Well I've been posting sporadically, waiting to get as many views as possible, but apparently I'm mostly writing because I still feel like it even if no one reads what I write. Oh well. Enjoy Day 3 ResidentEman!

I wake up with a start, grabbing my pistol next to me and sweep the room. I think a sound woke me up, but once I breathe, I realize what it really was. "OH JESUS!" I actually wretch the stench is so bad. That little stinker left me a final **** you! The smell is absolutely atrocious and I can't stand it. I look through the cracks in the boards covering the windows and see that it is daylight anyway, another excuse to leave. As soon as I pack up my gear, I pull away all the furniture covering the smashed boards and jump out. Looking quickly at my GPS to see where I marked the location of my bike, I ready my MP7 and start methodically moving through the shanties.

I go a couple of streets down, still about six streets from the exit and about a hundred and fifty yards from there to my bike, without incident. However, as soon as I turn to scan an alley to my left, I freeze in place. Six men are pushing a cage in the direction I just came from down a side street. Inside the cage is a huge, lanky, and thin man with a burlap sack completely coveringhis head tied on,grabbing the bars and shaking them violently. He must be seven feet tall and he's going absolutely nuts inside this cage. I try to slowly sidestep to cross the intersection and hope they don't notice, but suddenly one of them looks my way and yells something. Needless to say, I start running.

Well, it seems as if interest in my fanfic is waning, but I don't care. If you read this, comment, I don't care how short, but I'm trying to see how many people will read each part before I post another part. Anyway, here's the next part, enjoy!

Okay you ugly little monkey,I'll **** with you! I do not want to let this thing make me it's next victim, so I only have one question, how do I kill it? Well, I might as well go for broke, so I unsling my G3, set it to fully auto and let fly. The creature cries out upon being hit the first couple times, and then jumps to its left and clings to the wall, much like a licker. I track it all the way and keep spraying fire at it, missing most shots during the jump but finally pounding it with six rounds while it clings to the wall. It flies back as the rounds pierce through it's hardened exterior and its tentacles frantically swing around just as my G3 clicks empty. The hunter/licker/chimera whatever it was lets out a final screech and dies.

I let out a sigh of relief as it disintegrates and I know that the ammo wasn't wasted. Quickly reloading, I know that this station is empty, not surprisingly since that thing smelled like ****. Whatever, It's pretty close to sunset and I don't want to travel by night. So, I go downstairs and push several cabinets against the hole in the plywood I made to get in. Knowing I'll be safe for now, I remove my vest and set up my weapons near me, fully loaded. I'll miss my broadcast to Gary, but I don't particularly care. It's miss the transmission, or travel by night in unfamiliar and hostile territory. **** that. I sit back, and close my eyes. I know I won't sleep, but a man can hope right?

Just a warning, do not be angry about the creature of my own creation I put into here! I am almost getting tired of sticking to the bounds of a game and I want to make this fanfic different!

I check around me quickly in the silence, gun at the ready, my breath coming and going quickly, the only sound in the dead room.It's quiet, too quiet. I shake the clicheout of my head. There are two tables, one with a smashed radio on it, and the other covered in scattered papers, a messy medkit,and blood. When I approach, my heart almost stops. The blood is still wet, not more than a couple days old,plastering the reddened papers to the wood. The ink was smeared on the papers and I figured I wouldn't be sticking my nose into those private contents. I also see some stairs with two wooden crates beneath them. I wondered what was in the crates, maybe something useful, and I consider busting them open to find out. Oh screw that!I leave the crates where they lie not wanting to waste time.

I bring my pistol to bear, lining up the elevated, painted sights and proceeding slowly, checking where I plant my feet. A couple more ginger steps and I turn into the upstairs. The room is barren save for some empty gun racks and ammunition shelves. Not like I need those supplies badly considering the freaking armory my wood house has. On the other side of the room I spot the source of all the blood downstairs. A black man with a huge gash in his arm, withgauzewrapped around it and a ragas a turniquette. It must not have worked. Upon checking his pulse, I know he's dead. He is wearing Rhodesian camouflage and a tan shirt with the BSAA logo emblazened on it. Checking his dogtags, I see his name was Idi Mumba. The "Africa" tag under Country of Origin confirms he was from around here. I shake my head, wondering how the hell it keeps happening, these biohazards. I could only hope the bastards responsible would pay.

