Billy Coen stood with his squad, trying to set their bearings. They were there to liberate the region from civil war. The orders were clear. They were to enact a surgical strike on the guerilla army’s main headquarters.

Then, the team’s drop-off point was further from the base than expected.

By the time they cleared the treacherous jungle, alarm bells were ringing in Billy’s ears. Yet, he paid them no mind. Billy knew what the guerrilla base would look like. The briefings described a seized industrial factory. He expected to see it on the horizon.

Yet, such a sight never came.

The squad leader stopped walking, prompting the others to follow suit.

“We’re… we’re here.”

They were in the center of a small village. The inhabitants eyed them with curiosity and fear.

“This is the target,” the squad leader reiterated as he raised his rifle. Billy watched in horror as the soldier he once looked up to gathered the villagers against a nearby wall.

“Wait!,” Billy gasped, his throat clammy from a mixture of heat and distress, “This can’t be the target!”

The squad leader turned to him with a scowl.

“You questioning me, Coen?”

“They’re civilians!”

“This is a civil war, soldier! Are you expecting them to wear uniforms? I’m sorry they don’t fit your neat little idea of what bad guys look like!”

A rock grazed the side of Billy’s face. He turned to see a young boy, scared out of his mind, unable to understand these armed foreign invaders. Billy outstretched a hand, trying to tell the boy to calm down.

Blood ejected from the boy’s head, spraying the wall behind him. A collective cry rang out from the villagers as the he fell to the gravel.

“No!”

Billy pointed his gun at his squad leader.

“You’re making a mistake, Billy.”

“You killed an unarmed child!”

“I eliminated a hostile after he attacked one of my squad members.”

“He threw a rock!”

“Ask yourself; how bad do you want to take his side?”

Two harsh clicks filled the air. Billy sensed his fellow marines were pointing their guns at his back.

The atmosphere had changed around him. Nightfall draped the village in an eerie quiet. The corpses he expected to find lining the dirt did not materialize.

“Billy!”

It was a young woman’s voice, delicate yet pointed as though she’d recognized him.

He turned to her, immediately noting how out of place she looked – not a villager nor a marine. She regarded him with pitiful eyes, sealing his fate with their gaze.

He reached out, his stomach knotted.

“Rebecca!”

The ground erupted around their feet. The sand turned to leeches, climbing their bodies in a frenzy. Billy tried to shoot them away, but it was no use. They both sank into the ground, giving each other one pained last look. Then, they disappeared below.

This is it, Billy Coen. You’re going to die.

He could feel his eyelids parting. He was lying in a sweat-drenched single bed, crammed against the wall in a minuscule motel room. He took in thick, humid lungfuls of air.

Billy Coen had an uncanny knack for defying death. His time in the Marines hadn’t killed him. The state that ordered his execution couldn’t kill him. The monsters lurking in the forest couldn’t kill him.

And yet, he was dead to the world. Thanks to Rebecca Chambers, he met his fate in the same horrific attack that killed the rest of her team.

After leaving Rebecca in the Raccoon Forest, Billy hitch-hiked to the next town. With a bit of persistence, it wasn’t long before he had modest lodgings and consistent work at a local diner. The only part worse than the hours was the pay, but it was a start.

What was next?

He wanted to keep moving. But what was the end goal? Umbrella was still out there. Their horrifying creations were too. But, he couldn’t waltz up to the Raccoon City Police Department and demand to speak to the manager. Even if they didn’t shoot him on sight, S.T.A.R.S. disbanded.

He wasn’t even sure whether Rebecca was still alive. The news came as he slumped in the passenger seat of a large tanker truck. He was eyeing the Raccoon City skyline in the rear-view mirror as it shrunk into a bad memory.

