Daniel’s alarm buzzed in short, rude bursts against the quiet of the apartment, dragging him up from the gray fog of sleep. No dreams worth remembering, just the usual warped leftovers of the subconscious, the shapeless things that melted away as he blinked at the ceiling. A small mercy, he thought. At least it wasn’t another drop into nightmares, no helicopter, no dogs with missing skin.

  He sat up slowly, sheets tangled around his legs. The light outside was thin, filtered through a smear of clouds that hinted at another overcast day. His hand ran back through his hair, scratching at the spot just behind his ear. It was longer now, scruffier than he liked. He hadn’t had time to bother with a real haircut, not since this all started.

  Time passed slowly, the days turning into weeks, and before long July started to fall away. He’d had a lot going on in that time, more than he’d thought, and yet it felt like time was moving in inches, like he was holding in a breath waiting for something to pop off. It never came, though, never hit, not like he was expecting. He was… spinning his wheels, it felt like.

  The city mapping had become his anchor. It kept his thoughts in order. When his nerves frayed or the creeping paranoia came on strong, he opened the Gridlink and scouted another block. He wasn’t mapping for the sake of it. He had a plan, or at least the beginning of one. If things went sideways, and they would, he’d need routes. Safe paths between the major hospitals. All three bore Umbrella’s mark, and if even half his vague memories were accurate, each was a key point in the coming collapse.

  But they weren’t close. Not to each other. Not to him. Miles apart, across streets that would be soaked in chaos once the first infected body hit the ER. Mapping every approach, every exit, every alleyway that could serve as a choke point or fallback- it wasn’t glamorous. But it was necessary.

  Daniel pushed himself up, groaning slightly at the tightness in his lower back. He ran through the same morning routine he always did now: stretches, core work, light lifts. Nothing too heavy. Not in this cramped apartment. But it was enough to remind his body that he still had one. The routine helped.

  After a quick rinse in the shower and a half-stale protein bar that barely passed for breakfast, he pulled on his jacket and checked the pocket for the token pouch. Still there, still heavy. Not as heavy as before, though. That was the price of progress.

  Outside, the morning was cool and a little damp, but it hadn’t rained yet. He walked the long blocks to Kendo’s with his hands in his jacket pockets and his thoughts pacing just as much as his legs. The sidewalks were quiet, just a few early risers and dog walkers. Raccoon City always had a strange calm to it, like it hadn’t quite noticed its own tension yet.

  The shop was the same as always. Weathered sign, heavy door, the scent of oil and steel and wood that hit you the moment you stepped inside. Daniel gave a nod to the woman behind the counter, someone he hadn’t met before, but who clearly covered things while the man himself was out. She gave him a smile when he told her why he was here, and she directed out back to the range.

  He didn’t know any of the people here, though most seemed friendly. They all had their little groups and left him to his devices at first, letting him get a feel for things and look around. For all that Kendo had touted it as a shooting club, it was also a training range. A couple of guys ran movement drills off of the main lanes, and there was even someone showing off an arsenal of modded rifles. He'd gathered a little group who were talking ballistics and ergonomics and all sorts of other things that flew over his head.

  He felt a little lost until Kendo walked over with another man beside him. Stocky. Older. Broad through the shoulders with a powerful jaw hidden under a well-groomed beard. The man had a way of holding himself, relaxed but with quiet control. His red long-sleeve shirt was rolled at the elbows, and his revolver was holstered high on his hip in a worn leather rig that looked both battered and loved.

  “This here’s Barry,” Kendo said, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Oldest friend I got. We go back to the service.”

  Barry held out a hand, his grip solid but not crushing. “Barry Burton. Good to meet you.”

  “Daniel Carter,” he replied. “Appreciate you guys putting this together.”

  Barry grinned. “Kendo says you’re one of the quiet ones, but that you shoot straight. That true?”

  “I try,” Daniel said with a faint shrug.

  The conversation moved fast from there. Barry was friendly. Real friendly. The kind of guy who couldn’t help but talk with his hands, who peppered every tip and correction with a story. By the time Daniel was three magazines deep into practice, he’d already been given three pointers, two anecdotes about Kendo doing something stupid in a foxhole, and shown half a dozen wallet photos of Barry’s kids. There was something about him though, not the man in the flannel shirt with the wide gin, but something else... he chewed on it as he listened.

