A/N: A request from my beloved Shakahnna. She gets most of my attention. She wanted a story of, and I quote: "Barry being awesome in Resident Evil 1". And so that's what I have tried to do. The original game from the perspective of Alpha Team's Weapon's Expert. Barry is a gentleman, as was made clear by his appearance in Mercenaries Reunion (filler though it may be). As such, I think he deserves more love. There is a lot to be said for any character who has as much to lose as Barry does, who still makes the right choice in the end. For this reason, I feel he's one of, if not the, most underappreciated character in the series. I've changed up a couple of bits and pieces. I didn't just want this story to be a rehash of the game. But you'll see what I mean when you read the story. More to come, hopefully soon. Enjoy.

Chapter One: Into The Dark

Barry Burton stepped out of his S.U.V, locked up and pocketed the keys. The street was dark. Dozens of cars were parked, all in shadow. Any one of them could have been the men watching his house, watching his family. He didn't bother looking for them anymore. Either they were too good, or he was getting too old. Whichever it was, he hadn't found them yet.

He sighed, set his elbows on the roof of the car and buried his head in his hands. He felt washed out, his body exhausted, his mind spent.

He let the cold knife twist in his guts, hoping he'd get through the worst of it before he went inside. With any luck, Sarah wouldn't be able to notice how frazzled he looked. He imagined she thought the stress was getting to him. In a way, she was right. Not that she knew the half of it, nor could he ever say.

He walked up the path towards their little house in the suburbs, the one they had almost paid off. His shoulders were slumped, weighed down beneath the combined burden of guilt and weariness. But he could hear Moira and Polly laughing inside. By the time he reached the door, he was smiling, in spite of himself.

He let himself in, and called for them. They didn't answer, just kept giggling. He walked into the lounge. It had been a long day and all he wanted now was to see his family.

He stopped dead on the threshold.

"Barry," Albert Wesker greeted with a nod. He was sitting in the leather recliner opposite the fireplace - his leather recliner - right leg crossed over his left, hands arched in front of his face.

Barry's jaw locked. His fists clenched. He started to march forward, and then he staggered as two small bodies threw themselves at his legs. Moira and Polly snuggled into his knees, calling for "daddy", kicking over their Chutes 'n' Ladders board in their haste to waylay him. He froze, reaching down to ruffle their hair, his eyes still locked on Wesker.

Sarah came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray of drinks. They detached themselves from his knees and ran to her. "You're just in time, Barry," she said, her voice soft and her smile warm, "dinner's ready. Albert said to expect you back about now. He said you were taking care of a few things at the station."

"Yeah, just a few things," he replied, feigning his best affable smile and scratching the back of his head, "nothing important."

"You're far too modest, Barry," Wesker said, twisting the knife, "your work at the R.P.D is nothing short of vital."

"Are you staying to eat, Albert?"

The question hung in the air. Barry had a premonition of an entire evening spent faking pleasantries with a man he despised.

"Unfortunately, no," he told her, rising from his seat, "there are a few things that require my attention as well."

"Maybe some other time then," Barry said, suppressing a sigh of relief, "I'll see you out."

The two men walked to the door, the blond in the lead, his older, greyer counterpart following close behind.

"You could learn something from those two charming daughters of yours, Barry," the other man said, as they walked, "they know they need to play by the rules, regardless of the game."

"You don't need to tell me that. I've done everything you've asked, no matter how wrong it was. Why the hell are you even here?"

"You planted the audio surveillance device, as I requested?"

"Attached it to the radio in Bravo's chopper, yeah," he grunted, "and don't act like you gave me a choice."

Wesker smirked, but the expression was devoid of humour. "Then our part in this charade will be coming to an end, tomorrow night."

"You mean they've found someone to take care of it?"

"In a manner of speaking. Alpha Team will be dispatched at zero hundred hours. My orders are to dispose of the mansion and all evidence relating to Umbrella's illegal activities. I'll need your assistance to keep the others distracted."

"Now hang on just a minute," Barry growled, keeping his voice low with all his effort, "it's kinda hard to play by the rules when you keep changing them."

"I have my orders. Soon, this ordeal will be over. Whether your family will be alive to see that moment is your choice."

"Get out." He pulled the door open. "Get out of my house. Now."

