Author's note: Capcom owns Resident Evil, not me…please don't sue me, oh mighty corporation!

I had published this one once before, but decided to slice it up into bite sized bits. I hope you enjoy it, I have always been intrigued by what had happened inside the RPD precinct before Leon made his entrance, this is my take on it.

September 28 1998 11:20 PM- The Survivor

Jesse Franks was tired and hungry. He had neither eaten nor slept any great deal in the past three days, but what bothered him the most was the fact that he was in desperate need of a cigarette. It would seem however, that the best he could do was stare at the battered pack of Marlboro Reds held in one hand. He had lost his lighter two nights ago and had yet to find a replacement. The home's owners apparently did not keep pyrotechnics in the basement, and to even consider leaving, for the time being, was not an option.

As if to prove this point, the things in the kitchen hall resumed their game of howling stupidly to themselves, and ramming the basement door in a futile attempt to get at him.

-Ah well, you wanted to quit smoking anyways, no time like the present -

"Shut up!" he muttered, although no one could hear him.

No one human, anyway.

Jesse cast sleep blind eyes around his cinderblock fortress. For the time being, he was safe. The basement in which he had barricaded himself had no windows, and the only door leading to it was made of solid oak. He wasn't sure if the creatures upstairs could break it down, but God help him if they managed. He had seen many people killed by things just like the ones upstairs, and it was never a clean death.

With a quick swipe, the thoughts of death and monsters were shoved safely away from his conscious mind. Avoiding such undesirable topics had been one of the main contributors to his survival for the past four days. Most others who had decided to stop and take stock of the situation had gone thoroughly insane. You see, Raccoon City, population one hundred thousand, located at the foot of the Arklay Mountains, had been taken over by the living dead. Jesse Daniel Franks: twenty-six years old, injured, stoopbacked and hollow-cheeked, was one of Raccoon City's few human residents. The remainder of the population were either dead, or eating the dead.

Of course, to say that his survival had been simply dependant upon his ability to shut things out would be foolish. He has had almost supernatural luck, and sharp enough insight to make it through the killing-floor that had become the RPD precinct and the swarming insanity of Racoon City's deadplugged streets.

Staring with an almost hypnotic intensity at the pack of cigarettes, his mind began to gently probe the murky regions of his memory regarding the last few nights.

-How long has it been since you've had a cigarette, buddy? Twenty-four hours? No, it's been even longer than that. You and Stacey were stuck in the clock tower for at least eight hours before then, and before that, you and a few others were in the STARS room. When did Dave take your lighter? How long? -

"September 27th," he spoke aloud. "The day after the attack, with Martin, in the pressroom"

That statement was enough to trigger a flood of memories. His self-imposed amnesia had broken, and as Jesse's mind relived hellish images from the battle on Oak Street, the morgue, and the slaughter in the parking garage, he began to weep. A desperate, raking sobbing filled the dank basement. The zombies upstairs were kind enough to answer back, moaning hungrily and pounding on the door.