Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Courier adjusted the straps of his pack. His boots crunching against the Mojave Desert. The brains asked that he scout ahead. The sky was dark, a deep navy blue punctuated by the pale glow of stars—but in the distance, lights beckoned him forward.

They weren't the familiar lights of New Vegas. These lights were brighter, sharper.

One final hill to cross. As the Courier reached the top, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Below him stretched a city unlike anything he had ever seen in this world.

It wasn't the skeletal remains of Old World Vegas or the fractured, patchwork glitz of New Vegas. This city alive and thriving, its towering buildings illuminated by countless lights. The skyline was unmarred by the ravages of war. Skyscrapers reached toward the heavens.

The Courier's gaze followed the headlights of functioning cars along the highways. Above, planes flew through the sky, toward a massive airport on the city's edge.

He let out a low whistle, pulling off his helmet to take it all in. The cool breeze brushed against his face.

"The others aren't going to believe this," he muttered.

For a long moment, he simply stood there. The people back at the Mojave Outpost couldn't imagine something like this. There were no Securitrons, no gangs squabbling over scraps, no NCR troops patrolling the streets. This was a world that had never known the Fallout.

Months Later

Operation: Nestwrecker

NEST Laboratory, Deep Underground Raccoon City

Two Umbrella Security Service Alpha Team soldiers walked down a hallway. Hunk, the squad leader, moved in front. He turned slightly towards his partner, J. Martinez, and motioned forward.

"This way."

The two soldiers approached the lab door, which slid open with a metallic hiss.

Inside the lab, William Birkin was hunched over a table, examining a vial of his precious virus—a sample of the G-virus. His face was alight with an obsessive gleam, and he admired the sheer perfection of his creation.

"My precious G-virus," William murmured, almost in awe. "No one will ever take you away from me..."

The sudden sound of the door opening snapped William from his reverie. He spun around, quickly slipping the virus sample into a metal suitcase. His eyes widened as he saw the two armed soldiers pointing their MP5s directly at him.

"There he is!" Hunk called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

William's eyes darkened. He reached under his lab coat, producing a pistol, his expression defiant.

"So, you've finally come," William said, his voice full of contempt.

Hunk took a step forward, his weapon still trained on the doctor. "Doctor, we're here to collect the G-virus sample."

William's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Sorry, but I won't just hand over my life's work."

Backing up, William accidentally knocked over a metal container, which crashed loudly to the floor. The sudden noise startled J. Martinez, and he fired his weapon, the bullets thudding into William's chest.

"BANG! BANG! BANG!"

William staggered, falling back against the counter, blood spreading rapidly across his lab coat.

Hunk turned sharply to J. Martinez. "Stop it! You might hit the sample!"

Martinez lowered his weapon, his hands shaking slightly, his eyes wide with shock.

William slumped against the table, still clinging to life, his breaths shallow and painful. Hunk walked over, inspecting the metal suitcase and its contents. He nodded to himself.

"That's it alright. We've got what we need." He turned to J. Martinez, his voice cold. "Okay, let's move out."

The two soldiers grabbed the suitcase and quickly left the lab, leaving William behind, bleeding on the floor.

Later, NEST Laboratory

Annette Birkin burst into the lab as she spotted William lying in a pool of his own blood. She rushed to his side.

"William! Oh my... Hold on, darling... I'm going to take care of this. Stay here!" Annette' scrambled to find medical supplies.

William, barely conscious, stared down at his hand, his fingers curling around a vial of the G-virus. He knew what he had to do.

Alpha Team Extraction Point

"Alpha Team, have you retrieved the sample yet?" the radio crackled.

Hunk brought his hand up to his earpiece, his voice calm. "Affirmative. We'll be at the rendezvous point in one minute."

"Roger that," came the reply.

Back in the Lab

William stared at the vial in his hand. With a trembling hand, he prepared a syringe, drawing out the purple fluid. He gritted his teeth, plunging the needle into his arm, injecting the G-virus into his bloodstream.

He let out a strangled gasp, his eyes widening, his body convulsing as the virus began to take hold. Pain spread through every cell, his veins bulging, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. His face twisted in agony as the mutation began.

Sewer System, Near the Extraction Point

Two other members of U.S.S. Alpha Team paused, hearing something echoing down the sewer. The unmistakable sound of gunfire followed a guttural roar.

"What the hell was that?" the first whispered.

"Something's wrong. Let's check it out. Over there!"

#

A massive, grotesque figure appeared at the end of the tunnel. The G-mutant roared.

"Shoot it! Eat this, you freak!" Hunk yelled, opening fire.

J. Martinez joined in, the bullets ripping into the creature, but the G-mutant seemed unfazed. It moved closer, the bullets merely slowing it down.

"The bullets... they're not stopping it!" J. Martinez shouted, backing away.

Hunk cursed under his breath. "What is this thing?!"

Before he could react, the G-mutant lunged forward, its massive claw slashing across J. Martinez's chest. He let out a gurgled scream, the sound carrying through the sewer tunnels cut off abruptly as he collapsed.

The suitcase fell to the ground, the force spilling out the T-virus and G-virus samples. The G-mutant growled, crushing one of the T-virus containers beneath its claw and greedily consuming the G-virus samples.

Hunk was nowhere to be seen, disappearing into the shadows.

Sewer Tunnel, Minutes Later

The rest of Alpha Team hurried through the sewer, drawn by the sound of gunfire and screams. They stopped abruptly, horror spreading across their faces as they saw the twisted figure feasting on the samples, the bodies of their comrades scattered around.

"Hurry!" one of them yelled.

"Wh-what is that thing?!" another stammered, barely holding his gun steady.

"Fire! Fire, you son of a...!" The team opened fire, and the muzzle flashes lit up the dark tunnel.

