Disclaimer: Resident Evil, and all associated characters and locales belong to Capcom.


September 28th, 1998:

Jill Valentine began her day unlike those that came before it. Because she was planning to escape from a Zombie infested Midwestern city in the middle of Fall, she decided to first dress up in a tube top and miniskirt that would definitely provided adequate protection against a Midwestern City's normally brisk fall climate. Also, Jill predicted that the exposed neckline and lack of clothing beyond the kneecap would provide excellent protection against a flesh eating undead. If this doesn't hint as to the intelligence of our hero, her tendency to narrate what the hell was about to go down would do that adequately.

" It all began as an ordinary day in September. An ordinary day in Raccoon City. A city controlled by Umbrella, . No one dared to oppose them. That lack of strength would ultimately lead to their destruction. I suppose they had to suffer the consequences of their actions, but there would be no forgiveness. I mean, if a bunch of S.T.A.R.S. Officers with a reputation of ineptitude warn you that the company that built half of the town was trying to take over the world with a Zombie death virus, it's unreasonable to think that anyone would have a hard time believing them.
But it's true that once the wheels of justice began to turn, nothing could stop them. Nothing! Except possible a mightly fuckload of zombies. Anyways, It was Raccoon City's last chance...
And my last chance, my last escape... Of course, maybe I should've gotten the Hell out of Dodge before the dead started walking..."

Yep, that's our survivor. Pretty, tough, and dumb as a rock.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, a group of transport helicopters bearing the Umbrella Corporation logo flew in over the burning city.

"Uh, Sir" One Hispanic man with an outrrrrrageous accent asked his superior, a grey haired Russian man.

"Yes, vhat is it, Carlos?" the Commander replied, with an even more poorly acted Russian accent.

"Just wondering, this is a horror game, and most horror movies with a corporation in it usually make the company evil."


"Well, I mean, are you sure that we're not evil?".

"Of course. There's no reason to believe that I'm Umbrella's pointman, plotting to betray you all as soon as possible. And there's no reason to believe this whole situation was caused by a poorly-planned Black Ops raid led by a man calling himself Mister Death.".


Special Agent HUNK of Umbrella Black Ops was in a bad mood. It wasn't the fact that he was nearly a week past his mission deadline. It wasn't the fact that he was trapped in the sewer system of a town currently going through Hell. It wasn't even the fact that a mutant Doctor Birkin had kicked his ass and killed all his men. It wasn't the fact that he had lost his sample of the G-Virus.

Nope, the problem on HUNK's mind was simple. Memo to self; don't bet the other guys at Umbrella HQ that you are able to successfully complete a mission drunk. Man, I owe fucking Jake fifty dollars. Damnit.

Oh, and yeah, the whole 'being lost in the sewers of a town getting torn apart by zombies because I amazingly fucked up a simple theft' thing is kind of a downer, too.


"Uh, okay. Anyways, I trust in you completely, Nicholai.".

"Exxxxxxcelent..." Nicholai said, doing his best C. Montgomery Burns impression. "Anyvays, ve're almost at the drop point.".

Nicholai and Carlos watched as the men in the chopper they were following tossed rappel cables out of their choppers and slid off them... falling to their doom several hundred feet below.

"Ouch." Carlos said.

Sighing, Nicholai turned to his team. "Men. Remember, you should vait until our Helicopter is hovering above a skyscraper before jumping out.".

And so, the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasures Service, minus a few redshirts, disembarked their helicopters on the roof of a high rise office building.

"Damn. Ve've barely begun, and half our cannon fodder is dead already.".

So, the UBCS away team began their historic Operation Mad Jackal. Which mainly involved the principle cast being conveniently away while the rest of the redshirts were ruthlessly torn apart.