I now turn my attention to the padlocked door just next to him. With a key I find next to him, I slowly unlock and remove the steel padlock. With my Mk23 raised, I kick in the door, and am immediately greeted by a horrible stench like someone combined garlic with ketchup, mustard, and s**t. It literally burns my eyes, but I keep them open and almost wish I hadn't. In the middle of the barren room is some greenish brownmonstrosity. It almost looks like a hunter, but it has tentacles like an insect and a pulsing growth on its shoulder. My first thought is of that line from Predator: You are oneUGLY mother****er! It lets out a horrible screech and projectile vomits more of the foul smelling fluid my way. I narrowly avoid being splashed with it by dodging out of the room quickly. The insect hunter isn't too far behind though.

Well, I've been laying off this hoping for more people to read the last part, but whatever. Oh, and I am currently playing RE5, but don't expect to see too much from the game in here. But I love the game!

Two men, standing in front of several sheets of metal meshed together like the scales of a fish. They appear to just be staring off into space, and at maximum zoom, I can see that they have the red eyes of someone whose soul left long ago. If my emotions still existed after all of these years of killing, I would feel sorry for the people here, but I can't. Not now. I hold my breath and squeeze off one shot. The 7.62mm round shatters its way through even the reinforced skull and shreds the infected man's brain matter. His stunned friend receives the same treatment. Not bad shooting from two hundred feet with a suppressed weapon.

I stand and run to the sheetmetal with the space between it that passes as an entryway. I switch to my Mk23 and pass through, sweeping the small intersection of alleyways, seeing it to be clear. I look at my GPS and see that there is a small BSAA station marked on my map and head towards it by the path to my left. As I come to another intersection, a woman unexpectedly rounds the corner. I stop, lowering my weapon, about to speak, when she turns. The blood on her face and her snarl upon seeing me tell me she won't give me her phone number. I raise my weapon again, cursing myself for letting my guard down and squeeze off a double tap. As her death rattle escapes her lips, I hear more cries from around the corner. I bet her boyfriend was pissed. I run past the intersection and six men follow hot on my trail from the paths on my left and right.

Sprinting the whole way, I occasionally turn around to squeeze off a shot in their direction, hoping to at least slow them down. Finally, I see the BSAA station ahead of me, asquat,white,concrete edifice,boarded up against intruders. Well, I'm not about to take that **** I aim and squeeze off six shots, the remainder of my magazine into the sheet of plywood blocking the window directly in front of me. The holes are well spaced, allowing the plywood to soften enough for me to plow through it into the station. I roll and turn around to cover the window, reloading as I turn. Strangely, the people have left me. But if anything, the quiet only makes my adrenaline pump harder.

I went back inside and decided to radio Gary on the frequency he had given me. I was ordered to check in every morning so they knew whether or not I was still alive. So, I sat down and entered the frequency. After hitting the call button, I heard ringing sounds like a phone on the line, and figured Gary must have this frequency synced to his phone. Then I heard Gary's voice. "Hey, how you holding up?"

I told him about my run in with two of the infected and he said, "Well, that's odd. I suppose they must have been on patrol and seen your parachute coming down. I wouldn't worry about any more though. So, you going to hit the first town today?"

I answered an affirmative and he gave me a long winded reminder that I was to look for survivors and learn as much about the infection as possible and report it to him tomorrow morning. The other days were the same drill as well. There were about seven different areas to visit, and I should hit one at least every couple of days. I would also record all of my findings in a journal that I told him I had actually found when I sat on it to call him. Then we said our goodbyes and broke the connection.

A few minutes later and I have my gear on and I'm heading toward the first town...

I woke up to the sounds of motors, ATVs or dirtbikes would be my best guees. I figured it was probably just the BSAA members who took their dandy time getting here, but I wasn't taking any chances. I rolled out of the bunk quietly and quickly and throw on my Khaki cargo BDU pants. After grabbing my Mk23 I made sure it was loaded and tucked it into my waistband. The whole time I heard talk in a strange language I could understand about as well as the stock market. Upon opening the door I saw two dirtbikes parked about thirty feet from the door and two African men walking toward me, one in a red shirt, the other in a white one. Each carried machetes with their scabbards on their belts.