  Barry was… disarming. It was clear he was trying to make Daniel feel less like the new guy and more like part of the group, and it was working.

  He looked over Daniel’s Jericho with an approving eye. “You don’t see a lot of these,” he said, handling it gently. “Good heft. Solid frame. Not chasing the poly trend.”

  “Feels right in my hand,” Daniel said. “Most of the people here seem to run polymer or composite.”

  “Yeah,” Barry snorted. “Too many people trust trends over instincts. This? This tells me you’re a thinker.”

  "Me? Nah. All things being honest, I just like the steel frame. It feels more reliable, you know? Better on the hip." Daniel laughed, waving it off. Barry seemed to agree.

  "I hear that. It's why I asked Robert's brother to customize the Berettas we use. No polymers. All steel, with oak handle plates. Damn fine pieces of work, right Kendo?" The bombastic man called out, and Kendo waved him off.

  "Least we could do for a friend, you big lummox. You STARS kids get up to enough trouble without your damn gun jamming because of heat warp or a bad drop."

  "Who’re you calling a kid, old man? You're only two years older than I am, grandpa!" Barry laughed, playing at offense, as he stormed over to get into a good natured argument with the gun shop owner.

  Daniel didn't let the flicker of recognition show, or the moment he froze as his mind processed it, the clues all falling into place. The familiar feeling of the man, the strange impression, even the momentary hiccup in his thoughts, it all connected, awakening a single memory. A joke, a cutscene in a game that no longer existed, and two words that seemed so very out of place, yet so Barry. Jill Sandwich. That was where he remembered him from.

  Barry Burton.

  STARS Alpha Team.

  The man from the mansion.

  He kept his expression even, nodding along as the conversation moved. The talk washed over him. Discussions about the importance of trigger reset, sight picture, and the value of patience. He listened. Took notes. But part of him was spiraling quietly.

  This was the first one. The first person from that part of the story. And he was nothing like Daniel had imagined.

  He was just a man.

  A man with kids. A man who laughed easily. A man who shot tight groups and made people feel welcome.

  Daniel wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe someone colder. Harder. But there was none of that here. Just Barry, passing out advice and charm in equal measure.

  He focused on the target. Took another shot.

  The group tightened.

  He didn’t say anything about the realization. Not now. Not while it was happening. That would come later, over a quiet cup and an empty seat across the table.

  But for now?

  He kept shooting. And listening.

  It wasn’t until the coffee turned lukewarm in his hand that Daniel really began to unpack the morning. He sat at the corner of a small café table, half-turned toward the window, watching people drift down the sidewalk as clouds rolled thick over the sun. The same shop Rebecca had pointed out weeks ago. It had a good view, and not too much foot traffic. Comfortable. Familiar.

  But his thoughts weren’t on that.

  Barry Burton.

  Daniel leaned back slightly in his seat, letting the ceramic mug rest gently on the table. That name carried weight. In the back of his mind, it came tethered to a foggy cluster of images and impressions: a crimson-lit hallway, the echo of a gunshot, the sharp bark of Barry’s voice. But today, the man he met had been every inch a different person.

  Stocky, yes. Broad-shouldered and sure with a weapon. But there had been nothing harsh about the way Barry laughed, or the way he flipped through photos of his daughters like a proud uncle trying to outdo himself. There was warmth there. Depth. And Daniel didn’t know what to do with that.

  The memory of the mansion, if that’s even what it had been, felt like a frayed old VHS tape: distorted, skipping, more mood than detail. He remembered a gun, maybe a betrayal. Something with a key. A puzzle door. But Barry? Just a flash. A single line that stuck because it was so jarringly out of place. Jill sandwich.

  He almost smiled at the absurdity.

  That was the problem. These people, these names, he barely remembered them, but they were supposed to be real. They weren’t game characters or lore entries anymore. They had lives, history, context. Barry wasn’t some special forces badass killing zombies and rocking a big revolver.. He was just a man. A good one, by the looks of it.