Two Umbrella Mercenaries, Obligatory Victim 1 and Obligatory Victim 2 disembarked the building's elevators at the lobby. All of a sudden, the doors to the other elevator opened, and the OV pair was stuck in the middle of a zombie blitzkrieg. Despite the fact that Zombies are only capable of about one half of a sustained mile per hour on foot, and the fact that both OVs were well trained mercs with automatic weapons, they died horribly.

More mercenaries died in similar fashions. One would think a group of three mercenaries would be able to hold their own, especially since one was throwing grenades around like a drunken monkey, but alas, OVs 3, 4, and 5 were tragically cut down as well.

Meanwhile, as zombies began to murder the poor denizens of Racoon City, the RPD had decided to act. Blocking the highway with patrol cars and a SWAT team van, a group of a dozen or so officers armed with shotguns and Heckler und Koch MP-5 submachine guns did battle with thirty or more zombies.

"Hold the Line!" SWAT Commander Griffon shouted. This was interpreted by his man as 'stand stock still while the dead slowly shamble over to you, akwardly climb over the cars, and refuse to run the Hell away , even when it was hideously apparent that the line wasn't being held.'. So Deadmeat Cops 1-14 fulfilled their one true purpose. Dying horribly to build tension.

Commander Griffon realized his men were perhaps the dumbest people on earth, considering that after five minutes of sustained fire, they failed to stop the thirty or so zombies slowly shuffling towards them, had an epiphany. Maybe... Maybe that's our lot in life. Maybe humanity is prone to self overestimation and a lack of healthy discretion. Maybe... Oh HOLY FUCK! MY LEGS! They're eating my motherfucking legs! AARRRRRRGGGGGGHH! Wait, why am I thinking "aaaarrrrrrrggggggh" instead of screaming it out? Hmm... maybe that's my lot in life... Yep, our brilliant SWAT commander was too busy philosophizing to run the fuck away.

And in the reflection on the cracked visor of one of the SWAT team member's helmets, an immense, vaguely human shape was visible...

"S.T.A.R.S." (Translation: Okay, where'd that idiot Vickers go? I saw him standing right next to that one cannon fodder...)

Meanwhile, back with Jill Valentine, she too was having zombie problems. Of course, considering the fact that the Police and the UBCS were comepletely screwed with all their high powered weapons, armor, and numbers, so one lone woman, dressed for Mardi Gras, holding a 9mm handgun with 15 bullets and a gunpowder mixing tool, would be more or less doomed...

Of course, Jill had her unique way of doing things, compared to other people. So, instead of walking out the front door of her apartment building, her monumental last escape started off with a resounding BOOM, as she literally blasted a wall down to escape the evil dead.

And so, she ran. Hopping over a dumpster, she managed to find herself surrounded by ravenous flesh eaters only seconds after starting. Only her quick thinking, and a lot of random violence against a door, saved her. Running down an alleyway and diving through another door, she found herself in... a warehouse.

"JESUS MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!" screamed a voice from the other side of the room.

"Uh, hiya. I'm Jill.".

"Hi. I'm Dario Rosso, amateur novelist. HOLY SHIT WE'RE DOOMED!".

"I think we should get moving. I doubt that there's going to be a rescue." Our heroine said to the disheveled, hobo-ish man across the room. She was beginning to grow tired of his whining already.


"So, you're barricading yourself in a warehouse...".

"No, actually, I plan on hopping in that trailer over their and praying nobody notices me. Actual barricading would require me to board up this warehouse. Anyways, PRAY FOR A SWIFT AN MERCIFUL DEATH!".

"Uh, it would be safer to follow my idea.". Jill was really getting annoyed.

"And your plan is?".

"We run through this zombie infested city, facing the undead, giant spider, mutant lizard men, and the occasional boss monster while solving several rather inane puzzles." Jill said triumphantly, confident in her plan. Then, realizing how idiotic her plan sounded when laid out in words, she simply said. "Any room in that trailer for me?". Unfortunately, by that time Dario had already locked himself inside.