"Give my regards to Sarah," Wesker replied, bowing his head in a poor impression of a gentleman. Then, he stepped out of the house and into the cool night air. It took all of Barry's composure not to slam the door, and a further effort of will not to run after the man and strangle him.

He returned to the lounge, deflated, defeated. He flopped into the seat where he had found the blond only a few minutes ago. Moira deposited herself on his lap and Polly sat at his feet, both drinking lemonade. After a few moments, his wife came in from the kitchen and sat down on the arm of the chair, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his creased forehead.

This was what he was fighting for, what he was lying and stealing and cheating for. Maybe he deserved to die for what he had done. Maybe, if there'd only been his life to threaten, he'd have refused Wesker. But his family didn't deserve it, and his life wasn't the only one. Whatever happened, he had to keep them safe. They were everything that was good in him, everything that was best to him in the world, and he couldn't see any harm come to them.

He only hoped that God - and his friends - could forgive him, or at least understand.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The next day was nothing but dread. He knew that Wesker's warning about the mission would turn out to be correct. He would be heading out to the Arklay forest and the mysterious mansion deep within that very evening. He wanted to equip the team for the dangers ahead, but he couldn't approach any of them - not Chris, not Jill, not Joseph or Brad - for fear of word getting back to Wesker. His family would pay the price for his incaution.

Instead, he equipped himself, hoping he'd be able to protect them. He readied Miranda, the .44 Colt Python he'd been customising over the last year and a half. He finished her up in three hours flat, in his workshop back at the house. It was inspired work, better than anything he'd done in the past. Part of him - an almost childlike enthusiasm - couldn't wait to try it out. The rest of him knew that there wasn't any room to fool around.

When it came to helping the guys, his mind ran to various possibilities, but on such short notice, he'd have struggled to arrange an N.R.A meeting in a gun shop. He spoke to Robert Kendo - a friend and local smith - about putting together some custom Berettas for the team, but in less than twenty-four hours that was impossible.

In the end, the only worthwhile kit he could scrounge together was an old museum piece he'd been refitting for a buddy at the Association. It was a multi-barrelled rocket launcher that made the grenade gun toted by team sniper Forest Speyer look like the Fourth of July. Sarah had always hated having it around, even more so than the rest of the guns he worked on. Something capable of wreaking that much havoc, she argued, wasn't for the house. He decided to give her what she'd been asking for all that time, and bundled it into a holdall to take to the precinct.

The Ennerdale Street Station was in an uproar. STARS Bravo Team hadn't returned from their recon mission into the forest. When he heard the news, he felt a familiar chill awaken, shuddering down his spine. He'd been feeling it more and more, ever since Wesker had first brought him in on the conspiracy three months ago.

He went up to the helipad where the rest of his own unit were suiting up. They were all talking about their missing colleagues. The only thing he could offer to the conversation was a guilty silence.

He had known Captain Marini for many years. He had worked with the man in the formation of Raccoon's STARS team. He'd met the other Bravos too, and liked them. That just made the situation worse. Now they were lost and he felt, with a stark certainty, that it had something to do with Wesker's device.

The Captain himself was saying nothing. He mustered the team and gave them their orders: sweep the forest in search of Bravo Team and their transport. No mention of the mansion, the cannibals or any suggestion of the secret mission he'd been tasked with. Barry started to wonder how he was planning on slipping away to complete such an elaborate plan without anyone noticing. Especially if he was masking it as a simple search and rescue mission.

He tucked his holdall away beneath the co-pilot's chair. Brad shot him a confused look, but he ignored it. He'd learned a few months ago that the best way to avoid suspicion was to act like you weren't doing anything wrong. Part of him was ashamed to know that.

He climbed into the rear compartment, seating himself beside Joseph, and opposite the lovers, Chris and Jill. He'd known the latter pair the longest. They were old friends. Hell, he'd helped Chris get started in law enforcement. Only his family meant more to him than those two. He never would have thought he'd be selling out one to save the other in a million years. Live and learn.

He put a hand to his head, massaging away the beginnings of a migraine that was settling in the front of his brain. Tonight was going to be a long night, but at least, by the morning, it would all be over.

"You okay, man?" Chris asked. He glanced over to see two young faces, both strained with concern, looking back at him.

"Yeah," he lied, "I'm just fine."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"A new sidearm, Barry," Wesker observed. He glanced up from loading the revolver. "Heavily modified, if I'm not mistaken. Expecting trouble?"