The G-mutant let out a roar, lunging forward. The monstrous claw caught one of the soldiers, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch. The other fell back, his screams echoing until they were abruptly silenced.

Nearby, rats were drawn to the spilled T-virus. They began to lap at the pooling liquid, their eyes glinting in the darkness as they unknowingly became carriers of the nightmare that would soon engulf Raccoon City.

2 Days After Operation: Nestwrecker

Raccoon City, Breb Avenue, Night

Raccoon City Police Department officers were called in for reports of a violent domestic case. Senior Officers Nathan Hernandez and Haley Barton were dispatched to Breb Avenue.

They rode the elevator up to the fifth floor of the apartment building. The two officers walked side by side, looking for number 16.

When they finally reached the door, Hernandez knocked. "Mr. Smith? This is the R.P.D.! We've received reports related to domestic violence! Open the door!" he called out.

No answer.

Hernandez reached for the door handle, feeling that the knob was unlocked. He shot a glance at Haley, and she nodded. They entered cautiously, the door creaking open. It was dark. Hernandez raised his flashlight, seeing a cluttered living room.

"Mr. Smith?" Hernandez called again.

As the light swept across the floor, he froze. A dark, red stain smeared across the old carpet, leading further into the dark. He felt his stomach clench. "Oh... shit," he muttered under his breath. "Look at this."

Haley stepped closer, her eyes widening. They exchanged a tense glance. They both drew their handguns, weapons ready.

The trail of blood led them into the kitchen. The smell hit them next, something sour and fetid. They spotted a puddle of blood. The trail continued, ending at a closed door.

A noise filtered out—a wet, slurping sound. Hernandez hesitated, then nudged the door open with trembling fingers. It swung open slowly. He pointed his flashlight in.

A man knelt over a prone figure, his face buried in the flesh. He was covered in gore.

Hernandez's breath caught in his throat.

The bloodied Mr. Smith was eating his wife.

Hernandez was paralyzed.

"Oh my god..." Haley whispered.

Suddenly, Mr. Smith's head snapped up with hollow, lifeless eyes. He lunged toward them.

#

Additional R.P.D. officers arrived within minutes, securing the scene as Hernandez and Haley were rushed to safety. The apartment was cordoned off.

Detective Jonathan Reed arrived on the scene and assessed the situation. He stepped through the apartment and examined what remained of the incident.

Officer Donovan waited to give his report.

"So, Mr. Smith murdered and ate his wife, correct?

"Yes, sir."

"When he was discovered, he attacked the two officers?"

"He went for Hernandez and injured him."

"Officer Haley had no choice but to retaliate. Then... I can't explain it, sir. According to Officer Haley, the wife's corpse... it got up. It attacked them, too."

Jonathan paused. "The wife got up? She wasn't dead?"

"They weren't sure. In any case, she was fired at as well.

"Good God..." He shook his head.

"Both bodies have been transported to the morgue. Hernandez is being treated at Raccoon City Hospital."

Jonathan nodded. "Alright. I'll head over to check on Hernandez. Keep an eye on things. I want to know immediately if there's any... development. Good night, Donovan." He gave one last look before turning away.

"Good night, sir," Donovan replied.

Brian Irons' Office

Brian Irons was pacing back and forth, his face showing frustration, as he held the phone tight against his ear. His voice got louder as he spoke, clearly annoyed.

"Alright, but I'm serious...! No! I'm not leaving town. The vacation's canceled. Did you even hear what happened last month?" He paused, listening to the person on the other end, his expression getting even more upset. "Yeah, I know! Just... calm down. Maybe we can go next month, but not right now, okay?"

Irons rubbed his forehead. "Good, good. Look, I'll talk to you later. I need to call someone else." He ended the call and quickly started dialing another number. "Rebecca?"

"Huh? Irons?"

Brian didn't waste time. "How long are you supposed to be out of town again?"

"Uh, oh... um... I think I'll be out for about a month, maybe a bit longer. But I'll return to the police department after, don't worry!"

Irons raised a brow. "Uh-huh... and where are you again?"

"In New York City..."

"Right... just wanted to make sure..."

"Alright then, have a good day."

"You too," Irons muttered before hanging up.

Irons dialed another number, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah? It's me, Irons. Rebecca Chambers, one of the S.T.A.R.S. members, says she's in New York City. She didn't give an exact location, but I thought you should know."

Elsewhere

The engine of the customized Highwayman hummed through the rural county. The Courier crested the hill as he looked out over Montana's vast, untouched landscape. Rolling hills and open plains stretched endlessly in all directions, with the crisp, green grass bending softly in the breeze. There were no craters, blackened soil, or skeletons of burnt-out buildings. Just wide-open sky and land untouched by bombs. The sun sank low, casting the land in a warm, golden light, highlighting the Rockies in the distance, their peaks framed against the clear blue sky.

He took a step forward, almost cautiously, like he was afraid he might wake from a dream. This was Montana, but from a time that didn't feel real. Back home, Montana had been nothing but charred earth and memories, the land warped and scarred by the war. He remembered the ghostly remnants of trees and abandoned houses, reminders of a world that once was but which he'd only ever seen through stories.

But here, everything was… alive.

Tall grasses swayed around him. The vibrant green was a startling contrast to the dusty, dead plants he was used to. He saw wildflowers he'd only read about—golden sunflowers, purple asters, and scattered lupines, all blooming freely in fields untouched by radiation. The air was fresh, and he took a deep breath.

In the distance, he spotted an old farmhouse. Smoke rose from a chimney. It stopped him in his tracks, his heart beating faster. People lived here. People… thrived here.

He took in the rusty old windmill, turning lazily to the cattle grazing peacefully in the fields. This was the Montana he'd only heard about in stories. And now he was here, in a world that had never known the scars of war, standing on the land that had shaped him.