  Daniel reached for his notebook and flipped to a blank page, dragging the pen down the margin slowly. He didn’t write anything. Just let the motion ground him.

  He couldn’t rely on his memories.

  That was the quiet, unsettling truth underneath it all. Whatever came next, whatever decisions he’d have to make, he couldn’t assume he knew who people were based on a grainy echo of media he barely consumed. That wasn’t fair to them. And it wasn’t safe for him.

  Barry could have changed. Maybe he hadn’t. But Daniel wasn’t in a position to assume either way. The only path forward was observation, understanding, and preparation. Quiet, slow, and patient.

  He exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the pen.

  This world wasn’t a narrative. It didn’t care about pacing or setups. It would kill you without fanfare.

  He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not without a fight.

  His eyes drifted to the tablet in his bag. He hadn’t been near Raccoon General in over a week. Still needed to finish the north and northeast sectors. The building was a fortress of steel and glass, but it had vulnerabilities. Service entrances. Loading docks. Vents, maybe. No structure was airtight. If he mapped enough, planned enough, he could build a path through chaos.

  It was a slow process, and it always would be, trying to make his recon seem casual had been a challenge. He still felt the need to rush in, get it done fast, but fast leads to mistakes. Slow, and patient. Because slow was smooth, and smooth was fast. Barry's advice from this morning, but it rang more true than the man could ever believe. Restraint was difficult, but he was learning.

  He folded the notebook closed and stood, finishing the last swallow of coffee without tasting it. The wind outside had shifted, colder now. His coat did little against it, but he didn’t mind. There were hours left in the day, and he still felt the burn to walk.

  Daniel’s boots scraped softly against the uneven sidewalk as he turned a corner onto an unfamiliar street. The wind had died down since the café, and the air clung humid and heavy against the skin, thick with the scent of warm pavement and engine oil. that clung to the buildings like a second skin. He adjusted the strap of his pack and glanced up.

  There it was. Raccoon General.

  Even if he hadn’t been looking for it, the hospital would have drawn his eye. A thirty-story slab of glass and mirrored panels, bright and ostentatious, loomed over the red-brick neighborhood like a misplaced monolith. The Umbrella logo stretched wide across the upper floors, red and white against the gleaming facade, impossible to miss. He stood across the street, hands deep in his pockets, and let the visual speak for itself.

  It didn’t fit.

  The surrounding blocks were older, humbler. Brick walk-ups with faded signage. Dental offices with metal shutters. Small grocers and pawn shops wedged between outdated clinics and cash-only pharmacies. Everything about this part of Raccoon City said “working class.” And yet here stood a tower of corporate muscle pretending to be medicine.

  It was gaudy. Like someone dropped an office complex from a silicon valley into the middle of a ghetto. The wide, slow-churning fountain at the front only made it worse. Marble tile curved around the basin, inlaid with a ring of polished chrome. A few people stood by it, chatting or waiting for cabs. From here, it looked like a lobby built to show off. It was all shiny chrome, glass tables, and expensive furniture.

  Daniel crossed the street slowly, pretending to check the windows of a florist’s shop as he approached. He passed a row of parked cars, kept his posture relaxed, and angled his path just enough to catch sight of the front entrance.

  Automatic doors, revolving set in the center. Security camera tucked high in the overhang. Two guards visible just inside- private, not city. No hospital name on their uniforms. No name tags either.

  Definitely Umbrella. It struck him as strange, to see that. In his past life, hospitals had police on staff, visible and active. These guys were anything but, yet they carried sidearms and utility belts all the same, and he doubted it was for the protection of the patients.

  He made a mental note, then ducked into the nearest alley and pulled out the Gridlink. It powered on without fuss, the low-blue screen flashing to life beneath his fingertips. He zoomed in on the current district, tagged the coordinates, and dropped a marker labeled: "Raccoon General - East Approach." Then he switched to the notes function and dictated quietly.

  "Front entrance. Private security. Two guards visible inside. No public signage beyond Umbrella branding. No ambulance traffic observed. Likely not a traditional intake center."