Upon seeing me, they freaked out. They started conversing between eachother rapidly glancing at the parachute I had left unrolled. Feeling left out, I yelled, "Uh, hey! You guys from BSAA?" Wrong choice of words. Once they heard me speaking English all conversation stopped and they started shambling at me with machetes raised. Well, I guess I'm just antisocial. This must be some of the new infected. With this thought I quickly reached behind me and leveled my sidearm at redshirt's head. One round exited the barrel with a PFFT but something was wrong. The .45ACP bullet slammed home into the man's temple, but he just grabbed his face and started yelling. "What the ****!?" I yelled out as I shot him again, which put him down this time, but strangely just after he died, his body started dissolving. Whatever, less cleanup. Just as redshirt's body disintegrated I aimed at whitey and this time pulled off a double tap into the bridge of his nose. That put him down. I supposed I would be using more ammo putting these bastards down, but I would have to manage. The infection must increase the hardness of their bones and the density of their flesh, causing headshots to just piss them off the first time. Kind of like how Hunters reacted to the T-Virus. No big deal. At least they brought me a ride into town...

I feel a brief sense of vertigo as I freefall above the desert, but I quickly refocus and see my target. An oasis that just so happens to be centrally located near all the towns is just below me. In that oasis is a small wooden hut built by the BSAA to be an emergency fallback position should a situation get out of control. Perfect place to set up camp and check for survivors initially. It would also give me a constant water supply in this harsh environment and is as close to safe as you can get around here. After a few more seconds of gazing at my new home, I pull the ripcord and feel my weight go to my toes as I feel myself being ripped upwards, even though I know well enough I am still falling as fast as a car on a highway. I slow down quickly however and wait to hit the ground.

When I see my equipment bag hit the ground I bring my knees up and disconnect my chute. After a fall of ten feet or so, I roll once and come up on my feet as my standard white silk saviour floats down behind me. First stop, the wooden hut barely thirty feet from my right. I trek through the sand, grabbing and dragging my equipment bag on the way, to the door. As the sheet of plywood with BSAA spraypainted on it creaks open, I get my first view of the place. It is a simple abode about 30x30 in size with a couple bunk beds packed into one corner. My first thought is that this is a bit big to be classified as the hut Gary told me about, but then I remembered it was supposed to house twenty people in case of an emergency and figure it would most definitely feel like a hut to them. I drop my bag just inside the door, and upon further inspection, wonder why I bothered bringing it.

A gun rack on one wall was filled with AK-47s, MP5s, M24 bolt action sniper rifles, USPs, M9s, and even an RPG. Ammo crates littered the floor space in front of the ten foot long area all of it was packed into. Next to there was a full kitchen stocked with canned food and MREs, and through a window in it I could see an outhouse. I could definitely say I've stayed in worse places. I mean, sure the floor was cold, hard packed dirt, and yeah the walls were plywood, and so what if the roof was rusty sheetmetal? It was home for now. "Anything beats Guantanamo," I mused, chuckling to myself as I wondered how much longer the liberals would let that place last. I spent the next couple hours until dark setting up my equipment in an orderly manner, finding no survivors and a solar powered GPS unit while doing so, and then I went to sleep, wondering what the next days would bring.

I will now be numbering the parts by days rather than parts so that you can get an idea of how long this story will span. I'm planning on having Jacobs be stuck in this environment for quite a while. I also plan on exploring the possibility that the outbreak in Africa has been going on long before Chris showed up and has been a series of outbreaks rather than one, which would be why the BSAA would be there anyway.

I'm flying in a cargo plane above Zimbabwe and I'm loaded down with gear, ammo, and several guns. Basically, the plan is for me to jump out of the plane with a parachute on and land in the middle of the savannah. Great plan except the fact that I will be several miles from the edge of the each town I'm supposed to recon. My job is to set up camp there, then look for survivors and determine the state of the threat, if it is a small outbreak in a town or so, or if the whole series of villages has gone to hell. Having read up on all data available, the hypothesis is that the infection is a variation of the T-Virus that still allows the infected to have some coordination and ability to communicate and use tools. When I asked why I was being sent in alone, I was told by Gary "Because one man can move more quietly and quickly than several, and we don't want to endanger any other lives that have no experience with these types of situations. Besides, you probably wouldn't want some government tool slowing you down anyway."