Chris snapped a magazine into his Beretta, grinning around the loose bullet clasped between his teeth. "You never heard the old Boy Scout motto, Captain?" he asked, spitting out the spare round and thumbing it into the breach, "be prepared."

"And good old Barry's nothing if not a Boy Scout," Jill added.

He looked at her, askance. She was watching him, eyes intent, like she was rifling through his thoughts. How much did she know? And if she didn't know anything, how long before she put all the pieces together? Being around her made him feel uncomfortable, and had done since this whole sorry saga had begun. If anyone was going to figure him out, it would be her. He just hoped she figured Wesker out before that happened.

He finished up pushing brass into the chambers and flipped the gun shut. Brad brought the chopper down in a clearing a few hundred metres from where they'd spotted Bravo's transport. It was the closest he'd managed to get with the dense forest all around.

"Okay, good luck out there, guys," the pilot said, as the rotors wound down, "I'll keep the bird ready to fly, just in case."

They disembarked, boots thumping into the sodden leaves carpeting the dirt floor. It was a warm night. He started sweating the moment he clambered out. An insect choir chirped without rhythm in the silence left by the dying engines.

Joseph took the lead, torch beam slicing through the darkness as he swept his shotgun across the path ahead. A plume of smoke rose out of the canopy and across the night sky like a grey scar, giving them direction. Jill and Chris followed, each gripping a 9mm and a flashlight.

Barry gestured for Wesker to go ahead. He didn't want the other man behind him at any point. When the Captain obliged without argument, he felt a stab of suspicion.

They'd only been walking for a couple of minutes when he heard raised voices up ahead. For a moment, he dared to hope that they'd found Bravo. He arrived just in time to see Joseph throwing up at the base of a tree, and Chris with his hand on the younger man's back.

The helicopter was a mess. Rotors were bent. Struts were buckled. The tail had wrapped around a tree during the crash, tearing open the metal at its rear like a twisted soda can. The acrid stink of fuel hung around the site, blending with the smoke rising from the burnt out electrics.

Wesker approached Jill, who was stepping out of the passenger compartment. "Status report."

"Derelict," she replied, her face pale, "except for Kevin. He's ... he's dead, sir."

Sharp pain blossomed in Barry's chest. He rubbed his hand over his heart, trying to massage it away.

Jill looked stricken, even with her usual restraint in place. He'd never been able to fault her professionalism and he couldn't now, either. But even compared to her, their leader was a picture of composure. Or indifference.

"The crash?"

"No, sir. It looks like he was killed by an animal. The wounds aren't consistent with any of the other bodies in this case either. Maybe a dog."

"I see."

"We need to find Bravo Team and get the hell out of this forest," Chris said as he joined them, before he realised that he was addressing his superior as well, "sir."

"Agreed," he replied, "I want you all to spread out and search for any signs of our missing personnel. Stay in sight. I don't want anyone separated from the group."

There was a chorus of agreements. Barry's was a subdued murmur at the back of his throat. He'd have been surprised if anyone heard it.

They fanned out. Chris and Jill took the right flank. Joseph took the middle. That left him and Wesker with the left. He kept one eye on Joe, the other on the Captain.

The forest loomed up between them. In no time at all, he was alone, relying on the rustling of boots stomping through the undergrowth to keep track of the others.

A moment later, Wesker dropped off his radar. The sweat on his back turned cold.

Then his jaw clenched. He wasn't going to let the other man just sneak away. If he was going to be an accomplice in this, he at least wanted to know what part he was expected to play.

He changed direction, shoving aside branches and kicking through shrubs, chasing Wesker.

He found him standing in a small clearing, features lit by the glow of a handheld device resting in his palm.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, without looking up.

"What are you doing?"

"Now is hardly the time for paranoia. Shouldn't you be watching your colleagues?"

Barry growled. He started to say something rash. Gunshots cut him short. It took him a second to realise what he was hearing: the explosive bark of a shotgun.

He took off at a sprint, circling trees, ducking low limbs, cursing when briars and nettles snagged around his ankles. His heart hammered heavy in his chest. He was out of breath in seconds. He could hear voices now - pained screams and frightened yelling. The shotgun was still firing, a pistol too, roaring and cracking somewhere beyond the trees. Behind it all, he could hear something else, something new. It sounded like a dog, lots of dogs, barking, baying, howling for blood.

