Disclaimer: Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

Plagues in Autumn

A prelude to Resident Evil 4

"In the morning, the government bombed Raccoon City in an attempt to stop the viral outbreak. This was, of course, their feigned reason… Later, Claire left to Europe to find her lost brother Chris, and Leon joined forces with an underground anti-Umbrella organization."

"Sherry is safe in our hands. I would never underestimate Birkin. There's something about this little girl…"

- October 1, 1998. Albert Wesker's report.

Chapter One: There's Something About Sherry

September 15, 2004

It had been nearly six years since all of that, but she was never able to shake away her nightmares. Her subconscious always won the battle, despite all of her efforts to erase her past. Her fear of walking corpses and monsters barely showed when she was awake, but was clearly evident as she tossed and turned in her sleep almost every night, sometimes crying out for a parent who would never come and a 'Claire' who had once saved her from the monsters, but would never be able to save her from her nightmares.

The dreams had a pattern, but not even that would be enough to help her, even if she knew what to expect – running helplessly through a police station, rotting zombies moaning for her flesh, tyrants, her father especially… he had always been the worst part of her nightmare. Running and hiding, running and hiding. The G-virus slowly creeping through her little veins…

…but the dreams would always end the same.

Her father looming over her, no longer her father, but actually an abomination of his own creation (sometimes blobbish-looking). The train was supposed to have led them to safety, but she would always find herself trapped and cornered, shutting her eyes and waiting for inevitable doom…

…and then she would wake.

Lying on her side, Sherry Birkin stared with wide blue eyes at a shrieking alarm clock. She barely registered the sound or the glowing red numbers, as she was preoccupied with her racing heartbeat and labored breathing. Feeling the uncomfortable sweat clinging to her skin, Sherry shuddered, hoping to shake it away with the memory of her nightmare.

It's squawking at me, she thought, glaring in annoyance at the bedside timepiece, but then shot up out of bed, finally registering the actual reason why the device had been 'squawking' at her in the first place.

"9:39!" she exclaimed, throwing the heavy covers off of her legs and practically stumbling over them on her way to the bathroom. Frantically, she showered, brushed her teeth, dressed, and quickly ran a comb through her long, very light brown hair (some would call it dirty blond). Sherry was in despair when she next glanced at the alarm clock – 9:51 – and was nearly screaming in frustration as she rushed to make her bed.

She blinded herself while throwing open the window curtains, stubbed her toe on what she was sure was either the nightstand or a chair, and spilled her favorite perfume all over the carpet. As she quickly opened a drawer to retrieve tissues to clean the offending, yet pleasantly scented liquid, a faint chime reached her ears, causing her to freeze like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Oh no," she gasped. A second chime and Sherry Birkin glanced back at the alarm clock above her. 9:59. 10:00. If there were to be a third chime she would have exactly eight minutes to respond before the standard security procedure would be taken. With that in mind, Sherry raced out of the bedroom and down the staircase, nearly tripping along the way.

Yeah, that would've been something, she thought disparagingly as she hurried through the clean white hall. Eight minutes gone by and he would've found me with my face all over the floor, missing three teeth.

The third doorbell chime. Sherry threw herself at the double front doors and pulled one open, quickly smoothing out her hair just once before facing the man that had her so frantic in the first place. He was a tall black silhouette that blocked out a portion of the sun that had again, blinded her. "Mornin'," she muttered, squinting and blocking the glare in her eyes with her hand.

"You overslept?" he inquired.

"No," she lied, stepping aside for him to enter. Sherry did not feel as confident as she sounded. Albert Wesker was a very precise and punctual man. The last thing Sherry wanted was to be the cause of anything that would make him late for whatever he had planned.

Wesker's gaze was scrutinizing even from behind his dark sunglasses. "You overslept."

Sherry rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. "Umm… kinda."

The black-clad man turned away and disappeared around a corridor. Sherry followed, dragging her feet slightly, her sneakers making a soft squeaky noise. Wesker led her into a small dining room, and then produced a dark yellow envelope in his gloved hand. Sherry took it with some hesitation and began to unwrap the thin string that sealed it as Wesker sat down at the head of the dining room table.

The contents were out of the envelope by the time Sherry was in the seat closest to him, but her mind was not on the sheets of paper he provided for her. The first page was full of text, front and back, and the others were satellite photos of some kind, depicting areas of Europe, particularly France and Spain. The Umbrella Corporation logo had been stamped somewhere on each sheet, but that did not surprise her. Actually, she did not think much of the paperwork. Perhaps because she had yet to fully wake up to the bright September morning, or because she hadn't seen Albert Wesker in over a month. After all, the man had a naturally intimidating and daunting presence, and even though Sherry had known him for years, it was a presence that was difficult to prepare for.