  He switched to reconnaissance mode, tilted the device toward the building at a forty-five degree angle, and swept it slowly across the structure’s footprint. The device mapped surfaces as he moved, outlining window spacing and marking doorways with shaded overlays. He added a pin for the fountain and noted the visual obstruction it caused.

  Satisfied for the moment, he tucked the Gridlink beneath his coat and moved on. A narrow alley peeled off between the hospital and a medical supply annex. The side loading zone looked active but not overly watched. A single freight door. Two rear exits. No cameras immediately visible.

  He walked the length of it slowly, careful not to linger too long. At the far end, beyond a rusted gate, he ducked briefly into a service corridor and reopened the Gridlink. Manual recon mode kicked back in. He updated the scan with new entrance points and highlighted the blind spot between the annex and the garage. The device saved everything.

  Too clean. That thought kept coming back.

  There were no patient ambulances. No visible triage. No signage for visitors or urgent care. Just tinted glass and private guards. It looked like a hospital from a distance. But up close, it felt like a laboratory.

  He paused the scan and opened the tagging system.

  "Building perimeter scanned. Recommend alternate approach via annex alley. Potential rear access. Fewer surveillance markers."

  He tapped the Gridlink off and slid it back into its padded case. The sky had shifted in the last few minutes, the late sun casting the mirrored building in shades of orange and gold. Beautiful, maybe. But to Daniel, it just made the logo shine brighter.

  It didn’t make him feel any better.

  He turned away from the alley and rejoined the sidewalk. Blending into the flow of pedestrians again, he let the building disappear behind the line of brick apartments. He didn’t need to see it anymore.

  The device had done its job, and he had managed another tiny step in the right direction. The sense of accomplishment, no matter how small, was addictive. He still had two other hospitals to look at, to break down, to scout out. It was a slow process. A patient one. But there was no rushing this, and that was his guiding light. Patience. Because slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.

  000

  Monday passed by quietly as he took a day to recover and center himself. It was good to relax a bit, let the tension fade into background noise, but he woke up the next day feeling… antsy. Tuesday evening found Daniel walking through the heavy double doors of the Raccoon Police Department with the slow, easy gait he'd adopted. The receptionist at the front desk gave him a half-smile and a nod of recognition as he asked about the pistol training course, and she pointed him toward the stairwell.

  "In the range hall tonight," she said. "Basement level, just follow the green markers and don’t wander."

  He thanked her quietly and made his way down. The station air was cooler than outside, the temperature controlled to keep the old building from sweating through the walls. Echoes of footsteps bounced ahead of him down the cement stairwell, muffled but steady.

  The indoor range wasn’t new, but it had been maintained well. Concrete walls, industrial ventilation, layers of acoustic paneling stacked like thick skin. He passed through the last security door and stepped into the main room.

  There were about a dozen people already there, gathered in loose clusters or standing at the firing lanes. The buzz of idle chatter hummed low in the background. Daniel was scanning the crowd when a familiar voice called out.

  "Danny?"

  He turned. Rebecca stood a few paces off, adjusting the strap on her range bag. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  "I didn’t know you shot!"

  He gave a sheepish shrug. "Picked it back up since moving here. Bit of a habit now."

  She grinned, stepping closer. She was dressed down for range time: jeans, a zipped-up hoodie, and the kind of plastic earmuffs that didn’t do much for fashion but kept your hearing intact. Her cheeks were a little flushed, probably from the stairs.

  "I’m terrible at it," she admitted, half-laughing. "That’s why I’m here. I’ve got the accuracy of a blindfolded raccoon."

  Daniel chuckled. "Glad I’m not the only one working out the kinks."

  Before she could respond, a voice cut across the room.

  "Hey, Becky!"

  They both turned. Kevin Ryman stood by one of the closer lanes, slipping a magazine into his pistol with a casual smoothness. His tone was friendly, familiar, but not too loud. He offered a quick nod toward Daniel, which he returned.

  Rebecca waved back. "Hey Kevin."

  Daniel looked between the two of them, one brow slightly raised. "You two know each other?"

  "We’ve met," Rebecca said simply. "Couple times around the station."

