Monday, July 27, 1998
A Day In Raccoon (Motel)
Raccoon City Outskirts
7:30am

"You said you'd call back. Never heard from you." The familiar voice of Cranky's informant spoke loudly into his ear from the phone.

Cranky groggily rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. Learned a lot yesterday. Just … processing everything."
The informant, despite his role to Cranky, waited a moment to get filled in but continued after no reply came. "Care for an update?"

"It's popular knowledge that Umbrella runs this town," Cranky sighed, "but I've got suspicions that they do more than provide funding to the city. A LOT more."

"Such as …?"

"Okay look, you're gonna think I'm crazy," he stalled, "but I think they control not just the police department, but the city's very infrastructure, and that gives them the resources to delve into really dark shit like assassinating people who've seen things they shouldn't have seen.

"You're suggesting they're into shady dealings?"

If there was any fog clouding his mind from having just woken up, it was gone now. "Why else would they be in the RPD's pockets?!"

Cranky took a breath to collect himself from the unintended outburst. "I was invited to a soiree the other night – long story – and overheard an Umbrella scientist and the police chief talk about some kind of virus that was accidentally released. That same night, one of the guests scratches a chunk of his arm off and a doctor in attendance says it's some form of necrosis. The next day, a man in a lab coat who looks liked he spent a few days in the woods, is shot through the head right in front of me and his body was never recovered. His blood, spilled all over me, was determined to have been mine by RPD forensics. And right after that, I was attacked at the hotel gym by gunmen."

"Jesus …" the informant's voice was now shaking with fear, "I'll have some of my contacts look into the Umbrella Corporation, see if I can confirm your suspicions with data. But in the meantime I have a bit more for you to process.

"Checking out the stock markets this morning and noticed a significant drop in shares for a company called the Lonsdale Construction Group. Didn't mean much at first but then I noticed it's based in Raccoon City. You mentioned something about missing trains when we last spoke."

"One of their trains went missing," Cranky confirmed, "the day I got into town. It was called the Ecliptic Express. Slipped right off the radar. Saw a couple of news segments on it."

"Right," the informant confirmed. "Well, I couldn't find anything in the papers or on the news about it. And then I noticed right behind the Lonsdale Construction Group -"

"I don't see what any of this has to do with me coming here," Cranky cut the informant off irritably. "Why are you wasting time looking at the stock market?"

"Cranky," the informant calmly explained, "right behind the Lonsdale Construction Group, guess whose shares dropped as well?"

"… Umbrella?" he guessed.

"Bingo," the informant confirmed. "Except there was no news explaining it. And if your suspicions are true, it would explain how a train could go 'missing'. Didn't find anything on any reclamation efforts, which can't even be that difficult to do. Trains don't exactly vanish into thin air, nor can they get very far off track."

"You suggesting Umbrella is covering up?" Cranky asked. "Why would they cover up for the Lonsdale Group?"

"Research and lots of reading yesterday," the informant said. "The Lonsdale Group built the train but Umbrella owned it. It was a joint effort for both of Raccoon's giants to promote each other – until something happened to the train and nothing has been mentioned about what happened, how many souls were lost, who the victims were, nor if they were trying to find out.

"Damn, Cranky. You said I was gonna think you were crazy but your claims are filling in the gaps of what I was able to gather. If Umbrella really is that powerful, urgency to extract the target just went up tenfold. I'm willing to take the risk."

"Well I'm not," Cranky defied. "He's suffering from amnesia, like you said, right? I'm not risking triggering something in his head that makes him remember everything at once. It would destroy him, and defeat the whole purpose of me coming here in the first place."

"Crankurt – getting you and the target out of there is my – "

"God damn it, quit calling him the target. His name is Kenneth Aaron Feng!"

XXXXX

Main Hall
Raccoon City Police Precinct
8:49 am

By the time Kenny arrived at his work station behind the fountain, he spotted Bernice, who had already arrived and was so busy organizing lists of guest names for today's memorial service that she didn't even notice him until he dropped his backpack on the ground and took his seat.

"I hope you enjoyed your day out," Rita said, approaching from her desk in the west office. "Kevin told me everything."

"Yeah," Kenny confirmed, "we ran into Amber at the bar she wasn't looking too …"

Rita's eyes went wide. "He took you to J's Bar!"