Wesker overtook him. He was younger, fitter. In fact, he was in better shape in his late thirties than Barry had ever been. He cursed and kept running. His knuckles whitened around Miranda.

He heard the Captain's Beretta coughing ahead, heard him yelling for Chris and Jill to move. It should have been him. He didn't care about playing the hero, but they were his friends. He should have been there for them. Instead it was Wesker, picking up his slack.

The others bolted out of the gloom. Jill was in the lead. The front of her tactical vest was sticky with gore, and her beret was loose from where she had jammed it back onto her head in a hurry. She was holding her sidearm in one hand and Joseph's spent shotgun in the other. There was no sign of Joe himself.

Chris followed her, dirty from a tumble in the soil, yelling for her to run. It didn't take Barry long to see why.

Wesker doubled back, ordering a retreat as he pumped lead into the shadows. A second later, a shape lunged after him, powering forward on four limbs, growling low in its throat.

It looked like a Doberman, a beast of a dog, all dark fur, heavy muscle and teeth. Lots and lots of teeth.

It leapt at him. It snarled through a maw slick with spittle and caked in blood. He'd never heard any creature make a noise like that, but he knew what it meant. It was going to kill him. It was going to rip him to pieces. It was going to tear his flesh from his bones and swallow it down.

His heart seized, terror consuming. Instinct shunted his addled brain out of the driver's seat.

Miranda barked. Its .44 calibre bite ripped the animal open along its flank, blowing its ribcage to pieces. Steaming entrails slithered out, a rubbery tether playing out behind it like it was unravelling. Its momentum carried it for a few more feet, and then its legs buckled. It crashed onto its snout and slid to a halt amid the leaves, its dying breath escaping in a whimper.

He was running before it even stopped moving. In his head, he saw exposed sinew bulging from the skin and glistening in torchlight, fur matted with filth and mould sloughing away from flesh, holes punched in muscle by shot. He'd only caught half a glimpse, but he was certain. That dog had been dead long before he'd put it down for good.

He could see his comrades turning to shoot at their pursuers. He heard their bullets smack into flesh, wet explosions that drew yelps of pain and frustration from the pack. But they weren't letting up. They were so close that he could almost smell the blood on their breath.

He spun, the Colt bucking in his hands as he filleted another dog. It tumbled away into the long grass in an explosion of red. The others leapt over its corpse, undeterred.

Buzzing filled the air, drowning out the animals, even deafening him to his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. Chris started screaming curses at the heavens, and then the helicopter roared overhead. Brad had bugged out. Maybe the chopper had been attacked, or he'd just turned chicken. Either way, they were on their own now.

"That building! Move!"

Wesker's order spurred them on, but they weren't operating on command anymore. They weren't laying down a suppressing fire. There was no discipline, no coordination. This was a full-on rout, a mad, desperate scramble to safety, wherever that might be. With the chopper gone, any direction was as good as the rest, so long as it got them away from the dogs. They plunged, blind and breathless, through the forest, and hoped. It was all they had.

He saw the building loom out of the darkness, rising over the trees. It was a mansion. Unless he was mistaken, it was the same mansion Wesker had been sent to find and destroy. The place where all this had started. Fear twisted his guts. For better or worse, this would be where it ended too.

There wasn't any time for second thoughts. He kept running.

Chris and Jill hit the doors first, bursting into the grand entrance hall. Wesker was next, leaving only Barry outside in the dark. His legs were aching, his lungs burning. He hadn't realised how out of shape he'd gotten those past few years.

Jill waved him on, silent prayers spilling from her lips as she fought to catch her breath. Chris was yelling for him to hurry, voice frantic. Wesker looked on, ambivalent.

He threw himself over the threshold, dropping to his hands and knees on the carpeted floor. His comrades slammed the entrance shut behind him, and Jill wedged the shotgun through its handles. They jumped back as a canine body slammed against the door, and then a dozen paws started to scrabble against the oak. Even if the meal had escaped, the hunger remained.

The dogs moaned and barked and snarled, driven into a frenzy by the fresh kill they'd claimed. Barry shot a rueful glance at the shotgun barring the door and the bloody handprint encircling its grip.

He felt the tightness clamp around his heart again.

-x-x-x-x-x-