He smiled just a little as he walked past the fence line, feeling the sun's warmth on his face. This was the Montana he'd always wanted to see. And for the first time, he felt what home might have been had the world never fallen apart.

#

The Courier sat by a campfire in the quiet evening, spreading his map across his knees and examining the terrain and roads. So far, he had traveled from the Mojave to California, up the West Coast, and eastbound. His daily radio reports back to Big Mountain and the Strip helped keep him grounded that everything was, in fact, real.

He traced his finger along the thin lines markings, many of which had vanished or fallen into ruin in his world. But here, they were still relatively intact. According to the map, the most direct route to his next destination wove through a place called Arklay County. His finger paused on a small, unassuming dot near the county's border: Raccoon City. According to those he spoke to at a diner, they recommended staying away from the place. Apparently, there were reports of murderers attributed to serial killers, cannibals, or cultists. He tilted his head, intrigued. He'd been in dangerous places before. If anything, this was more of an invitation than a deterrent. Perhaps he could take care of that little problem while he was there.

Leaning back, he thought through his options. Skirting Raccoon City would be out of the way. He could take up some odd jobs again if he needed.

He took a sip from his trusty Vault 13 canteen. The idea of a city with bad rumors didn't faze him. He had raided the Sierra Madre, settled the Zion conflict, restructured the Big MT, faced his past in The Divide, and reshaped the Mojave.

"All right. Raccoon City it is."

He folded the map carefully and tucked it into his pack, his mind already working through the details. In the morning, he'd break camp and head northeast. For now, he rested.

Chapter Text

3 Days After Operation: Nestwrecker

Outside the City

The Courier gripped the wheel of his Highwayman as he traveled down the narrow road. He glanced at the Arklay Mountains in the distance. After going through the familiar desert and plains back west, the forests of the Midwest were still strange to see. Outside of Vault 22, he hasn't seen this much green back in his Mojave.

The Courier cruised down the road and past the welcoming sign. "Welcome to Raccoon City..."

He'd heard of the city in passing, but nothing remarkable. Just another American town, probably long before his time.

When he reached the city, he eventually came to a red light next to a large billboard promoting something called the "Umbrella Corporation." A smiling family was beneath it, and a neat and shining cityscape was behind them.

The Courier's lips twisted into a faint, wry smile. He'd seen this kind of thing before in the Mojave ruins. Those Pre-War companies gave polished promises and corporate slogans for god knows what ends.

As he continued driving through the streets, he couldn't help but notice the many roadblocks slowing and diverting traffic. "Sheesh. Is the entire city under construction or something?"

Raccoon City Police Department

"So let me get this straight—one of those guys just took a good bite out of Hernandez?" Kevin Ryman leaned back in his chair, his expression caught between disbelief and a faint smirk.

"Yes, Kevin, he did," Marvin Branagh replied, his tone weighted with concern. His eyes carried the exhaustion of a long day.

Kevin let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Dear god... I suppose the guy must've been really hungry."

Marvin shot him a glare. "Kevin…!"

Kevin raised his hands. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry, Marvin! But seriously… how's Hernandez?"

Marvin sighed, leaning against the desk. "Not well. Doctors say his condition's worsening by the hour."

Kevin was confused."How?"

Marvin shook his head. "I don't know. Even the doctors are puzzled. Apparently, he's got something."

Kevin frowned. "I've heard about infections from wounds and all, but from a single bite by some crazy cannibal? Doesn't sound right."

"I'd say the same," Marvin admitted, running a hand across his temple. "But here we are."

Kevin leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "Doesn't this remind you of… you know, the stuff the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members were talking about? Something close to this?"

Marvin's jaw tightened. "You'd be damn right. Something's weird about this case, Kevin. I can feel it."

Kevin nodded, letting out a quiet laugh, though it lacked his usual energy. "Same here… Anyway, I've gotta head out."

Marvin straightened up. "Right. Did you get the report for the new recruits sorted?"

"Yep. Even got this one kid, Leon Kennedy. Seems like a good guy."

Marvin allowed himself a small smile. "Agreed. Boy's got potential."

Kevin nodded. "Definitely. Alright, see you later, Marvin."

Marvin called after him as Kevin stepped toward the door. "Have a good rest. And remember—don't go around J's Bar in uniform after work."

Kevin paused at the door, throwing a grin over his shoulder. "You know I can't always keep promises."

"And be careful out there—" Marvin started.

"Yeah, yeah, I know about the streets," Kevin interrupted, waving lazily as he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Marvin sighed, the weight of the night settling back over him. He glanced down at the paperwork strewn across his desk. "Now, about this stolen jewel and the theft…" he muttered, picking up his pen as the quiet of the late night reclaimed the room.

Davis Street

Mike felt thirsty as he watched the football game, so he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and went to the kitchen sink. He turned on the tap and filled the glass with cold, fresh water, hearing the game continue in the living room. Walking back to his chair, he sipped the water.

Later

On the TV, the crowd cheered for a touchdown.

Something felt wrong. Mike tried to move in his chair, but a strange sensation overtook him. He tried to lift his arm and legs, but nothing would move. He panicked.

His strength was draining away. His heartbeat was getting weaker. His vision blurred. It felt like he was dying.

Now, instead of thirst, he felt more hungry. More hungry than he's ever felt before.

The pain slowly started to disappear. His skin turned pale, and his veins darkened. His breathing soon stopped, and his heart gave one final beat. Mike was now gone, leaving a puppet behind.

Slowly, the body got up from the chair. The limbs jerked as they moved. His eyes were cloudy, with no life left in them, staring blankly. He let out a low, groaning sound as he stumbled forward.