"Uh … no …?" Kenny bit his lip, realizing that, yes, Officer Ryman would have left that detail out, and hope he didn't just get someone in trouble. But …

"He just said you ran into Amber walking down the street while you were on patrol!" Rita held a palm to her forehead in exasperation. "Does he have any idea how much trouble he could be in if the Chief finds out!"

"Please don't tell the chief, Rita," Kenny pleaded, "I don't want to get anyone in trouble."

She sighed outwardly. "Fine, just … go deliver Chief Iron's coffee to him. He's getting real cranky after organizing the STARS memorial service so quickly – over the weekend nonetheless - and I don't want him getting more upset if I can help it."

"Sure thing, Rita." The coffee pitcher and cream was conveniently located at the front desk on a neat looking tray, complete with a small bowl stacked high with sugar cubes. Kenny took the tray in one hand and proceeded into the east wing, back into the office.

"Oh," Rita called after him, "the Chief's in his private room upstairs."

"Creepy stuffed animal room? Thanks." He gave her a thumbs-up with his free hand and switched course.

It was a longer trek to the second level. It would've been more convenient if the grand stairwells being installed on the east and west wall of the main hall were complete, but construction had been slow and dragged out. Kenny had seen designs to include two; one on each side of the hall, in the renovation plans. The said plans also replaced the aging water-bearer statute with a larger, polished "Goddess" statue, and swapping its location with reception. Kenny was looking forward to having his work station moved from the rear of the hall, to the front.

Upon arriving at Chief Iron's private office, Kenny was about to knock on the door when angry shouting from the inside made caused him to hesitate. His curiosity got the better of him and he pressed his ear to the door, trying to listen in on what was going on. Kenny could hear a lot of shouting and muffled grunts from voices he recognized, but couldn't put a face to. He could also here the chief's muffled replies, contrasting intense energy the others were delivering. Colourful language was used, fists banging on the table and more yelling …

The door burst open suddenly, smashing Kenny in the nose. The force knocked him backwards and in the struggle to regain his balance, the tray of coffee, sugar and cream tipped from his hand and came crashing to the wooden floor. He fell backwards and hit the back of his head on the opposite wall. Through the resulting blurry vision from the knock, he could make out the hazy form of Officer Valentine in her blue uniform and beret, looking worriedly at him.

"Oh my gosh, Kenny are you alright?!" she shrieked, mortified. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were here …" She squatted down and took him by the chin, inspecting his face for any injuries.

"Here," Officer Redfield said, stepping forward from behind her and extended a hand. He grasped Kenny by the forearm and yanked the younger boy to his feet. The Alpha Team shooter wore a faded expression of anger on his face, but Kenny was sure it wasn't over his spilled coffee.

"Is everything okay in there?" Kenny asked nervously.

"The fucking chief …" Officer Redfield began, but was cut off by Officer Valentine.

"Not here, Chris," she said, tipping her head in Kenny's direction, and then turned back to face him. "You're okay? Gosh, if I'd known you were on your way in …"

"Don't worry about it, Officer Valentine," Kenny replied. "I'll inform Gus of the spill and get Isaac on another fresh brew for the Chief."

Officer Valentine smiled warmly at him. "Thank you, Kenny."

"I heard about the mission last night," he suddenly blurted, despite his awareness of the vast difference between his rank and the STARS, but struggled to find a way to finish the sentence in an appropriate manner given the charged atmosphere. "I mean, everything's just so - not that my opinion really matters, but I …"

"Kenny," Redfield began, but then stopped, considering if what he had to say was really worth saying.

"Let the kid bring me my coffee!" Chief Irons shouted from within his private office.

"I'm sorry, Chief," Kenny called back, "I accidentally spilled it. I'll go get you a fresh brew and get this mess cleaned up out here." The Chief grunted in response but said nothing more. Officer Redfield gave the bottom of the door a solid kick, slamming it hard back into its frame, symbolically sealing Chief Irons inside his office.

"That's enough out of him," Officer Redfield muttered under his breath. As soon as the door had been closed, he looked at Kenny, speaking sternly and slowly. "There are things we need to talk to you, and the whole precinct staff about. Come with us."

The trio crossed the second floor balcony around the perimeter of the main hall to the west wing. Kenny followed Officers Redfield and Valentine quietly but with his heart pounding in his chest. On one hand, it was rare for the STARS to be seen interacting with junior officers, let alone an unpaid high school intern, and the excitement was real. On the other, the context resulting in this meeting was nothing to be excited over. This wasn't right of him.

