A/N: I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different, the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.

Chris looked down at the sheet of paper in his hands, sighing as his lips settled into a scowl. Another string of bizarre murders. He was eerily reminded of the mansion incident, and he shook his head side to side, as if to shake the memories from his mind. It was impossible for the two things to be connected. Wesker was dead, and the threat of the T-virus had supposedly been eliminated years ago. Even so, the BSAA was sending him to South Dakota to investigate. Preliminary reports had only come up with several bodies, and nothing else. Chris didn't like the idea of blundering off into unfamiliar territory to deal with a situation nobody knew anything about.

The phone sitting on the desk in front of Chris began to ring, and he reached down to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Christopher Redfield?" asked a female voice.

"This is him," Chris replied.

"I have been instructed to-" the voice continued.

"Wait," said Chris, interrupting her. "What's your name?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," she replied. "As I was saying, HQ has instructed me to bring you up to speed on the case at hand. Please report to conference room two at noon."

"I'll be there," he told her. She hung up without another word. Chris wondered why HQ was being so secretive about the case. He knew a panic would break out if the public were to find out about the murders, but he thought they should be able to be more open with their own employees. Chris shrugged and looked down at his watch. 10:30? he thought to himself. I've got some time to kill.

He spent the next hour and a half rereading the coroner's reports on the victims. Two women, and one man, all dead from exsanguination. He turned the page to look at the victims' tox screens. One of the women had been infected with the G-virus, but obviously not long enough for her to begin exhibiting its effects. The man and the other woman were infected with an unidentified contagion. Wonderful. Chris thought to himself. Another B.O.W. case. He looked down at his watch again, and decided it was time to meander down to conference room two.

When he reached the heavy double doors to the conference room, Chris couldn't decide whether he should knock first, or just walk in. After fighting with himself about it for a moment, Chris rapped his knuckles on the wood of the door and waited.

"Come in!" A voice called. Chris turned the knob and pushed the door open. As he walked into the room, he noticed it was completely empty, except for a tall, skinny brunette woman. She was drinking from a coffee cup, but put it down on the table and looked up at Chris as he approached her. "Are you Christopher?" she asked.

"Just 'Chris' is fine," he replied. He walked around to the other side of the table and sat down in the chair across from her. "Now that we've met," he began. "Could you tell me your name?" She sighed.

"I shouldn't…"

"Come on," said Chris. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Fine. Just between you and I, my name is Angela. Angela Fielding."

"Okay, Angela Fielding," said Chris. "What information do you have for me?" She looked down at the packet of papers on the table in front of her. Taking a few pieces of paper out of a folder, she fastened them together with a paperclip, and handed them across the table to Chris.

"Not much more than you already have," said Angela. "You'll be given equipment, and transportation to Pierre, South Dakota, and you'll be expected to gather as much information as you can, and remedy the situation," she told him.

"By myself?" he asked, not that the idea bothered him too much, as long as they gave him the proper equipment to deal with the situation. The last thing he needed was another Kijuju.

"The BSAA has the utmost confidence in you. Yourself and Miss Alomar eliminated the man who was about to release the biggest biohazard threat the world had ever seen," said Angela. Chris looked down at the table. He didn't want to think about Wesker.

"So, what does the BSAA want me to do?"

"I've told you already. Go to South Dakota, find out as much as you can, and remedy the situation." She handed Chris an envelope. "Here is your plane ticket. Your boarding pass is in there as well. I trust you'll know where to get the rest of the things you'll need." Chris took the envelope and papers she handed him.

"I do, thanks," he assured her. He stood up and offered her his hand. "And thanks for your help." She smiled.

"Just doing my job, Chris," she replied. He walked across the room to leave, but paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"I just have one more question," said Chris.

"Shoot."

"Is the situation taking place in Pierre, or elsewhere?"

"Well, South Dakota is a very rural place. The closest airport to the place where you're headed is in Pierce."

"Understood. And thanks again," Chris told her, before leaving the room. He headed back to his desk and plunked himself down in his chair. As he flipped through the packet of papers Angela had given him, he put the envelope containing his plane ticket and boarding pass into the top drawer of his desk. The first piece of paper in the stack informed him that his actual destination was a small town just outside of Pierce. He wondered how the killings had stayed secret for more than a month in a town of not quite two thousand people. The paperwork in front of Chris informed him that he was leaving the next morning. That didn't leave him very much time to get the rest of his things together. Oh well… he thought to himself. It's not like it matters all that much.

When it was time for him to leave for the day, Chris took the envelope and his car keys out of his desk drawer before picking up the rest of his papers. He figured he'd head down to the armoury and pick up the weapons he'd be bringing with him. Thankfully, the BSAA would take care of all the security nonsense at the airports at both ends, making Chris' life easier. He would hate to have to try to explain his need to bring an entire arsenal with him on his "trip." He knew from past experience that airports could be quite a hassle, even without "questionable items" in his possession.

As he meandered down to the armoury, Chris made a mental list of the things he wanted to bring with him. Then he realised that he most likely wouldn't be able to take all of the things he wanted with him. First of all, he was only one man, and he could only carry so much. Second of all, there would only be a certain amount of equipment he would be allowed to take with him. When he reached the armoury, Chris greeted the man working in there, and gave him a very general rundown of the upcoming mission. The man asked Chris if he wanted any help getting the things he needed, but Chris declined, insisting he already knew what he had in mind.

Once Chris had chosen what he was going to bring with him, he packed everything up and headed home. He tossed his keys onto a table beside the front door before walking into the living room. He threw a few more things into the bag with the stuff he'd gotten from the armoury, and then wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. Once he'd finished eating, he went and changed into his pajamas before setting his alarm clock and climbed into bed.

The next morning, Chris got to the airport a little before 5:30, and wandered aimlessly while waiting for one of the security checkpoints to open. After what felt like forever, a tinny-sounding voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that the security checkpoint on the west end of the airport was open, and that flight number 126 was now boarding. Looking down at his boarding pass, Chris noticed that flight number 126 was the one that he was supposed to be on. He picked up his bag and headed down towards the west end of the airport. The officer at the security checkpoint was a little old lady with a prominent southern accent whose nametag said 'Greta.' He handed her his paperwork, and she examined it carefully. She glanced down at his driver's license, the up at his face, then back down at his license.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "Wally mentioned that the BSAA was sendin' somebody our way today. They sent all your information and stuff ahead of time. Must be somethin' really important. They usually leave their people to fend for themselves when it comes to airport security." Chris nodded, taking his paperwork back from her. He knew what it was like being left to fend for himself.

"Thank you," he told her, stuffing his papers back into his jacket pocket.

"You're welcome. And good luck," said Greta, smiling at him. Chris made a valiant attempt to turn the corners of his lips upwards, but it was no use. Looking down at his boarding pass, Chris headed down towards the gate that his flight would be leaving from. Once he reached the gate, he realised he still had some time to spare, so he sat down in one of the nearby chairs. Thankfully, a young woman in a stewardess' uniform soon appeared at the desk and called for anyone with a seat numbered one through fifteen on their paperwork to come forward. Chris looked down at his ticket and frowned slightly. Printed at the top of the piece of paper was the number 42.

It wasn't long before Chris was seated on the plane with his bag stored in the overhead compartment. He'd ended up sitting in an aisle seat, not that it made a difference to him either way. When the stewardess came to him while taking drink orders, he politely declined, and leaned his head back against the seat willing himself to be patient. After what seemed like forever, the captain's voice came over the loudspeaker informing everyone that they were about to take off, and that anyone who had not done so should take their seat.

- To be continued.