Of course he was right, but I made sure I got plenty of hardware to cover my back. I'm loaded down with a tan plate carrier loaded with magazine and gadget pouches, two hip holsters, one for my standard Mk23, with a suppressor and LAM, and the other on my left hip for a Heckler and Koch silenced MP7 with 4.6mm hollow tip rounds. I have ten loaded magazines for each, five in my vest for easy access, and five more along with boxes of bullets in a huge assault pack on my back. Overall, I probably have a total of twenty clips worth of ammo for each. Then I have my primary weapon, a Heckler and Koch G3A3 with a collapsible stock and an adjustable 1.5-9x scope. Suitable for almost any range. This is also fitted with a suppressor. I have ten loaded magazines for this as well with another ten mags worth of ammo boxes in my bag. A full load of MRE's, a camelback to be setup on my vest after removing the assault pack, a tool kit, the GPS devices, and a tent. All of this is in a bag attached to me by a bungee cord while I'm strapped with a parachute. I look at the red light and feel the wind rushing past me from the open bay door. The light goes green, and I jump.

I have been so busy these past months, and I bet some of you thought I died haha. But now it's time for me to stop leaving you unsatisfied with just one measly part of the promised big story and get on with it. After all, with RE5 looming in the near future, I really should give it the same fanfic treatment as the others right? I'm going to pull a change with the timing by the way. Rather than five months in Guantanamo it's going to have been two years.

I sit back down with my fists still clenched as Gary starts to explain exactly what he wants from me. Apparently in Africa, a series of bio-terrorism attacks have been causing a problem in an impoverished string of desert communities on the border of Zimbabwe. All contact was recently lost with the BSAA units stationed there. "Our last contact with them was this transmission," Gary says as he reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a tape player and presses play. "Oh **** what the hell!? The people are going nuts! I'm hiding in a small hut right now using the last battery on this satellite phone to tell you guys that things are ****ed up here. I don't know where everyone else is, but if you expect this not to require the Raccoon City solution, you might want to send some back up and contain this NOW! Please God, please send anyone!"

Well, after a month of waiting to see if anyone else would read the first part, here's the second!

So, according to my new "handler," there was a strange outbreak going on in Africa on the border of the Sahara Desert that was like nothing else. These zombies apparently were fast, intelligent, and could communicate. Or so a group of missionaries who narrowly escaped their clutches said. Gary wanted me to go in and check it out and try to determine the source of the outbreak and look for survivors. Alone, with nothing but unmarked equipment and supplies.

"Hold on, what the hell is going on for you to send in one guy, me of all people, with unmarked gear to extract survivors? How is this supposed to work and why?" Gary considered my question for only a moment and told me, "We don't want to be accountable, we don't know what's happening, so we can't send in military personnel with no experience fighting these things and have huge casualties on our hands. The fact is, the odds are against this mission's success, but we have to do it anyway. And with the promise of payment and freedom, you're probably the only non military guy we could get to do it."

The honest tone in his voice genuinely shocked me. After months of being bull****ed by this guy and his buddies, I didn't expect to finally be told the whole truth. I pushed my fingers of either hand into my temples and tried to think how to respond. Well, I didn't want to rot in here, so I supposed I only had one choice. "Fine."

The old story is over, this is it's direct sequel. Enjoy!

Five months, that's how long it's been since me an my team were discovered floating in an Umbrella boat in the middle of the Atlantic. Since then, Guantanamo Bay has been my home. I've been a prisoner of a country I once served so diligently before they kicked me out the door. The Umbrella trials have been going on for years, since Raccoon City, and I've been one of hundreds of witnesses to the real nature of the pharmaceutical giant. With the promise of freedom shining on the horizon like the morning sun, how could I refuse to testify? My former bosses, staring up at me on the stand as vultures eye their prey. It's been three weeks since last I was called to testify, and yet here I sit, pondering my fate, wondering if they truly will set me free.

I'm in a room sitting in a metal chair in front of a metal table, waiting to meet a representative to talk with me about what's going on. I look at the clock on the wall, three ten, he's ten minutes late. I roll my eyes wondering what else I should have expected from a tool of the government. Just as I do so, the door opens and in walks Gary Binham, my only connection to the outside world. "Hey Jacobs," he says. "Gary." My lack of enthusiasm is clear. "What's the deal here? I did my part, when do I get to leave?" I ask immediately, skipping the BS. "Well, you're team is actually boarding a boat right now to Miami, and from there, they will be brought back to their hometowns. Only you are still stuck here for now."