"I should probably let Gus know about the spill," Kenny said, as they quietly ushered him into the STARS Office. He was suddenly nervous about what the veteran STARS members wanted to tell him.

"After," Officer Redfield said, closing the door. "You should really hear what we have to say."

"I don't know about this, Chris," Officer Valentine advised, but he ignored her.

"I think you should leave town."

"W… what?" Kenny asked, stunned.

"It's not safe in Raccoon," Officer Redfield elaborated. "Forget about what people are saying about the incident, about us." He shared an uneasy glance with Officer Valentine. "We shouldn't even be having this conversation with you given all the legalities. But do you trust us?"

"O… of course," Kenny replied, yet still stunned from what he was being told.

"Then pack your bags and leave as soon as you can."

"That's …" he hesitated, "a really tough pill to swallow, Sir. Outside of this, I don't have anything outside of Raccoon."

Officer Valentine finally gave in and joined her partner in giving Kenny as little information as possible, but information he needed to know nonetheless. "Raccoon in itself is in danger. There was a viral outbreak in the woods and we're concerned that it's going to spread into the city."

"Wait … does this have anything to do with the cannibal murderers? What did you find out in on your mission?" the young intern asked.

"Kenny …" she looked to Officer Redfield for support, who gave her a reassuring nod. "Do you believe in zombies?"

"The photo!" Kenny exclaimed so suddenly, he startled both veteran STARS Officers that they took a step back. His thoughts began racing, faster than his mouth was able to produce the words.

Officer Valentine's brows furrowed. "What photo?"

"On my Saturday shift, I was prepping some legal documents for the shredder," Kenny explained, "when I found some misfiled documents in the pile – forensic evidence, specifically. There was a blood test report, and a photo of what looked like a walking corpse."

He paused, waiting to see if he'd told them enough, but Officers Redfield and Valentine continued glaring at him, mouths agape, hungry for more information, so he continued.

"I took them to the evidence room, where …" and Kenny trailed off, remembering what Officer Ryman had cautioned. If there really was corruption in the RPD, there was no way of knowing who or how bad it was. Officer Redfield took a step towards Kenny and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Kenny," Officer Redfield's voice was low and quiet, but he could sense urgency in it. He placed a hand on his shoulder "We need the file numbers." Fingers tightened around his shoulder.

"They … they didn't get filed. I was attacked and the evidence stolen."

"What?!" Officer Redfield exclaimed, "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay now – "

"Who attacked you?" Officer Valentine demanded.

"I don't know, they killed the lights. Had a gun to my head."

Officers Valentine and Redfield exchanged worried glances. "Jill, they're here too. It's not safe. Kenny, more than ever you need to take our advice and get out."

XXXXX

Monday, July 27, 1998
A Day In Raccoon (Motel)
Raccoon City Outskirts
12:24pm

Cranky felt like a piece of shit for lying to his informant, but it didn't last long. The informant had wanted him to acquire the target - Kenneth Aaron Feng - as soon as possible and get out of Raccoon City before Umbrella could pose any more danger to Cranky, and to Kenneth via their puppets planted from within the RPD. And there was no telling how many other branches of local government Umbrella had their fingers in, if they already had influence in the police department. In good faith, the informant had forwarded Cranky all the information gathered thus far on Kenneth. His suspicions upon entering the city were correct, that the boy was a student at Raccoon City Secondary School. He lived in a one bedroom apartment in the recently gentrified Brentford District where property values were high - higher than any orphaned minor had any business affording. Something still wasn't adding up ...

Though Cranky agreed to immediate acquisition of the target, there was no way that was going to happen under his watch. A particular story he came across in his research into amnesia came to mind; a story surrounding a victim of another young boy by the name of Dorian Marquez who was held hostage by a terrorist organization for his entire youth. Though he was eventually rescued, the ramifications of having to recall the events of his ordeal through the amnesia his brain placed on itself as a guard had screwed the kid up to this day. Cranky was not going to let Kenneth go through the same thing, no matter how much the informant insisted.