Raccoon City Football Stadium

The stadium cheered as the Raccoon Sharks played against the Old Court Thunders. The crowd was excited, clapping and shouting for their favorite team. Their faces were painted in team colors, and their voices were loud and proud.

Maria was with the other Raccoon Sharks fans, enjoying her snack. She smiled at her boyfriend as he returned to his seat.

"What took you so long, dear?" Maria asked.

"Eh... sorry, it just... took a while," Dave replied

Maria waved it off. "No problem. Want some water? I brought extra."

"Yeah, sure." Dave took a sip. "Thanks!"

"No problem!"

Elsewhere

The TV blared from the living room, the anchor's voice cutting through the low hum of the home.

"Ever since this morning, there have been numerous reports of murders around the city, many rumored to involve acts of cannibalism! The RPD has yet to comment on this matter, particularly with the recent protests. We'll keep our citizens updated here on The Raccoon Times! In other news, Raccoon General Hospital is reportedly overwhelmed by a sudden influx of patients, with staff struggling to keep up—"

The channel abruptly switched to a football game, the upbeat commentary replacing the grim news.

David stood in the bathroom, wiping his hands on a rag as he finished tightening the last bolt on the toilet. He glanced toward the door as the homeowner's voice called out from the living room.

"Hey! David! You done with the job?"

David stood, stretching his back, and walked into the hallway, nodding at the woman. "Yes, ma'am. Just fixed the toilet, and the rest of the bathroom's in full working condition."

The woman smiled, wringing her hands nervously. "Oh, thank you! Want some water? Tapped, if you don't mind."

David shook his head. "It's nothing, really. And no, I'm fine. I'm outta here now."

"Okay, no problem. And, uh... yeah, thank you again!"

David nodded politely as he walked past her and out the door, heading toward the company's 4x4 truck parked in the driveway and climbed in. The truck rumbled to life. His next stop was a warehouse on the eastern side of the city.

As he pulled onto the main road, his mind wandered to the recent news. Murders, cannibalism—it sounded unreal. He'd seen his share of city madness, but this seemed like the media was reaching for attention. Probably some scandal cooked up by the mayor to cover some other mess, David mused.

He flipped through the radio stations before settling on country music.

He'd ordered a new survivalist book that was supposed to arrive tonight. He smiled to himself. Maybe a trip to the Arklay Forest was in order soon. A few days away from the city, surrounded by nature and silence, sounded like exactly what he needed.

Kite Bros. Railway, South Raccoon Street Station

Jim, an African-American subway locomotive driver, had just pulled the train into the platform, the brakes hissing as it came to a stop. He opened the doors, letting the few passengers step out, tired expressions on their faces as they drifted towards the exits.

It was the end of Jim's shift, and he was more than ready for a break. Ricky, His co-worker and friend, was already waiting to take over the controls and start his shift.

Jim grinned. "Yo, Rickyyyy!"

Ricky raised a hand. "Ayyyy! Jim! How's it going, man?"

Jim shrugged. "Ah, not much! Just the usual shift. What's up with you?"

Ricky sighed, rolling his eyes. "Well, not much either, except I almost showed up late today 'cause of that riot goin' on."

Jim nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I noticed. Jake showed up super late today too—had his train delayed by a solid two hours! Most of the trains on line two were behind schedule 'cause of it."

Ricky shook his head, wincing. "Yeesh... Boss is gonna give him an earful for sure."

"Yeah, no doubt." Jim laughed. "Too bad for Jake, man."

Ricky chuckled in agreement. "Yeah. So, what are you gonna do now?"

Jim stretched, letting out a yawn. "Man, I'm feelin' real tired. I think I'm just gonna head home and sleep."

Ricky raised a brow. "Didn't you say you were gonna buy some new shoes today?"

Jim waved a hand. "Nah, that's for tomorrow. I'm too tired to even think about shoppin' right now."

Ricky grinned. "Alright, man. You take care. I'll see ya later."

Jim gave him a thumbs-up as he stepped off the platform. "Cya, Ricky. Don't let the boss stress ya too much!"

Ricky laughed as he stepped up into the locomotive. "No promises!" he called out as the doors closed behind him. Jim shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he made his way out of the station, ready to put the day behind him.

Raccoon City Football Stadium

The mood had changed. The Old Court Thunders were catching up, scoring several times, and now the Raccoon Sharks were behind.

"OH, COME ON, THAT'S NOT FAIR! ISN'T THAT RIGHT, DAVE?" Maria looked at Dave, expecting him to join in, but he said nothing.

"Dave? ... Dave?" she called, nudging him gently.

She looked over at him and felt her stomach drop. Dave's face was really pale. His head was down, his eyes closed, and he looked limp. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

"Oh my god! Dave, your skin...!" Maria shook with fear.

Dave opened his eyes, and Maria gasped. His eyes were cloudy.

"Dear...?" Maria reached out to touch his arm.

Suddenly, Dave lunged and bit into her neck, tearing flesh. Blood splattered on everyone around them, and Maria screamed in pain.

The cheers quickly turned into panic as people saw what happened. Chaos spread fast. People ran in all directions, terrified, with people tripping over each other, trying to escape.

Outside

The Courier drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his patience wearing thin. Traffic was at a standstill, the rows of cars in front of him stretching far. He could hear the muffled crowd in the stadium across the street.

"Dammit...," he muttered. He craned his neck, hoping to spot an opening in the gridlock, but almost everything was blocked. With a frustrated sigh, he pulled the truck to the nearest parking lot and cut the engine. He needed to rethink his route.

The Courier walked into the nearest convenience store and picked up the local map. As he started plotting an alternate route, he noticed the crowd's cheers were dying down. About a few minutes later, he looked up just in time to see people spilling out of the stadium's exits. "What the hell?"