So, with no where else to go, Jill turned and tried to exit the building through it's second set of doors. Unfortunately it was locked. A quick search of the upper level office turned up a key, ammo, typewriter ink ribbons and a some gun powder. And, as we all know, using a gunpowder mixing tool to make gunpowder is a LOT easier than picking up the prepackaged stuff laying on every dead cop in the city.

So, armed with her new key, she marched downstairs and opened the stubborn locked door. There she met Random Zombie number 1.

"Braaaaiiiinsssssss..." RZ1 said. Of course, seeing as we had previously seen Jill's brilliant tactical strategies, RZ1 thought it over and then decided Okay, the chick's hot, but seriously. If I want brains, I'll just go to the college or something. "Urrrrrggggh..." (Translation: Okay, Miss Valentine. I'll leave you for now. But may God help you if I want spleen, I'm coming for you.)

Of course, Jill doesn't exactly speak random zombie moaning, so that's about when she emptied her beretta into RZ1's head. Going to her left, she opened yet another door, continuing through the Raccoon City alleyways. Eventually, she was getting mighty bored of Raccoon City's 90,000 miles of interconnected alleyways, when...

"RUN AWAAAAAAAY!" Brad "Chickenheart" Vickers screamed as he bashed a door down, and ran the Hell away. Behind him, a squad of zombies slowly shambled after.

"Rraaaaaahhhh..." RZ2 said. (Translation: Aw, screw this. We ain't gonna catch him like this. We need us some wheels.".)

"Grawww..." RZ3 suggested. (Translation: Hey, I saw wheels back in that alley down there. I think we could catch him on those.).

"Snarllll...". (Translation: Idiot. I fucking told you, we ain't gonna catch no one on a tricycle.)

Growing angry at his buddies' idiocy, Random Zombie 4 simply growled. (Translation: Dudes, there's a hot chick standing five feet away from us pointing a handgun at our heads. Christ, let's just grab her.)

"Raaawwwr." RZ3 argued. (Translation: I dunno, usually people have a habit of, well, y'know, running the hell away when we attack. I'm confident she won't attack us.).


"Uuuurrrggghhhh...". (Translation: I stand corrected. Get her!).

Of course, the fact that the zombies were about as spry and nimble as my refrigerator really hurt their plan to capture Jill. Running past the evil dead, she ran down the stairs into the room Brad Vickers was in before he went running away. There she found a corpse of another SWAT team member. Of course, Jill was a cop, so she recognized the dead man.

"Steve? Oh God! Why, Lord, Why did Steve have to die! He was so young!" Jill stopped lamenting her comrade's death when she noticed the shotgun still clutched in his hands. "Yoink!".

The zombie militia finally managed to stumble down the stairs. "Hi there. This is a zombie game, so I do have to make an Bruce Campbell quote here. My name's Jill, and this..." Our heroine said, cocking the shotgun "... is my boomstick!".

"Raaaaaaarrrrrrgggh". (Translation: Aw fuck...)

And so, the Zombies learned a valuable life's lesson. Shotgun shells to the forehead are a bad thing. And so Jill, alone in a basement full of corpses, searched around the room for anything of use. Did she take the heavy metal crowbar at her feet? No. Did she search Steve's body for extra ammo? No. She eventually picked up an empty cigarette lighter lying on a set of shelves. Hmm... a lighter with no fuel... Never know when this would be useful...

Continuing her running, Jill picked up some green herbs after going through the path Brad had rushed through. Passing through even more decrepit alleyways, she found herself on the streets of Uptown Raccoon City, in an area littered with zombies. Of course, Jill realized that if she fought, she might damage her trusty empty cigarette lighter, so she nimbly avoided the zombies on the street, and rushed into the nearest blind alley she could find.

The alley led to the back of the famed Bar Jack, Raccoon City's number one destination for chronic drunks. So naturally, half of the S.T.A.R.S. team was more accustomed to it than they were to there apartments. If Brad's anywhere, it's here. Sure enough, she spotted Brad shooting a zombie. The cowardly pilot then decided to run into the bar. Jill followed.