My jaw clenches and my eyelid twitches but I stay calm and ask, "And why the hell is that? It's been three weeks, I guess I shouldn't have bothered testifying for you guys after all if I'm just going to rot in a cell anyway." Gary quickly counters, "I said you were stuck here FOR NOW. I won't BS you, you really made a huge impact on the trial along with your team. It was crucial to have firsthand witnesses to the militant aspects of Umbrella. But, you still can't leave yet." Now, I totally lose it. I fly out of my chair, it falls backwards to the floor behind me and I pound my fist on the table hard enough to dent it. I scream, "That's bull****! I kept up my end of the ****ing deal! How many hoops do I have to jump through for you!?"

Gary just stares at me calmly and says "Just one more. Tell me, you were in Desert Storm right? How do you feel about some more desert combat?"

To be continued... Just to whet your appetites for now.

"****. What a mess. Makes our jobs easier though. Nothing left of the facility to sweep out. Perfect time to call in evac," I heard Mark say behind me. I was thinking the same thing. Though I knew that there were still zombies about, I also knew that we had done our job as stated. We had inserted, taken out contacts we had encountered and assessed the situation. Although, at this point, I did begin to wonder why Umbrella hadn't favored a different, more thorough method of cleaning up. Oh well. "Yep. Let's set up the radio!" I yelled. At this, I looked to one of the new guys who was supposed to have it. His face was pale. "I don't have it. I, I left it on the plane!" He managed to stammer before I drew my pistol and whipped him in the face in a fit of anger. "God****it! What the hell do you mean you don't have it!? Everyone here managed to grab all of their equipment before bailing out but you, and now because of it, we're ****ed! It's not like we can get it back, it's in the middle of the ****ing OCEAN!" I screamed into his face while gesturing wildly with my pistol.

"It's not my fault!" He tried to say, but I hit him again and again until his face was a bloody mess and yelled back, "Not your fault? Then who's is it? You had it, you were supposed to grab it, and you didn't!" Then I saw him start to sob and the blood on my pistol from whacking him so much and realized I had definitely gone way too far. He was new and on any other mission, would have been a relatively small screwup because everyone would have a radio. But due to the long range neccesity to call for evac, he had the big one. I suddenly yelled in disgust and shoved my pistol back into its holster. I walked away from the group pushing my thumb and forefinger into my eyes and gestured for them to help him up. Mark walked up to me and asked, "So, what do we do now? We can't communicate with anyone and this place is destroyed, so obviously there's no radio we could salvage."

I thought for a while and remembered the other teams, and almost considered trying to find them, but they were all in completely different areas and the odds of meeting up with them were slim at best. Then I remembered a small harbor I had seen on the map, to the southwest of the facility, just a couple hundred yards. I suddenly jerked my head up and looked where it should be, and saw a few smashed docks jutting into the water five hundred yards away, with one rusty old yacht still anchored there. I stared in awe at the rusted piece of crap that was now the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life, and ran for it. "Whoah! Guys! Move it, follow the commander!" Mark yelled back to everyone after seeing what I was sprinting towards. It was a long run, I encountered several still squirming zombies buried by rubble, but paid them no mind and jumped over them. After a couple minutes, I finally reached the dock. A lone zombie was crawling on it and I quickly threw my knife into its skull and jumped onto the boat and headed for the helm. The other seven showed up just as I finished hotwiring the thing to start and I motioned them all on. We were heading home!

Two weeks later and I'm sitting in a cell in Guantanamo Bay occupied by me and my seven squadmates...

After a long wait, I have finally decided on what to post in part 7. For those of you who ever read this, enjoy! This doesn't have any real action, but I just wanted to show what happened to the Rockfort Island complex after the events of RECVX.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins still as the Crimson head fell to the floor and my team rushed to me. I put up my hand to show them I was fine and stood up slowly. My whole team was right there with worried looks on their faces as I spun around toward them. "Just got caught by surprise. Nothing major. Let's move out," I stated between pants and put my hardballer back in its holster. I grabbed my G36C and headed toward the next door out of this storage area. As I approached the door, I smelled smoke and death. I took point and kicked the door in to see nothing but the charred remains of what was once a security office. A wall of TVs with shattered screens from the heat of what must have been an intense fire buzzed on the wall to our left while the other two walls were nothing but smoldering ruins, burned to the ground with a clear view of what was once the Rockfort Island main compound.

