In polished tones that spoke of a well bred New England background, Wesker said: "Alpha team will remain here in the City. We'll keep the chopper fueled and ready. We'll be right here in case anything goes wrong, or if Bravo team needs backup. Understood?"

Heads nodded. Mat knew them all by name and reputation. Kevin Dooley was the STARS backup pilot and mechanic. Edward Dewey and Brad Vickers were attached to Bravo and Alpha teams, respectively, as designated pilots. Both had hundreds of hours logged in all of the RPD's aircraft. Richard Aiken had worked briefly with Mat in SWAT; he was a solid guy with a level head. Kenneth Sullivan was a quiet black man, Bravo team's field scout, and a fair shot with his MP5 sub-machinegun. Joseph Frost was another former SWAT officer, one who Mat had never worked with personally. He seemed to have a knack for quick promotions: a little over a week after joining STARS, he'd been changed from Bravo to Alpha team, a much better position. As for Forest Speyer, Mat didn't know much about him, other than that he was a fair shot with nearly any weapon he picked up.

The real "rock stars" of the RPD were the three remaining Alphas, though. Barry Burton, former bomber pilot, former SWAT, avid gun collector, and weapons specialist for STARS. Chris Redfield, another former Air Force pilot, and the Alpha team's marksmen. And Jill Valentine, daughter of the famous thief, who claimed to be able to pick any lock and enter any building without detection. Those three were as close to celebrities as any police officer in Raccoon City could ever hope to get.

The only other STARS was Rebecca Chambers, one of his childhood friends. Mat's grandparents (who had taken Mat in after his parents' deaths) had lived next door to the Chambers'. Mat had first met Rebecca when he was ten years old. Rebecca had always been far and away ahead the other kids in her neighborhood when it came to intelligence. She'd skipped nearly all of elementary and secondary school, an eight grader at the age of nine. Because of that (and her voice, which even Mat thought made her sound like nothing more than Velma Dinkley from the old Scooby-Doo! cartoon) had made her the target of more than her fair share of bullying. Because she had no classmates her own age, Rebecca hadn't had a great many friends. Mat, the literal "new kid on the block" had been in much the same situation. But when a group of eleven year olds had taken their harassments too far, Mat (who had always had a hard time minding his own business) had intervened. There had been three bigger and meaner kids and skinny little Mat Dawson had beaten them all. No one ever messed with Rebecca Chambers again. No one messed with Mat either, after that. They'd been friends ever since.

They'd gotten out of touch. Rebecca had gone off to college (at the ripe old age of 13, no less), while Mat had eventually left their hometown to pursue a career in law enforcement, finally ending up in Raccoon City. He'd hoped they'd have a chance to catch up at some point, but he'd hardly seen her since she'd moved into town.

"Alright, people" Marini was saying. Mat realized that the meeting was over. "Bravo team will meet up on the roof in ten. Be sure and pack for an extended stay. This is a detailed sweep of the area. Expect to be there for a while."

"Dismissed!" snapped Wesker. As Mat and the STARS filed out of the room, he saw the two captains turn back to the maps, no doubt conferring on the mission ahead. Mat tried to contain his excitement. Here he was, going on a mission with STARS! This is my chance he thought to himself. So I better not screw this up.

Mat hurried back to the armory. He needed to decide what weapons he was going to take with him. The STARS operated with standard Special Forces issue kit: 9mm handguns and MP5 SMGs, plus the odd 12 gauge shotgun and, rumor had it, a grenade launcher. Mat wasn't sure how true that last was, but even so, he'd need to be able to pull his own weight on the job. On the other hand, he needed to think practically. If he brought too much stuff, he'd only be slowed down.

He chose the Browning HP because it was the handgun he was best with. The thirteen round 9mm was the RPD's standard sidearm, and had been around since WWII. Mat already had one holstered to his thigh, and he took three spare magazines as well.

He also took his survival knife. He was no pro with the blade, but there were reports of wild dogs loose in Arklay. Besides, a knife was always a nice thing to have.