Inside the Bar Jack, Brad ran straight into yet another Random Zombie. After getting his throat chewed on for a bit, he managed to shove the undead horror off of him, and then set about killing the hell out of it.

Once the zombie was dead (redead?) Brad slumped against the counter of the bar, humming the tune of "Coward of the County" while stealing the booze.

"Hiya, Brad." Jill said. That caused Brad to leap up into the air and whip his gun at Jill. Brad had been known for his cowardice on the force, and apparently, as Jill had assumed, during the death of Raccoon City, he spent most of his time wetting himself and screaming.

"WHAT! Oh, it's you Jill. I thought it might've been... him..." Brad said, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Who's coming?".

"He's coming, Jill. He cannot be bargained with. He cannot be reasoned with. He doesn't feel pain, or pity, or remorse. He'll kill us all!".

"Who is 'he'?".

"We're all going to die!".

"Yeah, I kinda got that part, but who is this unreasonable, unfeeling fellow?".

"I-I can't tell y-you." The S.T.A.R.S. chicken said, quickly getting on Jill's nerves.

"Why not?".

"Uh, the scriptwriter was just to lazy too have me say 'Immortal Trenchcoat superzombie', so I just say 'him' or 'he'.".

"What was that?".

"Uh, I can't repeat. Anyways, HE WILL MURDER US! RUN, LEST YE FEEL HIS WRATH!" With that, Brad ran out of the Bar, screaming gibberish.

Sighing, Jill picked up some spare handgun ammo and some lighter fluid in the bar, as well as a postcard of Raccoon's famous Saint Michael's Clock Tower, home of ominous foreshadowing. Anyways, Jill decided that an old, decrepit lighter was cool, but an old, decrepit lighter that actually worked would be even better. So she combined the lighter fluid and the lighter, and voila, she had a working lighter.

Leaving through the back entrance, Jill continued to murder zombies until she saw a huge group of undead men and women in police uniforms standing behind a barricade. "Oh my god... Tim? And Lucy? And Billy? And Bobby? And Stanislaus? Oh God, why did they have to die! They were so young!". That's roughly when Tim, Lucy, Billy, Bobby, and Stanislaus shoved the barricade over and began lurching towards Jill.

Of course, they failed to remember one of the fundamental gaming rules set down by Donkey Kong and Mario; barrels are amazingly fucking dangerous. As the zombies crowed around an oil drum, Jill just shot it, and Tim, Lucy, Billy, Bobby, and Stanislaus were all rekilled. Walking past the rather large greasy smudge her friends had become, Jill approached a gate, sealed with... an oil soaked rope. I think we all know how it ended. Jill's lighter and the rope met, and soon, there was no more rope holding the gate closed.

And so, Jill continued, past a blazing inferno closing off one of the alley's exits, when all of a sudden, a pair of dogs burst through the conflagration. Noticing it was on fire, Random Cerberus 1 simply said "Arf! Arf!". (I guess you can call me a 'hot dog'.).

Deciding the other dog's pun was horrible, Random Cerberus 2 proceeded to leap at him. Of course, Jill was content to merely let the two zombie dogs murder each other. Walking through the other exit of the alley, on to another one of Raccoon City's streets. Of course, given the fact that ninety percent of her journey had involved running through alleys, she was eager to get back to them. So, running across the street, she tried to open the next creaky metal door, but it was locked. Just beautiful. Damn, guess I have to go to the police station to pick up my lock pick...

And so she did. Running down the empty street and past a broken fire hydrant, Jill reached the big gate outside the front entrance to Raccoon City Police HQ. Passing through, she was just about to open the front door when...

"J-Jill!" Brad screamed. "We've gotta...". Unfortunately for Brad, he was cut off by a 9-foot tall, trenchcoat wearing monster dropping out of thin air.

"S.T.A.R.S.". (Heeeeeere's Nemmy!)