"What the hell happened here? Looks a bomb went off!" one of the new recruits exclaimed. I looked around the barren wasteland seeing burned down buildings every where with the overwhelming stench of burned and rotted flesh filling my nostrils. I heard heaving as another new guy puked behind me. At first I thought it was just the smell that did him in, but just as I turned to address him, I saw the real issue. A corpse dressed in the tattered remains of a security uniform lay on the floor ten feet to the right partially covered by rubble. The corpse's skeleton was visible in some places where the flesh had burned off and entrails and a torn stomach were torn out of its midsection. The head had fared no better as the whole upper right half of it was nothing but pulp with brain bits and skull fragments on the floor. The cinderblocks next to it that were once part of the wall caused the head trauma, while it appeared that some sort of explosion had torn apart the midsection.

The sight revolted me and I turned my head away, again looking at the burned landscape. Suddenly, I saw the reason for the fire. A fuel tanker lay burned out impaling a wall. It all pieced together in my mind. I recognized the fire area as the barracks and prison buildings. In my minds eye, I saw the tanker crash and set on fire. Eventually, the heat had become too much and the tanker had blown up, bringing a large part of the compound with it. Eventually, the fires had spread, leaving nothing but the burned out remains of the area. That, or there was a darker possibility. Every Umbrella facility had self destruct systems, I knew that, but I wanted to accept the tanker theory.

Yeah, I just got a cast on today. It sucks and it hurts really bad. I was in Gym class and I jumped and landed with my ankle rolled and sprained both ligaments on either side of my ankle. I have been hobbling around and had to skip ski team yesterday because of it. And my school doesn't have a nurse! I had to have Ski Patrol evaluate it and let me know it was sprained and they told me to get an X-Ray. It's sprained pretty bad, so Dr. Matt, a family friend, put a cast on it so it would heal faster. Man this sucks. I also bought the Zombie Survival Guide, and it is ****ing awesome! Okay, on to part 6.

I went through the next door first. Two zombies were in there, huddled over a still screaming body of a man, ripping him to shreds. I aimed down my rifle and popped each one in the head, then reluctantly put the victim out of his misery. There wer aisles of storage shelves in here, an open door to a janitor's closet, and plenty of dark places for the infected to hide. I pointed to a team member and then pointed them where to go to clear the room. The new guys got the aisles, Pat checked the Janitor's closet, and me, Mark, Ben, and the pilots all checked behind piles of boxes and paint cans.

As I was going tomy pile, I heard something clatter to the ground on the other side. I stopped and carefully listened for a second to see if it would happen again. Big mistake. As I was standing there, a Crimson Head jumped right through the ceiling high box pile and tackled me. My G36C fell on its sling and I used my arms to try and hold off the creature. It kept on trying to bite my neck, and I could barely stop it. Instictively, I reached my right hand behind me for my Hardballer. I heard the others yelling for me, but they wouldn't get here in time. I had to help myself.

The Crimson Head finally broke defense and threw my left arm out of the way just as I got a hold of my Hardballer. It screeched in triumph and just as I felt its cold teeth touching my neck, I brought up my left arm again and slugged it right in the side of the head. It was knocked off balance and fell off me just before it could bite down. It flailed its arms on the ground and finally got itself up on in a sitting position, keeping itself up with its arms. It saw me again and shrieked. It made a motion to come for me again, but one shot from my Hardballer to its head put a stop to that...

I looked around the area we were standing in and I saw trucks, ammo, gasoline, and other supplies. No infected in sight. I looked over my team and they all seemed pretty shaken up by the close call. I myself was breathing heavily and grateful for the luck we'd had. I didn't want to lose anyone on this team if possible. "Alright. We're safe for now. Let's grab some supplies and head out," I said curtly. Mark, Pat, and Ben all started grabbing more ammo while everyone else stayed put for a second before moving, shocked at the hurry obviously. I grabbed some more 5.56mm ammo for my G36C just before we headed out the door in the back.

We all swept our corners quickly and luckily found no zombies. I was just lowering my gun when I heard "Eric! Look!" I turned to the direction of the voice and saw a pool of blood in a corner with drips of blood on the floor in a path through another doorway to the right. I looked at Pat, the man with the heavy guns and he nodded, raising his M243 SAW and advancing towards the doorway. He kicked it in and we were greeted by the all to familiar scream of a Crimson Head. It was quickly cut off by a burst from Pat's weapon but that offered no reassurance. We had obviously gotten here late, so we would probably encounter a lot more of the speedy bastards along the way.