He also slung his own personal weapon, a P90 sub machinegun. That weapon, with its non standard 5.7mm rounds, was not a normal member of the RPD's arsenal, and had been bought with Mat's own paycheck, along with two spare fifty round magazines and about 150 spare 5.7 bullets, which were not cheap. Mat thought that the money was well spent, as FN, the P90's manufacturer, claimed that the special 5.7's could punch through any armor known to man. He slung that weapon across his back, and took both his spare magazines. He left about 400 loose rounds, figuring that with one mag in the weapon, plus two in reserve he wasn't likely to run out of ammo.

Finally, he grabbed a riot gun, a Benelli M1 Super 90 tactical semi automatic. He also took fifteen standard buckshot shells, and the same number of non-lethal "beanbag" rounds. The idea, after all, was to take the criminals alive, not tear them in half.

He slid the Benelli into his tactical vest's back holster, then headed to a nearby locker room to check himself over in a mirror. No sense in showing up disheveled.

Mat had opted to leave behind his riot gear, useless as it would be in the closeness of the forest. He instead wore the standard dark blue RPD uniform, over which he had a black tactical vest, the acronym SWAT on the front and back. His uniform was in as good a condition as it was going to be, so Mat wasn't worried. As for Mat himself...

He looked tired. Go figure he though irritably. STARS knew this was coming and probably planned their sleep schedule accordingly. Me? Not so much. But there wasn't anything he could do about that.

Mat looked down at his watch. "Time to go."

The Ecliptic Express

There was something he needed to remember. Something, oh, what was it? Something the man knew he should know, but couldn't remember anyway.

And why was it so dark? That didn't make any sense. He'd been on the train, and then…

Timothy Cain's eyes snapped open, his mind fully awake again.

"Situation" he muttered to himself. "What's the situation?"

For one thing, the lights in the car were back on. That seemed odd to him. They'd been off when the…

"Shit!" Cain felt himself all over, expecting to find a slick, slimy glob somewhere on his body. When none were revealed, he let out a sigh of relief. Or tried to.

It was at that moment that Timothy Cain realized he wasn't breathing. Worse, he hadn't been breathing for some time.

He tried to remedy that now, hacking, coughing, trying to clear the strange thing lodged in his throat. No such luck. All Cain's bizarre gyrations managed to accomplish was give him a better look at the other passengers, or at least what was left of them.

There wasn't much. Those who hadn't been gutted by glass were bloated and bleached white. Cain could see the conductor lying a few feet away, half covered by a pile of luggage from an overhead that had collapsed. It didn't look like anyone had survived besides him.

No Cain realized slowly. I didn't survive either. That made this, what? Heaven? The first look at the Great Beyond? Funny thought Cain the way things look, it could more easily be Hell.

Something shifted behind him. Cain swung around, searching for the source of the noise. Was there someone else there?

Yes. It was a man, a younger one than Cain, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, strong features, broad shoulders, wearing a white robe with strange symbols on the front.

"Who are you?"

The young man cocked his head. "You're…Talking to me? How is that possible?" He sounded like someone used to figuring things out for himself. The speaking out loud also sounded like a habit.

"Of course I'm talking. Why wouldn't I be?"

"But" said the young man. "You're dead. Dead people don't talk…" He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, there was satisfaction in them. "But of course, the Alpha. It must've somehow bonded with you. Why didn't I realize such a thing could happen?" He paused. "But how rude am I? Come, who are you?"

"My name is Timothy Cain. I work for Umbrella Pharmaceutical, as a consultant. Who are you?"

But the young man wasn't paying attention. "So it was the correct train. When we switched the tracks, I wasn't even sure it was going to work. But now, all has been proven correct! My children truly are the marvels I always thought they were!" Rapture filled his voice. "Oh, if only William and Albert were here to see this! They'd see how wrong they were!" Then something colder filled his voice. "But of course, that is the whole point of the exercise, after all. Lure them in, and then-" He turned back to Cain. "You will come with me. Someone will be coming soon, and I cannot be here when they arrive. Come, we have much to do."

Things were beginning to stir in the wreckage around Cain. He tried to ignore them. "Who are you? What do we have to do?"

"Revenge, Mr. Cain. Revenge is my plan. As for my name," the young man smiled a truly chilling smile, "call me James."