The familiar red and blue lights were coming closer, and a few cop cars arrived at the stadium entrance before ambulances.

He hadn't heard any gunshots earlier, so it must have been some other disturbance for the cops to be called. 'Shouldn't be too serious...'

His eyes scanned the city's layout, landing on the nearest department store. The Courier still needed supplies for the trip to the next city over.

Suddenly, there were gunshots. Over the next hour, The Courier saw paramedics wheel out several people and two body bags.

'I guess even pre-war they had to deal with crazy people.

Later, Walmart

The fluorescent lights of Walmart buzzed faintly overhead as the Courier pushed his cart through the aisles. His cart was loaded with the essentials. He scanned the shelves for canned and dry food and bottled water. He tossed in canned beans, instant noodles, trail mix, packs of bottled water, batteries, and duct tape.

Turning into the next aisle, his cart bumped into another. He stopped, looking up. Standing across from him was a woman with short brunette hair, wearing a blue tube top, a matching skirt, and boots. Her hand instinctively moved toward her hip as if reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

"Whoops." The Courier held up a hand in apology. "Sorry."

The woman was clearly startled and took a second to recollect herself. Her hand dropped. "No, it's fine," She quickly brushed off the incident. Her gaze lingered on his duster, taking in the out-of-place look. "Interesting outfit."

He smirked. "It's an acquired taste back West. Born in Montana before I started working in California and Vegas."

She raised a brow. "You're certainly a long way from home."

"Heh," the Courier chuckled. "I'm on a bit of a vacation. Taking in the rest of the country."

The woman nodded, her attention briefly flickering over his shoulder as though checking for something. "That's nice," she said. "I was considering traveling too. Some of my friends went to Europe and New York." Her eyes drifted to his cart, studying its contents. "Dry food, camping equipment, water. If you hadn't told me you were traveling, I'd think you were a doomsday prepper."

"Survivalist," the Courier corrected with a grin. "I can make a good healing powder or serum with the right flowers and roots."

She tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "Since you're not from here, you might not know about some of the herbs native to the Arklay Mountains. They can heal wounds, restore stamina, fight off infections, even cure toxins."

The Courier hummed thoughtfully. "A natural antivenom, huh? Nice. I might look into that. I've got time. Considering all the traffic and roadblocks, I'll probably start heading out at night. It's a mess out there right now."

The woman nodded, her expression distant for a moment. Her thoughts seemed to drift elsewhere, and she didn't respond immediately. After a pause, she said, "Yeah… it's a mess." Her voice carried a weight he didn't miss, though he didn't pry.

"There was even an incident at the stadium," the Courier added casually.

The woman froze, her expression sharpening. "What?"

"Yeah, something went down during the game. Cops and ambulances got called in. Must've been a riot or something."

Her instincts flared. Warning bells went off in her mind. She straightened as her grip tightened on her cart. "Sorry, I've got to go." Her mind raced. She hoped against the worst. "I suggest you leave as soon as you can."

The Courier raised a brow at her sudden change but shrugged. "Alright, you take care, now."

"You too," she replied quickly, already moving toward the other end of the aisle. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—if her assumptions about the situation were right, she needed to act fast. Supplies, weapons, an escape plan. The chaos she'd feared since the Mansion Incident was about to erupt, and she didn't plan on being caught unprepared.

The Courier watched her go, bemused but unconcerned. He pushed his cart forward, the faint hum of the Walmart speakers overhead playing a pop song he didn't recognize. He figured he'd deal with whatever had her spooked if it crossed his path. For now, he still had a few supplies to grab.

Chapter Text

Raccoon Times Office

"Please tell me you're joking. We don't want to be there."

Alyssa crossed her arms. "I'm not."

"You can't be serious. It could be dangerous! I'm hearing on the radio that not all the rioters got detained."

She gestured outside. "That's exactly why we need to go there. There's just something in the back of my mind that's itching at what I'm seeing. People need to know the truth."

Mullen rubbed his forehead. "Come on…"

"This is what investigative journalism is all about." Alyssa leaned forward. "This is important for the city. Nothing this enticing has happened in this town since the series of murders this past summer."

"Yeah. Murders. From possible cannibals. I was lucky that you had enough sense not to venture out into the woods yourself.

Alyssa stood her ground. "I would have if we weren't sent out of town for another mandatory conference. Remember that story I covered a few years ago? The decomposed body they found washed up on the shores of the Aimes River?"

Mullen nodded reluctantly. "The one where you nearly got slapped with a defamation lawsuit? How could I forget?"

"Because I suggested a certain corporation might be dumping chemical waste! That body had traces of unknown chemicals that the police report conveniently glossed over. I had to dig for weeks to find that information."

"And your point is...?"

Alyssa leaned closer. "What if these supposed random acts of violence are connected to those chemical dumpings. If it got into the water, it could be affecting the population."

Mullen scoffed. "So you think some Umbrella's pharma waste is turning people into violent maniacs? That's a stretch even for you. If the water was contaminated since then, wouldn't there have been more reports?"

"You have a point. But this may be from a new drug they are testing. People are seeing symptoms of extreme aggression and disorientation." She tapped her temple. "My instincts are rarely wrong."

"You and your hunches." Mullen sighed. "Even if there is a connection, you think they'll just let you walk in and expose them? After what happened last time?"

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Mullen! We need this. I swear this is a good one! You know we need to build our portfolio if we want to be part of bigger networks. There's no better chance for us than this!"

Mullen shifted uneasily. "I still have a bad feeling about this... You know those people, Alyssa."

"No matter! Do you want me to just parrot what everyone else is saying? I'm better than that. I'm not some corporate shill. You know that. If I want to avoid another defamation lawsuit, I'll need physical evidence to get ahead."

Mullen hesitated. "Is it really worth the trouble?"