“… it looks like we’ve got a story developing right here in the outskirts of Raccoon City. The Spencer Mansion, home to one of the city’s most influential figures, exploded this morning. Police have yet to confirm whether this event relates to the ongoing S.T.A.R.S. investigation. We promise to keep you updated as events warrant…”

Rebecca’s name was never brought up. None of the reports identified any surviving S.T.A.R.S. members. Billy tried to reach out to news outlets, asking for any information. Responses ranged from dismissal to suspicion.

Like every day, Billy worked. Amidst thoughts of Rebecca and monsters, he cooked for the customers that stumbled in. Luckily for him, being the fry cook meant he never interacted with the clientele. He got to stay in the back of the establishment, hovering over the stove.

He would hear snippets of conversations. Words would float in, further fueling his paranoia, keeping him on guard.

Then, before he knew it, it would be quitting time. After choking down a bland dinner, he’d step out onto the street, heading to the motel he called home. 

Once inside, Billy would pool his money and count down the cents until he could move to the next town. From there, it was a matter of slumping onto the edge of the bed and waiting for exhaustion to knock him out.

With that came sleep. With sleep came nightmares.

Billy Coen was a dead man walking. This was his purgatory.

Another day, another shift. Billy stared down the grill, waiting for an egg and a couple of rashes of bacon to fry so he could hand them off. 

“Hey, Colby!”

He smiled as a face filled the server window. Tilda was the kind of young and stressed that came with working in hospitality to help pay for college.

“You doing something fancy with those eggs? They don’t usually take that long!”

He looked down at the dry mess that he would now serve to an unsuspecting customer. None of the customers complained. They were usually too hungry to care.

Tilda rushed back into the kitchen, stuffing a hand full of hundred dollar bills in her apron.

“Big tip?” Billy asked.

“More like this and I won’t be working here much longer.”

“But you’re my mentor in the culinary arts.”

“And you’ve been a great student, but your next lesson is to walk on your own two feet.”

With a smirk, she pulled a small business card from her apron and leveled it at his face.

“Should I call him? He tipped big, but I don’t know if it’s worth the scandal.”

On the card was the logo for the Umbrella Corporation.

Billy’s first instinct was to pack what little he had and flee to the next town, starting again with a new name.

But this was a golden opportunity. They had to know something about Rebecca. So, he trailed James Keegan, Umbrella executive, to a nearby pay phone. Keegan huddled inside, looking over his shoulder as he slotted in a quarter and punched in a number.

“I spent all day talking to the locals — half of them think we actually make umbrellas… Stupid company car conked out. Mechanic said it’ll take a couple of days. Do you think Microsoft suits have to deal with this shit?”

Billy groaned. He better not be wasting my time.

“Tell the board to keep waiting, okay? They’re not gonna learn shit about the S.T.A.R.S. investigation till I can give my report. It’s one hell of a horror story. Bloodbath doesn’t begin to describe it. Thank God that mansion blew up.”

Umbrella sure knows how to pick ’em, don’t they?

“The survivors went underground. There’s one unaccounted for — the youngest one. If the mansion didn’t take ‘em out, they’ve done a good job flying under the radar.”

The youngest one had to be Rebecca, right? He could feel it in his gut. She was still alive.

“Colby, where the hell were you?”

Billy didn’t remember sneaking back to the diner. Yet, here was Tilda, staring him down with intense disapproval.

“I — I’m sorry.”

“It’s peak hour, Man. Get your shit together!”

The grind continued.

Rebecca’s alive.

Sure, the work was absolute drudgery.

But Rebecca’s alive.

Of course, that didn’t guarantee that they would ever see each other again.

None of that matters. As long as she’s still alive.

“Colby! Food! Now!”

Billy sighed. He hated to keep a lady waiting.

Keegan wasn’t one of Umbrella’s old guard, but he’d been there long enough to know what the company used to be. He enjoyed it when the game of survival was figurative.

Now, things were different.

The elation he got from his promotion grew when he saw the paycheck. Finally, he was no longer a rabid ankle-biter trying to stand out from the other strays in the junkyard. He’d made his way to the top and had the money and status to show for it.

Then, the tapes came, like a set of home movies recovered from the attic.