  Kevin didn’t elaborate, and neither did she. There was a slight pause, and Daniel blinked at the weird moment of dissonance between the three as Kevin dived in to fill the silence.

  "Qual test’s coming up," Kevin said, tapping his sidearm. "Figured I’d see if Barry could knock the rust off."

  "Yeah, I hear you," Rebecca added, grinning a bit sheepishly at both men. "Though in my case it’s less rust and more... total incompetence."

  Kevin smirked. "You’re underselling yourself."

  As if on cue, the back door opened, and Barry Burton stepped in. The buzz in the room softened as heads turned. Barry wasn’t loud or commanding, but people noticed when he walked into a space. The man carried himself with the kind of easy gravity that didn’t need to be announced.

  Daniel watched him work the room, clipboard under one arm, trading nods and quick words with a few officers before setting up near the center. He gave both Kevin and Rebecca a quick, friendly greeting, and nodded when his eyes met Daniel's. A small thing, really, the recognition was casual, but not distant.

  The course began without a preamble as soon as he had everyone's attention.

  Barry’s instruction style was direct and unpretentious. He explained everything cleanly, demonstrated when needed, and didn’t waste anyone’s time. It was efficient. Comforting, even. He corrected bad stances with a tap, showed control techniques without condescension. Daniel found himself paying more attention to Barry’s pacing than to his own groupings.

  By the end of the hour, his palms were dusted with cordite residue, and the Jericho’s slide was hot from repetition. Spent casings clattered across the floor behind the stalls, and the room was thick with the sour-sweet bite of gunpowder.

  Kevin packed up quickly and gave a nod as he passed. "See you around guys."

  Daniel returned it. "Take care."

  Rebecca lingered, watching Barry step out the far door before turning back to Daniel.

  "He’s... kind of a legend," she said, smiling faintly.

  "I’m starting to get that impression," Daniel replied.

  They stepped out into the hallway together, the hum of the ventilation replacing the sharp noise of the range. Rebecca tucked her ear pro into her bag and looked over at him again.

  "So you met Kevin through the station?"

  "Yeah. Didn’t know you two knew each other."

  "Oh, it’s... just a thing through some of the volunteer work," she said quickly. "I’ve been around here and there."

  Daniel nodded but didn’t press. Whatever her role was, she clearly didn’t want to get into it.

  "You heading out now?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Got what I needed tonight."

  She offered a small smile, then nudged his arm lightly with her shoulder. "It was nice running into you here."

  Daniel returned the smile, softer this time. "Yeah. It was. You're good company, even when you're threatening paper targets."

  Rebecca snorted at that. "I'll try not to take that as an insult."

  They paused at the stairwell landing, and something about the stillness of it made the moment linger.

  "Take care, Danny," she said quietly.

  "You too, Rebecca."

  They parted without fanfare, but the air felt heavier than it had before. Not bad. Just full.

  Too many lines. Too many connections forming. He needed to stay focused.

  Still, it had been a good night.

  000

  Wednesday brought a welcome break in Daniel’s week. The air outside was still warm as evening rolled in, the light casting long amber lines between the buildings. He carried a rinsed tupperware container under one arm, and in the other, a small paper bag filled with doughnuts from a shop he'd passed earlier that afternoon. Blueberry jam- at her request.

  He knocked twice at Rebecca’s door.

  It swung open after a moment. Rebecca stood barefoot in the doorway, dressed in pajama pants and a comfortably oversized T-shirt with a faded science joke on the front. Her short pageboy haircut framed her face in a neat halo, slightly tousled from whatever she'd been doing before he arrived. She blinked, then smiled.

  "Hey, Danny."

  "Hey," he said, lifting the tupperware. "Returning these. Clean and intact. And-"

  He held up the bag. "A treat. You said something about jam doughnuts."

  Her eyes lit up. "You didn’t have to…" she began, then paused, smiling wider. "Actually, no, I’m glad you did. Come in."

  The smell of dinner met him before he stepped inside. Garlic, onion, something rich and roasted. Her apartment was warm, lived-in, cluttered in a comfortable way. A casserole dish sat cooling on the counter, and Rebecca darted back to it with the tupperware in hand.