We didn't even have to wait. I heard three more screams as I came through the door and aimed my rifle in their direction. They started sprinting at us, but I got one in the head with two rounds while Mark sniped another and Ben killed the last. After checking around the room some more, I was satisfied that it was clear. We were in a food storage room, probably near a barracks. But first we had to take care of the bodies. Unless you found a way to either destroy the body or eliminate connection of the brain to the rest of the body, it would just come back again. Recent studies also suggested that this could happen even if you killed the zombie with a headshot. Me, Pat, Mark, and Ben all took out our knives and used a technique we learned in Raccoon City. We took our knife blades and plunged them into the base of the neck, severing the brainstem. It was the shortest and easiest way to do it since none of us had a lighter and gasoline on hand.

With the bodies permanently dead, we turned our attention towards the next door...

We were walking on the path that we had quickly found. Me, Pat, and Mark were in an arrowhead formation ahead of Ben, the new guys, and the pilots. As we were walking, we came upon a gatehouse with a barbed wire topped fence behind it. Apparently, we had reached the outskirts of the facility. There was a fence gate next to the gatehouse, and I knew better than to touch it. It was probably electfified. I quickly went into the gatehouse and hit the open button while Mark advanced toward it while it opened. Looking down the sites of his favorite HK G3 sniper rifle, he checked the area ahead. After he waved the all clear, the rest of us followed him to the other side and continued on.

About a hundred yards down the path, we finally caught sight of the facility's northern entrance. It was a huge steel garagedoor with a shieldedopen/close buttonnext to it for security. "Alright team. Be on the watch for infected. This close, there may be some hanging around lookin' for a meal," I said on the radio in a near whisper. Mark soon yelled, "Yeah. And they don't look happy to see us!" I started to ask what he meant, but when I turned towards the way he was facing, I saw. Emerging from the tree line was a group ofat leastthirtyinfected dogsabout fifty yards behind us. "****! RUN!"I yelled and started spraying past my team and at the pack. They immediately noticed us and started galloping towards us. It was then that I turned tail and ran.

The team was barely ahead of me and I quickly caught up. Everyone was taking turns shooting behind the team trying to get the dogs to slow down. After what seemed like a never ending run, we finally reached the steel door. Thankfully, the button worked. The stroke of luck came none to soon. As Iclosed the door, the pack of dogs continued advancing while everyone fired at them. The door was slow to close, but witheveryone's fire concentrated on the dogs, they failed to reach the door in time.As soon as the door finished closing,there werethumps against the door as the dogs threw themselves at it, hoping to get it open.

I felt a sense of vertigo as I fell with the wind in my face. I activated my chute as soon as I had been falling for about a minute and followed the rest of the squad to the ground. I landed on my feet but instantly collapsed. I couldn't stop shaking from my adrenalineas I looked to the east and saw one last glimpse of the plane before it crashed in the ocean almost a mile away. I stood up and yelled into the radio, "Regroup on me!"

I removed my back pack and unslung my weapons bag as I waited for everyone to arrive. I had just finished unpacking when everyone showed up in a neat little group before me, also with their gear ready and unpacked. "Alright men, that was a bit of a shock, but we're lucky we all landed in this clearing. I hope you're ready for a fight because we may have infected crawling all over the place as we get near the facility." At this remark, I saw all of the new guys go pale and one sighed heavily. It's his first job, I guess he should be nervous.

I checked my map quickly and located the clearing. Luckily, we were barely a hundred yards or so away from our original insertion route...

We all sat in our seats in the briefing room with the large projector screen pulled down in front of us and our base commander, whose name none of us knew, stood beside it, telling us our mission. Apparently, the facility at Rockfort Island had some sort of accident and the T-Virus was released and infected the personnel there. Our job was simple. Just sweep and clearthe mainfacility, the northern sector of the forest,and head home. Other teams would take care of the rest and clean up any stragglers. The northern sector of the forest was also going to be our insertion route. The briefing was augmented by sattelite imagery, maps, and blueprints of the area. We were also all given a packet of these and some rations should things get messy. We were also given combat knives in case we should need them. I had had one in Raccoon City, but they were no longer allowed as standard equipment. They were worried we would carry them with us on base, and they were much harder to detect than guns.