Or snuff films from the basement.

The task was simple. Watch the tapes and compile a report for the board. Identify the cause of the incident, the aftermath, and procedural improvements. So, he sat and watched.

He was still in the office twenty-four hours later. He learned the true nature of the Umbrella Corporation. Their pharmaceutical pursuits were nothing but an elaborate cover for hideous biological weapons.

Still, he couldn’t rock the boat. He compiled his report and waxed unbothered by the horrors of White Umbrella. But the charade took its toll, and the macabre images wouldn’t relent.

Keegan wanted the beer to help. He wanted the alcohol to go straight to his head and numb the pain.

“Decided on what you wanna drink there, bud?” The Bartender asked the man sitting next to him.

“Water.”

Keegan turned to him.

“Water? What’re you, a Mormon?”

“Early start tomorrow,” He smiled, “can’t afford the hangover.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d you work?”

“Diner. Not too far from here.”

“I know the one. I was there earlier today. I don’t remember seeing you there.”

“You’d have to look for me. I was out back working the grill.”

Keegan nodded.

“What about you? Where do you work?”

“I work for Umbrella,” Keegan responded. “While you hang out back and grill burgers, I sit at my desk and get grilled by walking corpses.”

Keegan downed the rest of his beer and ordered another.

“At least you got that one waitress — what was her name, Tulsa?”

“Tilda?”

“That’s the one! God, she’s gorgeous.”

Keegan’s eyes drifted to his wedding band as it glinted under the bar’s fluorescent light.

“I left her my card, actually. But she hasn’t called yet. It’s a real shame. One night with her would make staying in this shithole town worth it.”

“I’m sure she lost it. You know how it is when the day gets hectic. Tell me where you’re staying, and I can let her know. That way, she can call you, even without your card.”

“That would be one hell of a solid, Mr…”

”Colby,” the man responded, “my name is Neil Colby…”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Colby,” Keegan hiccuped, his speech starting to slur. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he continued as he signaled the Bartender, “I’m gonna have myself another drink.”

Keegan drooled into his pillow as his liver worked overtime. Billy hoped he would have little memory of his new drinking buddy who helped him stumble home.

In the meantime, it was time to do some snooping. Billy wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He wasn’t even sure there would be anything worth finding in this seedy motel room. But, he had to try.

Keegan’s wallet was no surprise. There was an excessive amount of cash, a Magnum condom, and a picture of Keegan’s wife and son. Then, Billy spotted a bright blue keycard with the Umbrella logo and a magnetic stripe.

He forced open Keegan’s briefcase to reveal a pile of documents that had to be worth a skim. There was a letter from Umbrella’s I.T. department, shoved at the bottom like old homework. It was a list of computer access codes.

Finding Keegan’s office wasn’t difficult. Large plexiglass windows showed it off to anybody who walked past.

“Hey!”

Billy turned to find an embattled young office drone glaring at him.

“How the hell did you open that door?”

Time to bullshit, Billy!

“Mr. Keegan let me in. His computer has some important software updates I gotta do.”

The worker threw up his hands in defeat and stomped away.

“I don’t know why we even have security protocols. Keegan doesn’t give a shit.”

Billy sat at the chalk-white computer atop Keegan’s desk. His hard drive wasn’t that interesting. There was a lot of accounting info, corporate emails, press packs, and news articles. Billy drifted from the computer to the rest of Keegan’s desk. He slid a small drawer open to find a sleek, steel lock box with a number pad, bolted into the drawer.

Bingo.

But that came with its own problem. He needed to find the combination. Where to even start? The desk? Keegan’s wallet? His computer?

With a sigh, Billy keyed in ‘0000’. It would be the start of a long, arduous process.

BEEP! The lockbox clicked open to reveal a row of floppy disks, each with a date scrawled in marker.

Billy thanked Keegan for his laziness as he slotted the latest disk into the computer. Umbrella kept comprehensive records, organized with the meticulousness of a librarian on crack.