Okay. So Cranky knew what he wasn't going to do. But that left the question of what he was going to, and it was there that he found himself without resolution. Scenarios played in his head of how he would approach Kenneth and earn his trust without raising suspicions from both the authorities and Kenneth himself. But none could reasonably conclude without "kidnapping" associated with it. He was going to need some local help, but at this point in time, his only local contact was Barbara Wade, who herself was considered an outsider in the community she and Kenneth technically belonged to ...

**THUMP THUMP THUMP**

Three hard knocks on the motel door. Every muscle in Cranky's body tensed, sensing danger. No way a motel attendant would knock with such force. He yelled from where he sat, at the desk towards the back of the room, as opposed to approaching the door in case the visitor carried a firearm.

"Who is it?"

"Lawrence Wilberforce," came the reply. "I'm here to talk."

Cranky remembered the name well - the lawyer who had caught him overhearing the private conversation between police Chief Brian Irons and Annette Birkin at the soiree three nights ago. But they'd last left each other on dark terms. What could Mr. Wilberforce possibly be doing seeking Cranky out here, and more importantly, how was he able to locate him? Against his better judgment, Cranky got up from his seat and slowly approached the door.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, hand ready to twist the lock open.

"Nothing," came the reply, "I'm here to ask for your help."

Cranky twisted the lock and opened the door, revealing Lawrence Wilberforce dressed in a gray petticoat and matching pressed pants, as if in accordance with the dismal weather. He held a white umbrella over his head and wore a stern frown on his face; as if voluntary interaction with Cranky had somehow knocked him down a few pegs on the social ladder.

"And what convinced you that I'd be willing to lend my services after how you treated me at the soiree?" Cranky asked.

"I thought I'd try my chances," Mr. Wilberforce admitted bitterly. "May I come in?"

Cranky took a second to consider it and decided there was no harm in letting the middle-aged lawyer into the two-star motel room. His subtle reaction to the surroundings told Cranky that the man wouldn't have been if he felt there was an alternative. He was desperate, and he was there to beg - not to pose a threat.

"Sure, grab a seat," Cranky said, stepping to the side to allow Mr. Wilberforce room for entering the space. "You want some coffee?"

"If you could call it that," came the reply. "But yes, please."

Cranky headed to the brewer and poured what remained in it into a plastic cup and presented it to the lawyer. "The last of what I've got. It's not cold yet, but I wouldn't call it fresh. And I'm out of cream and sugar."

Mr. Wilberforce held up a hand. "I take it black. Like you, Mr. Crankurt, I don't come from a privileged past. You wouldn't think it by looking at me, and least of all my daughter Julie. But I've worked hard to leave that all in the past."

"I appreciate the humble-brag," Cranky said, arms folded with his mouth twisted into an unimpressed frown. "But I'm more interested in finding out why you've gone through the trouble of seeking me out, and more importantly, how you've done it."

Mr. Wilberforce took a gulp of the coffee and set the cup back onto the nightstand beside which he sat on a stool. "Raccoon City presents itself as a quiet mountain-side community, but there are powerful eyes and ears everywhere. It's been brought to my attention that you survived an attack at the Apple Inn two days ago."

The words took the breath out of Cranky's lungs. "H...how did you ...?"

"You chose the wrong town to stir up trouble in," Mr. Wilberforce said, more of a fact than a threat. "I don't know why you're here or what your agenda is, but I'm here to warn you that your presence is anything but welcome. You've compromised Barbara Wade, created controversy with Police Chief Irons and eavesdropped on a private conversation involving Annette Birkin and heard some highly controversial information. I'm here to offer you protection that you very desperately need."

"Assuming I believed every word of bullshit you just spat at me," Cranky replied, "what makes you think I'd believe your claims of having my well-being at heart?"

"HAH!" Mr. Wilberforce scoffed. "Let's be clear. I don't. But I am interested in your abilities; specifically, those more combative in nature. It's not every day that some punk fights off an experienced killer out for their blood."

Cranky wasn't about to reveal that he was legitimately terrified for his life, nor the fact that sheer luck was on his side. He needed the edge if he was going to hear the man out. "Go on."

"I need you to remove an obstacle from my path," he continued abstractly.

XXXXX

July 27th, 1998
St. Michael's Chapel
2:00pm

As Officer Ryman had informed Kenny, the funeral service was held at a quaint little Anglican Church a few blocks from the precinct. The smell of incense lingered in the stuffy air, giving a kind of ancient aura to the relatively new building with its stained glass windows. There were twelve of them, each window depicting an image of the Stations of the Cross – key events during the crucifixion of Jesus.