Alyssa gently punched him. "My gut is telling me I'm onto something."

Mullen sighed. "Fine..."

Alyssa clapped her hands together. "Good! Now let's go! Grab your camera, Mullen, we're going to make history!"

Mullen groaned. "Alright. I'll humor you again. But if we get arrested, I'm blaming you, and you better be covering my bail."

Alyssa just laughed. "Deal! Now hurry up, or we'll miss them!"

Outside of the Raccoon City Football Stadium

When Mullen and Alyssa Ashcroft arrived on scene, they immediately took in the current state of things. There was a line of people being checked for injuries, and some were being taken to the hospital in gurneys. Alyssa didn't miss seeing several black body bags being carried away.

After a bit more observation, she approached some officers near the barricade. They noticed her approach and tried to avoid her gaze. This simple act meant that they had something juicy they didn't want to share. "Officers, please. We're with the Racoon Press. Can you tell me what happened here tonight?"

Mullen stayed behind with a recorder on.

"Look, I wasn't the first responder." Officer Aaron then gestured to two other officers nearby. "Officer Martinez and Sergeant Wilson were among the first on scene."

Alyssa quickly moved to the other officers. "I see. Officers, can you please recount what happened when you first arrived?"

"I'm sure you and the other outlets can wait for the official statement."

"There shouldn't be a problem, it's the simple truth, no?"

Officer Martinez nodded reluctantly. "I suppose. Well, we got the call during the third quarter. Private security called for backup. They said they had a violent situation. Initially reported as a standard disturbance, but..."

"But what?" Alyssa pressed.

Sergeant Wilson stepped in. "When we arrived, our first priority was evacuating civilians. From there, we had to engage the suspect."

"The rioters?" Alyssa asked.

"Yeah, but…" Martinez shifted uncomfortably. "That's the thing. While searching for the supposed rioters, we found several assault victims first. They had... unusual injuries."

"What kind of injuries?" Alyssa continued adding to her notes.

"Bite marks. Scratches." Martinez said. "One victim had a chunk-"

"Martinez…" chastised Wilson.

"Sorry. That has yet to be confirmed by the medical team."

"Right, but still. That's more than just an overenthusiastic fan. Was there something else going on here? Drugs, maybe?"

Officer Aaron interjected, "Probably drugs. Maybe some new street cocktails are making people go crazy. Crack or something similar. Maybe they were too stupid to try and get high in the middle of the stadium."

"When you finally encountered these supposed rioters, what did you see?" Alyssa directed her question to Martinez.

The young officer hesitated. "They weren't... they didn't seem normal. Some were covered in blood. Their own and others'. They wouldn't respond to commands."

"They seemed deranged," Wilson added. "Feral even. When we attempted to detain them, they became extremely aggressive. Tried to attack us with their bare hands and teeth. That's when the call came through authorizing lethal force."

Alyssa frowned. "That sounds a bit extreme, don't you think? Some might accuse police of brutality."

"The lives of our fellow officers come first when an individual is an immediate threat to safety."

"Understandable from that point of view." Alyssa narrowed her eyes. "Was there any response from the EMTs? Anyone hospitalized from... whatever happened here?"

Officer Aaron sighed. "We've got people receiving treatment, but I don't have those details. If you want medical information, that's another department. That's all I can tell you for now."

"Officer Martinez, I can't help but feel that this is similar to the injuries sustained by the cannibal attacks from a few months ago?" Alyssa pressed.

"Again, the RPD reported that these deaths were attributed to wild animals, not cannibals."

Before Martinez could answer, another uniformed officer approached. "That's quite enough, officers. Return to your posts." He introduced himself to Alyssa. "Officer Crane, RPD Public Affairs. I couldn't help but overhear your questions."

"Just doing my job. The public has a right to know the truth."

"Yes, they do." He chuckled condescendingly. "However, we want to get all our facts straight before we say something that might rile up the public unnecessarily. Maybe some hooligans had too much to drink at the game, and things got out of hand."

"Seems more than just that."

"Exactly. Nothing official to report to the people yet. We're conducting a standard investigation. By tomorrow, we'll get tox screens on the suspects and finish the interviews. There's no reason for public concern."

"But the officers just described-"

"They described their personal perspective, not an objective fact. In the heat of the moment, things often appear more dangerous than they actually are. I'm sure a professional like yourself understands the importance of having physical evidence to back up such bold claims."

"I am familiar, yes."

"Good." He glanced pointedly at her press badge. "Now, this is an active crime scene, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave. When we have an official statement prepared, the Raccoon Times will receive it along with the other media outlets."

Alyssa knew when she was being stonewalled. "Thanks for your time, Officer."

This wasn't over. Alyssa would get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, she needed to compile as many of her notes as possible for her next report.

Raccoon City Warehouse, Late Afternoon

David pulled his truck into the parking lot.

"Hey, David!" Bob called out from the security gate, his voice echoing slightly in the near-empty lot. "Took you long enough! Do you know what time it is? I'm gonna miss happy hour."

David stepped out, slamming the truck door with a weary thud. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, Bob..." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture Bob knew meant he was exhausted. "The last pickup was a real pain. It was some frantic woman down by the Birch Street apartments."

Bob scoffed, waving it off as he unlocked the gate. "The whole city's going nuts. Get in." He swung the gate open, and David drove in.

Bob then picked up his radio, the static crackling for a moment. "Hey, Mark? Bob is at the main gate."

"Yeah, I read you," Mark's calm voice replied.

"Day-shift David is finally gracing us with his presence. We're clear to wrap up here. Night shift guys should be here in about twenty."

"Ah, good copy," Mark replied. "Let's get out of here."

Bob frowned slightly, watching David park his truck. "Just a bunch of punks. Nothing a good nightstick couldn't solve."