If someone leaked it to the public, it would be a P.R. nightmare!

He typed Rebecca’s name into a search directory. Her faded portrait sat in a database with people he’d never heard of – Chris Redfield? Jill Valentine? Barry Burton?

Then, he realized what he was looking at. The company was hunting them. He saw the weapon they planned to use, a behemoth with stapled flesh clad in black tactical gear. Its one featureless eye stared forward as one of its gigantic hands gripped a minigun the size of a car.

‘Nemesis T-Type.’

Billy stumbled from the screen. Screw staying out of the way. He needed to warn Rebecca!

“Freeze, shithead!”

Billy spilled out onto the hallway as an alarm filled the halls.

Can’t let them catch you. Can’t let them drag you into some laboratory and turn you into a monster!

It was like a carnival ride on rails. Goons sprang from every corner with their weapons raised. Billy would counter with military training. It wasn’t long before Billy carried a light submachine gun in his calloused hands.

The journey to the elevator was short, but each step felt like a crawl through a minefield. When Billy reached the large chrome doors, he hesitated to push the call button. He expected a hungry monster inside.

There was only more silence waiting for him. So, he stepped in, thumbing the button for the ground floor. 

The elevator didn’t respond. So, Billy jabbed at the button with more grunting fervor. One of the buttons on the side console lit up. It didn’t have a number or a letter on it. Instead, it bore the Umbrella logo. 

That can’t be a good thing. 

Still, Billy was out of options. It appeared that none of the other buttons would work. There was only one way this was going to go.

Down.

He pressed the button.

The doors opened to reveal pitch-black darkness. Billy’s curiosity defied the cries of his survival instinct, and he moved forward.

“Who are you?” A deep voice boomed over an intercom high above Billy’s head.

“Huh?”

“Who are you working for? Are you with S.T.A.R.S.?”

“No.”

“Then, who do you work for?”

Screw it. It’s worth a shot.

“I work for Umbrella!”

“Did you find what you were looking for on Keegan’s computer?”

“I had to test your security protocols against intruders. Gotta say, H.Q.’s gonna hate what I have to say.”

“That so?” The response came, and the voice on the other end stifled a chuckle. “I don’t think H.Q.’s gonna hear from you again.”

The world around him inverted into searing white light.

Details filled his periphery. He was inside a large industrial space. A cylinder in the center of the room housed a looming figure shrouded in translucent liquid. A mask covered its face — pumping it with either oxygen or, the more likely option, sedatives.

It bore a striking resemblance to the Nemesis T-Type. It seemed to be a rough draft, like they handed a zombie some creatine and a gun. This was the future of the military. The thought of it made Billy’s blood run cold.

“Impressive, right? It looks like you’ve presented us with the perfect opportunity to test it out.”

The glass tube slid downwards with the whir of oscillating gears. The liquid released from its casing. As the viscous mixture sloshed into grates below, the creature trained on Billy with the urge to kill.

Billy was in for a fight. But this was not his first rodeo.

Let’s give this asshole a show.

Billy rolled out of the way as the monster burst from the tube, sending glass in all directions. Its speed gave it a massive advantage. Billy was struggling to fire off any rounds between its many rapid attacks.

It’s not gonna give me an opening. I need to rethink my approach.

One of Billy’s lessons came from a disgruntled sergeant at the crack of dawn as they shot at distant targets.

“You need to know when to shoot your enemy, and when to shoot your environment! You will not always have a clear shot at the target, but your gun is never useless!”

Billy scanned the area around him as his opponent readied another attack. There was a flurry of blinking lights and buttons housed in steel frames. A bit of bullet spray and the equipment lit up like the Fourth of July. The sparks were aggravating the creature.

It needled the room with high-calibre bullets. Billy leaped behind one of the nearby consoles, hoping they’d work as cover. The drill sergeant’s words continued to orbit Billy’s head. “The worst thing you can do when you’re cornered is nothing! Surrender, fight back, whatever! Don’t freeze!”