After the briefing, we all headed to a large cargo plane with our gear and took our seats. Apparently the facility was a long ways away, although we were not told exactly where for security reasons. With all of us buckled into the seats on either side of the cargo bay, we took off going to the east. The new guys were all nervous and chattering away about what they thought was going to happen. One of the guys, I couldn't tell who, said that maybe we wouldn't see any infected! I stifled a laugh and closed my eyes, hoping to sleep through most of the flight.

I was woken up by a loud crash and looked around the cabin. Apparently, everyoneelse had heard it too. The malfunction alarm started going off and when I looked out the window I saw one of our two large engines smoking. It had blown out. I looked down and saw we had gotten lucky though. I recognized the place from the satellite imagery. We were right above our target. I unbuckled myself and lurched unsteadily across the rocking cargo bay towards the parachutes hanging on the wall. Luckily, they were supposed to be our method of insertion anyway, so I knew everyone was ready for a jump. Everyone else got unbuckled and the pilot and copilot came back to the bay already wearing parachutes. They must have put the plane on auto pilot so it wouldstay in the airjust long enough for us to make it out.

With our chutes on,one by one we jumped out the side rear door and tried to fall towards a small clearing below...

Okay, after abandoning Ghost Town because I just couldn't do it anymore, I've decided to make a sequel to Resident Evil: Conspiracy. This is going to delve deeper into the backstory of Eric Jacobs and why his leader betrayed him and then became a Tyrant. But trust me, I'm going to stay far away from the unneccessary amount of dragging on descriptions from Ghost Town. So here it is!

It's been three months since the nightmare in Raccoon City. All that is left of my unit is Pat, Mark, Ben and I. All the others died in that hell. The sad part was, it could have been avoided. Our former squad leader, Rick, had betrayed us and sold out our unit as test subjects for Umbrella's experiments. As much as I hated Umbrella for what they did, I couldn't leave. Stories circulated constantly of executions of people who tried to quit. I was trapped. I sat at my desk, thinking all of these things over, reading and filing reports that were still flooding in from the Raccoon City incident and the woods around it that still had some infected roaming them. That was when the all too familiar siren sounded, the same one that sounded the day of our last mission.

I stood up, with my unit behind me. Apparently, since I had proven myself to be such a capable soldier and leader in Raccoon City and training excercises since then, Umbrella had decided to make me, Eric Jacobs, the leader of my UBCS squad. We walked to our lockers and I got out my equipment.Much of itthe same stuff from Raccoon City. A G36C with sixextra thirty round clips, a shiny new silencer for that weapon which had only been given tome yesterday, two Mk23s with six fifteen round clips for each, and my souvenir from Kendo's Gun Shop, and Jamie,my AMT Hardballer .45 caliber magnum. Six fifteen round clips for that too, and all of my gear storedin two hip holsters, my kevlartactical vest, a few belt pouches, anda holsterin the small of my back for the Hardballer.

Withall of ourweapons, we simultaneously grabbed ourradios andheadsets. We never wore helmets, they usually proved to be too bothersome.Besides, we didn't have to worry about beingshot in the head unless the wost should happen and we get infected. I shook off that thought. I wouldn't lose anyone. Or at least, I'd try my best notto. Especially not one of the new guys. Since we had lostfour ofour members, Craig, Rick, Jason, and James, new ones were sentto usto fill in the gaps. Our new guys were Matt, Nick, Kevin, and Tom.All younger guys, early twenties, black, brown, black, and blonde hair respectively, clean shaven. I myself am 33,blonde haired,with stubble on my chin andmessy hair.

Everyone, finished getting ready, followed me to the briefingroom.The system had changed since RaccoonCity, and even I didn't know where we were headed orwhat we weregoing there for. I supposed wewould find out...

I can't do this story anymore. I don't know jack**** about hospitals, or how they work. I also know for a fact that this story is boring and not scary at all. In fact, this story is so boring, I can't even stand to write it! It's so frustrating to work in the Silent Hill universe and know that every single thing I make up that goes deeper into the town's mystery is just going to be refuted by Konami in the coming installations of the series! And I've also lost readers because of this story. Whoever actually ever reads this post, maybe if you want to see how the story ends, I'll finish it up. I can come up with a quick conclusion, but don't worry, it won't suck. I'll just skip all this boring characterintroduction crap that has no relevance to the later parts of the story, and get into what I do best, the actual meat of the story. I'll just skip some of the character development andmade up cult secretsto get there. I'll see what you decide. If no one cares if I end this story, then I'll just start another one.