"Just means I gotta get home. See you at the lockers."

"Roger that," Bob said, signing off.

#

After a few more hours of work, Mark and Bob were finally off duty. Due to scheduling, both of them had to skip lunch that day.

"My stomach's killing me," Bob grumbled as they made their way down the street.

"So, Mark, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"About our time in the Marines, do you ever miss it? I mean, really miss it? The structure, knowing your purpose. Living off the VA and working security… it ain't what I expected to be doing after all these years."

Mark sighed, the sound visible as a small cloud in the cooling air. "I used to ask myself the same question every morning when I got sent back. But things changed, you know. I met Sarah. I found a new mission. I got a family to look after now. They need me."

Bob nodded slowly, his gaze unfocused. "Yeah... I did too…"

Mark nodded. It's been years since Bob's wife passed. Things didn't go great when his daughter ended up in an accident in her 30s. "I know, pal. I know."

Bob seemed to stare out into the distance.

Mark clapped a firm hand on Bob's shoulder. "Enough of that. I ain't going anywhere. C'mon, let's get moving. I'm thinking a burger and a cold one. I think J's Bar is the closest place we can get to."

Bob perked up slightly, a spark of his usual self returning. "Sure. A burger sounds damn good right now. Let's grab a drink and get something to eat."

Mayor Warren's Office

"So let me get this straight," Mayor Warren sputtered, gripping his phone tightly. "Your… your damn man-eating things are OUT?! In MY TOWN?!"

The voice on the other end was calm. "Control yourself, Mayor. We are simply informing you of the situation. There has been a containment breach of the T-Virus, originating from the NEST laboratory."

Warren slumped against his mahogany desk. "Wha… Shit... I should've known something dangerous was down there. You said it was just research..."

"What you were told is irrelevant now. The virus appears to have entered the city's water supply. We understand the gravity of the situation, primarily as it pertains to our mutual interests. You will carry out the following directives immediately."

Warren swallowed. "Alright then..."

"First, call Chief Irons. Instruct him to establish a full quarantine of Raccoon City. No one gets in, no one gets out. His men are to use lethal force if necessary. Second, contact your liaisons with the US Government and the CDC. Feed them the cover story. Downplay the severity but stress the need for federal assistance. It will buy us time."

"They won't buy that!" Warren protested weakly.

"It only needs to work until our operatives finish their objectives in the city," the voice snapped back. "Third, and listen very carefully. You are to begin sanitizing all records immediately. Digital and physical. Any documentation linking the city's regeneration project, your political campaigns, or Chief Irons' appointment to Umbrella Corporation funding must be destroyed. We have a list." The contact paused. "Failure to comply will make the outbreak the least of your concerns. Your career, your assets… everything we helped you build, we can dismantle twice as fast. Do you understand, Mayor?"

Warren went pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "Okay, okay, I've got it. I'll… I'll get my people on the evidence. I'll make the calls."

"Very well," the contact stated, his voice returning to its cold, professional monotone. "We will be in touch to monitor your progress." The call abruptly ended, leaving a dial tone buzzing in Warren's ear.

Warren let out a shaky breath, his hand trembling as he put the phone down. "Right, right... now for Irons..."

RING… RING…

Chief Irons answered almost immediately. The line was crackly, filled with the distant sounds of sirens and shouting. "I was wondering when your puppet masters would let you call."

Warren tried to muster some authority. "Irons, I'm aware there's a... 'hazardous spill' situation developing."

"Don't you 'hazardous spill' me, Michael," Irons growled, the use of Warren's first name a clear sign of his contempt. "This is a secure line. I have officers being torn apart on Main Street. This is way past a 'spill'."

Warren's lips twisted. "Right, well, the directive is a full quarantine. The whole city."

A humorless laugh echoed from the phone. "A little late for that, wouldn't you say? I've already ordered roadblocks on all major routes out of the city. But I've seen the news, Michael. Your boys in the RPD aren't doing too well down there. They are getting overrun."

"Cut the damn sarcasm, Warren, and be grateful I haven't let those cannibal freaks overrun your mansion yet!" Irons shot back. His voice then dropped, becoming tight with a pained, obsessive sort of fury. "I love this town, Warren. Every street, every alley. It's mine. And they're defiling it."

"Let me guess," Irons continued, not waiting for a reply. "The corporation boys called you, right? Told you to lock it down and burn the books."

"Yes," Warren admitted. "They want their tracks covered. Destroy evidence, tie up loose ends. You saw that coming, didn't you?"

"I sent a team to the Dead Factory an hour ago to sanitize their mess. Of course, I saw it coming."

"Jesus, Irons, why are you…"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, WARREN!" Irons roared, his voice distorting over the speaker. "This was supposed to be a partnership! They do their work, they pay us, and I get to keep my city clean, perfect, and under control! But they did it! Those bastards dared to ruin my beautiful town!"

Warren's expression hardened. "Remember your place, Brian. I'm the one who runs this city. You're just the man I hired to protect it."

"All of this... every single casualty... It's YOUR FAULT! If you hadn't brought me in on this deal, if you hadn't been so greedy…"

"Oh, grow up, Irons! Be thankful I brought you in!" Warren shrieked, his composure completely shattered. "Without me, Umbrella would've replaced you with someone with more guts and brains ages ago! You were nothing but a desk jockey with a hunting fetish!"

There was a moment of chilling silence on the other end. "What did you just say to me?" Irons' voice was dangerously low.

"You know what? You want this town so bad? You can have this damn town for yourself! I'm getting out of here!"

"WHAT?! WARREN! YOU COWARD! IF I FALL, YOU FALL WITH ME!"

Warren grabbed his briefcase. "This city's going down, and I'm the captain who's getting off this sinking ship. Good luck, Chief." He slammed the phone down, cutting off Irons.