It doesn’t look like this guy will accept a white flag!

All Billy had to do was divert the monster’s line of fire. He turned to the ceiling; the one place he had yet to look.

Perfect!

Billy fired at a sizable hanging light fixture. It sailed to the floor, landing near the startled creature.

That brief distraction gave Billy his window, and he concentrated fire on the monster’s wrist. The rotted, stapled flesh tore away. The pulverized hand dropped its gun. Billy got to his feet, tossing his empty weapon aside. They were both disarmed.

“As marines,” the disembodied voice of Billy’s sergeant announced, “our job is to take the fight to the enemy! This means that, no matter how much prep we put in, they will always have the home advantage! If the odds are important to you, find another line of work, immediately!”

He recalled his previous B.O.W. encounter. He and Rebecca were up against a mass of sentient carnivorous leeches. Once they learned it was susceptible to sunlight, the battle was over. There was truth to the old adage, ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’

Billy continued to dodge his opponent’s deadly swipes until it stood in the center of the laboratory. Its back was now to its glass housing, the large jagged shards jutting up from the floor like stalagmites.

If I mess this up, my story ends.

Billy threw himself at the monster, shoulder-checking its solar plexus. Its legs struggled to keep its heavy body upright and it fell backward. As the monster landed on its back, the thick glass punched through its flesh. Billy noted the large spike jutting through the creature’s head, dripping liquefied brain-matter.

It wasn’t getting back up.

Umbrella loses again.

Keegan was lying on the flat, hard motel bed, fighting the urge to vomit as he nursed the mother of all hangovers. Then, the call came. He was one bus ride away from being back in the driver’s seat of his company-issued Mercedes-Benz S320.

Gotta find my wallet.

He would have to grab it from the bar. Then he could buy enough Hydrocodone to wipe his hangover off the face of the Earth.

The second his fingers touched the door, it swung open, slamming into him and knocking him to the floor. Someone was now standing over him. Were they going to snuff him out? Was White Umbrella here to collect its pound of flesh?

Billy leaned down and helped Keegan to his feet. The man looked like shit, sporting bloodshot eyes and sweat-drenched skin. A bit of necrosis and he would’ve passed for one of Umbrella’s zombies.

“Croft… Kirby… Carnby?”

Billy shook his head, “Colby.”

”Right, Colby! What are you doing here?” Keegan stammered.

“My job. Only because you haven’t done yours.”

Billy bristled. This corporate smarminess was not him at all. Still, he had to sell the story. Lives depended on it.

“Umbrella thinks you’ve been slacking. They’ve sent me to keep tabs on you. I have to say, I am not impressed.”

“Right.” Keegan grunted as he rose from the bed, trying to shove his way past Billy. “I got places to be. Call my secretary.”

Billy grabbed Keegan and slammed him against the motel wall.

“I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Keegan, because it’s pretty damn dire. I’m here because you idiots keep losing track of your bioweapons. I’m here, because I broke into your office, hacked your computer, and outran your security. Don’t believe me? Call any of your staff.”

Keegan tried to utter a response, but the result was a bewildered mix between a chuckle and a snort. He then got his wallet back.

“Y — you stole this from me!”

“You might not realize it. But you always represent the Umbrella Corporation, even outside of the office!”

Keegan cleared his throat.

“What — uh… what do you want me to do?”

This was it. The moment of truth.

“You can start by updating your internal information systems. The reason you can’t find Rebecca Chambers is because she’s dead. Everybody in S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team died that night.”

“Are… are you sure?.”

You’re in the home stretch now, Billy. Don’t screw this up!

“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone on the verge of losing their job. Update your records.”

It was a clumsy bluff. But Keegan wasn’t thinking like a rational man.

“Sure, I’ll make a call.” he croaked, “I’ll make sure I fix everything up. Please keep this between us — if you can… if you’re allowed to, of course.”

Billy wanted to smile but refrained, knowing that would give the game away.