Kenny found his assigned seating towards the back half of the polished wooden pews. The seat creaked as it bore his weight. Bernice, the morning secretary had one of her co-workers covering her shift this morning so she could get a chance to attend the service. She sat beside Kenny, running a white handkerchief under her nose. He reached over and patted her on the shoulder.

"Good morning, Bernice."

Only then did she notice him. "Oh, good morning, Kenny," she replied, trying to hide her sadness with visual effort. The dark bags under her usual bright blue eyes told him she had trouble sleeping last night. Her blonde curly hair was out of shape, flat on one side. Perhaps she was too troubled to do her hair that morning.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"It's okay, dear," she continued, taking Kenny's hand in hers. "You can cry. Nobody here but your Aunt Bernice."

Though, it wasn't Kenny who needed comforting. He'd already had ample time to absorb the news, nor did he feel that he was close enough to the deceased officers to feel the full impact of their deaths. Kenny had only begun working at the station just a few short months ago, and didn't have the the years of experience working alongside the S.T.A.R.S. He felt more of an admirer of theirs, maybe even a psychotic fan, who'd find the excuse to go deliver doughnuts to their office at every opportunity that arose, just so he could get a glimpse of the legendary police officers.

By contrast, Bernice, being an older lady reaching her retirement had clearly contributed decades of hard work to the police force, would have seen each S.T.A.R.S. member grow from an inexperienced, hesitant rookie into the fine officers they had become right before their unfortunate deaths. Having no children of her own, she was like the token sweet older lady who spoiled everyone with her tendency to mother people, and everyone loved her for it. And she loved everyone right back. That was what made the death of the S.T.A.R.S. so hard for her to take.

She leaned over and noted quietly, "You look very handsome in your tuxedo."

The pew creaked again, this time on Kenny's left. He turned to see who it was, but the gloved hand patting him roughly on the head was a dead giveaway.

"Good morning, Officer Ryman."

"How're ya holding up there, Kenny? You get here okay?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't much of a walk."

"Good," Officer Ryman nodded, tipping his chin over at Officer Amber Bernstein, who was sitting in the front row. For someone who just had her fiancée recently killed, she seemed to be handling herself well. Due to Officer Joseph Frost's efforts, most of the officers and staff were aware of his intention to propose to her, but he was never given the chance. And now his name was on the pamphlet, one of many lives being celebrated this afternoon.

"Go say hi to Amber when you have the time," Officer Ryman advised. "She'll appreciate it."

"Yeah, especially after what I said to her at the bar," Kenny agreed, feeling a small pang of guilt.

"Relax, I know you weren't trying to rub it in that her boyfriend just died, but a little tact will come with experience."

The service was pleasant overall, though Kenny couldn't help but notice a few officers, especially the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members shift around uncomfortably in their seats while Officer Elliot Edwards delivered his speech about Captain Wesker.

As he made his way to the front doors of the precinct, Kenny noticed Officer Amber Bernstein standing around with the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members. There were five of them with her - a team of eleven members brought down to a mere five. That was when the loss of life really sunk in. Kenny thought he'd try to say something to Amber to make up for my tactlessness at J's Bar yesterday.

He approached the group but nobody took immediate notice.

"Um, Officer Bernstein," he said meekly, raising a finger in hopes of catching her attention.

"How did Joseph die?" he heard Amber ask. He took a step back in realization that this was a very personal conversation that was about to take place and decided that pleasantries could wait until later.

His movement caught Officer Redfield's attention and shot a sympathetic smile in Kenny's direction. Discreetly leaving the group, he S.T.A.R.S. Alpha point man approached the young intern and reached out to tousle his hair. Kenny wasn't about to let him ruin the half-hour gel job this morning and took a quick step back, ducking his head away from Redfield's reach. Before the defensive move could be read as a rude gesture, Kenny instead took Officer Redfield's outreached hand into his and the two shared a firm handshake. It was a move Kenny proudly nicknamed "the Roundabout".

"Good reflexes there," Officer Redfield chuckled. He then placed a hand on Kenny's shoulder and turned him around. "I appreciate you coming to talk to Amber, but this is S.T.A.R.S. business right now, kiddo," he whispered, and the intern on his way into the precinct with a gentle pat on the back.