Sherry allowed herself to slowly exhale and purposely kept her eyes glued to the papers whose content she paid little attention to, all to withstand the gaze that she absolutely knew was on her, critically studying her every action.

"We leave in an hour," he stated. Her blue eyes widened and she fumbled with the papers in her hands, frantically looking for the page with all of the text on it.

"Uh, what? Why?" Sherry eyes scanned the page quickly. Some kind of archaeological excavation in Spain… an old castellan family… some more archaeology… a small village nearby… Sherry gave it a confused stare. That was certainly a change from Umbrella's (and Wesker's) usual endeavors. It was definitely suspicious all right, but only because it seemed so… normal.

She gulped as Wesker's jaw tightened slightly. More unnerving was his calm, collected tone as he folded his hands over the surface of the hardwood table. "Read it," he ordered.

Her eyes and undivided attention obediently found the papers. She placed them flat on the table, separating the photos from the text. An island off the coast of Spain was being excavated by the castellans, for their family's ruins of lore. Umbrella had some of the workers on their payroll (to provide them information on the dig), and while they did not fund the excavation, the company was interested in what was being discovered there.

Well, Wesker in particular, she thought with a subtle shake of her head. Umbrella had been on the verge of extinction for years, and it was no secret (not to her, at least) that Wesker was pulling all the resources he could find and manage to make a new Umbrella Corporation of his own…

"…and you need me to translate?" Sherry asked, giving Wesker the most bewildered expression she had ever given him.

"You are multi-lingual, are you not?"

Sherry nodded. "Well, yeah, but-,"

"English, French, Italian, Spanish-,"

"Romance languages. Anyone can do that-,"

"-and most importantly, Latin, which is what I'll be needing especially."

Sherry stared at him in disbelief. Wesker had been eighteen, nearly as young as her father, when they both began their research at the Arklay facility. Surely he knew how to speak Latin…

Oh, listen to yourself! she mentally scolded. Acting as if everyone you know can speak Latin like you!

"Is something wrong?"

But not everyone is like Wesker, Sherry reminded herself as she straightened in her seat. The room was quiet for some moments. "Why me?" she asked.

"I believe I already explained-,"

Sherry shook her head. "No, I mean, why me?"

Again, the emotionless, unreadable stare. "Ever since you were twelve years old, you have consistently complained about your supervision. For six years now I have done everything in my power to keep you out of any harm or situation that would prove to be inconvenient for my plans. You are eighteen now. I believe it is the proper time for you to prove your worth to us."

Sherry held her breath for a moment and uttered a soft yet strained, "Oh. I see." Her next exhale came only from her flaring nostrils as she tried to keep herself from losing her cool. "Yeah, I totally get it now. Am I to be the next great asset to the might Umbrella Corporation?" Again, she was surprised with how composed she sounded, but she was beginning to fear the edge of sarcasm in her tone. "Spend more than a decade of my life in some underground laboratory? Oh, or maybe after I prove my 'worth', you can teach me how to run through a nasty situation wearing only a tight dress and uncomfortable stiletto high heels so that one day I can grow up to be the next Ada Wong super-spy!"

Wesker was silent, but it was a deadly silence that made Sherry regret her statement and start worrying. Not knowing what else to do, she shifted in the dining chair, letting her gaze fall to the satellite photograph of an aerial view of the island in question.

The silence made things too tense for her preference. Sherry stood and gathered the files. "How long will we be gone?"

"At least a few weeks," he replied, sounding as though she hadn't said anything at all before. Still, somehow she could sense that he was not pleased.

Sherry closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. "Fine. I'll go pack then. Be down in a few, I guess." Looking defeated, she pushed the chair back into the table and made her way to the door.

"Happy Birthday, Sherry."

She rolled her eyes but didn't look back at him. "Yeah, thanks."

Author's Note: This story is an attempt to answer some of the questions I have about the Resident Evil series, particularly how Umbrella/Wesker learned of the existence of Las Plagas and Los Illuminados, and what led to the events of RE4 that were not prompted by the kidnapping of Ashley Graham. I chose Sherry Birkin as one of the lead characters because you never hear from her again after RE2, and I thought it would be interesting to shed some light as to what she's been doing for the past six years under Wesker's "safe hands." Hope you all enjoy.