Chief Irons hurled his phone against the wall. "GOD... DAMMIT!"

Alley Behind a Deli

A man in an alley tried to sleep. The only comfort was a trash bag as a pillow. He pulled his thin coat tight in the cold night air.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his leg and let out a yelp. He sat up and looked down at his leg. A rat had scurried away after biting him.

The man kicked his leg to endure the pain. He looked at the bleeding bite mark. "Ah, great...! I need to patch this."

He looked around the alley for something to clean the wound. There was not much to use. He grumbled. He had to find something.

Sadly, it was already too late.

Meanwhile

Following his resupply and the cryptic warning from the brunette, the Courier took the liberty of exploring the town. Driving through the streets of Raccoon City was a surreal experience, like the many other cities he had visited before. Seeing the alternate LA Boneyard thriving was something.

He spent the better part of an hour gathering more information than his allies wanted. He bought a newspaper and listened to panicked whispers at a bus stop. Cannibals. Wild animals. Riots.

He found a parking spot across from a flickering neon sign. Before heading for the bar, he pulled out a clunky, handheld device. He then flipped the switch on the Trans-Dimensional Relay.

He twisted a frequency dial. The dish whirred as it connected to a station that the Big MT set up in the Mojave Desert, where they first landed.

"Ah, Courier, what do you have to report?" House answered.

"SILENCE!" a tinny voice screeched from the Think Tank. "The Lobotomite is transmitting! Dr. Klein requires your undivided attention!"

The Courier ignored them both for a second, his eyes scanning the data stream on his Pip-Boy. "Connection is stable. Beginning report." He looked up at the flickering images. "My journey east is halfway done."

Dr. Borous's jar-monitor bobbed excitedly. "Is it as our historical records show?"

"Mostly," the Courier said flatly. "I've traversed what they call Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming... It's all green. Forests of actual trees. Rivers of clean water you can just… drink."

House hummed. "Your recent reports suggested a significant divergence in technology. Elaborate."

"There's little to no reliance on nuclear power. They have some fission plants, but it's not the backbone of their grid. Like us, they still used gasoline."

"From what I read, they called it miniaturization. You read the document I sent, right? They called it a transistor."
"I am familiar with it," House replied. "My company has used them before. My R&D teams and I theorized that we could build smaller, more efficient computers, but the bombs were catching up with us. To think we could see this possibility realized."

"Seems pretty cool to me. They got some fun arcade games."

"And your previous report holds? The Soviet Union collapsed?"

"Fell apart earlier this decade, according to their records," the Courier confirmed. "I mean, China is still doing its thing, but I don't think we'll be having self-annihilation any time soon.."

"Then the board is clear," House declared. "This new Earth is a gold mine. Untapped resources, pre-War industrial capacity, a new market... If I could get a foot in the door here... the possibilities are limitless. Courier, acquiring one of their 'personal computers' is now a secondary objective."**

"I'll see what I can do," the Courier promised. "I'll upload the full data logs when I'm secure. For now, I have a situation to assess. Courier out."

He flipped the switch and hung up. He then tucked the relay back into his duster. A drink was definitely in order. The Courier stepped out of the alley and saw the sign for `J's Bar.` "As good a place as any."

#

The Bar had its usual crowd. Classic rock played from the old, nostalgic jukebox. It seemed like another evening in Raccoon City.

Officer Kevin Ryman sat at the bar with a half-full glass of bourbon. Cindy walked past, and he gave her a friendly wink.

"Another round, Kev?" Cindy asked.

Kevin shrugged. "Why not? It's been a hell of a week. Might as well."

Cindy reached behind the bar and refilled his glass. "Don't let Chief catch you slacking,"

Kevin chuckled. "I'll be fine. Chief's not exactly looking for me here."

Nearby, Mark Wilkins, a security guard, nursed a beer alongside his close friend Bob. The two came in after their shift. Bob seemed to be out of it.

Alyssa Ashcroft tapped away on her laptop at one of the window seats. While her interviews today were limited, they were enough to get started on her latest story.

David King took a shot of whiskey and sighed..

Across the room, Jim Chapman worked on a crossword puzzle.

Yoko Suzuki slipped into the bar and headed straight to the women's restroom.

George Hamilton was tired after a long shift at the hospital. There had been an influx of new patients.

A new figure immediately gained the attention of those in the room as he entered the bar. It was a man clad in a duster emblazoned with a United States flag design reminiscent of the colonial version. His face was concealed by a helmet. Some thought he was a former military man.

Kevin Ryman was the first to notice the body armor underneath and the Big Iron on his hip. He stiffened and placed a hand on his gun. Kevin watched the stranger, unsure whether this guy would cause trouble.

The Courier, however, was unfazed. He approached the counter, pulled out a stool, and sat down.

Cindy hesitated before approaching. "Hello, there. What can I get you?"

Before answering, The Courier removed his helmet. The man had tanned skin, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. He smiled at her. "A shot of scotch."

Cindy was surprised by the change. "Coming right up."

Kevin scoffed as he eased his hand away from his holster.

Cindy placed the shot in front of the Courier. "Pardon me for asking but you're not from around here, are you?"

"What gave it away?"

"The clothes for one."

The Courier picked up the glass and sipped. "Yup. Just passing through."

Cindy smiled. "Well, welcome to Jack's Bar. You picked a good night. From the west side?"

"Something like that. Used to roam Nevada and Arizona."

"Real country vibe, you got."

"I like to call it classic." The Courier nodded and noticed Kevin's gaze. Wouldn't be the first time.

Kevin shook his head and returned to his drink. 'At least he's not causing trouble… Yet.'

The Courier leaned back and ignored the few stares. He wanted to finish his drink.

All the while, the city outside began spiraling into chaos.