  "I was just pulling this out of the oven. You hungry?"

  Daniel hesitated, but only for a second. "Yeah. I could eat."

  She gave him a grin and started plating without waiting for more. He set the doughnuts on the counter and stepped aside as she worked. The casserole looked hearty, with sausages, vegetables, a topping of browned breadcrumbs, and it smelled amazing.

  As she poured them each a mug of coffee, Rebecca held out one of the mugs, then made a face. “Ah, I gave you the dino mug.” Her tone was a little sheepish, like she had been caught with something.

  Daniel looked down at it. Cartoon stegosaurus, chipped handle, a little faded from time. “And?”

  “I usually hide that one when people come over. Had it since I was a kid.”

  He took it from her and gave a short nod. “I like it. It’s got personality.”

  She looked away, flustered, but happy. “You really think so? My parents used to give me shit over keeping it, but it has a lot of memories, you know?”

  Daniel gave her a lopsided grin. “I know that feeling. Besides, I like dinosaurs. Guy, remember?”

  Rebecca gave a snort at that, rolling her eyes as she fished out the rest of the plates and silverware. Her apartment was homey, he thought. Lots of little nick nacks all over the place, and an ungodly number of books as well. He swore half her wallspace was shelving, and when he glanced at the titles they weren’t fiction or steamy bodice rippers, but things with titles like “Biomolecular Biology and Application, Volume 8”. There were a lot of things like that, medical texts, study books, exam papers. If he had to guess she was in school for something medical, or sciency, or both, given the fact he couldn’t even read the words on half the covers.

  They sat at the small table, eating comfortably as the casserole disappeared one bite at a time. The food was as good as it smelled, and their conversation found a natural rhythm, easy and unforced. Little bits about work, weird people on the bus, a dog that barked at him for three straight blocks earlier that day. It wasn’t deep. It didn’t have to be. It was the kind of talk that let the food settle and the evening stretch out in peace.

  When they finished, Rebecca pushed back from the table and yawned.

  "I still can’t get the portions down." she said, standing to grab another container. "Take the rest with you. Please?"

  Daniel didn’t argue. She boxed the leftovers, then held the container out to him.

  "Seriously. If I keep storing all this, my fridge is going to riot."

  He accepted it, cradling the warm bottom in one hand.

  "Thanks again," he said. "Really."

  Rebecca leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely. "You’re welcome. I like cooking. And you don’t complain. That’s a pretty good combo."

  He laughed. "Hard to complain when you’re eating like this."

  She walked him to the door, barefoot steps soft on the linoleum. As he stepped out, she hesitated a second.

  "Hey. It’s nice having someone to share with. You know?"

  He looked at her, unsure what to say, then just nodded. "Yeah. It is."

  She smiled. "See you around, Danny."

  "See you."

  He took the walk back to his room slowly, leftovers in one hand, the warmth of the meal still clinging to him like the smell of dinner in his clothes. It was nice, really. Better than sitting in his apartment ruminating, for certain, and it helped. Those quiet moments, those little things, that let him unwind from the stress. It mattered, and it made him all the more certain that this was what he was trying to preserve.

  000

  Thursday rolled in on a warm breeze and the buzz of traffic outside Daniel’s window. He didn’t feel rushed. Just steady. The day passed in pieces. Work, a quick meal, a change of clothes and a shower, until he found himself back at the RPD, nodding at the receptionist.

  She looked up and smirked when she saw him. "You again. Should I start forwarding your mail here?"

  "Only if you’re including room and board," Daniel replied with a crooked smile. "I'm here for the CPR seminar?"

  She tapped the clipboard in front of her. "Second floor, library wing. Conference room B. Don’t go getting lost on me now."

  "Wouldn’t dream of it," he said, already heading for the stairs.

  Daniel thanked her and climbed the stairs, the weight of habit making the motion easy. The building was busy in the way all civic buildings were during early evening; muffled movement, clattering doors, the distant hum of tired voices. No one paid him much attention. He figured he wasn’t the only one coming in for the seminar.

  He followed the familiar hallway past the municipal records and into the quieter wing that housed the city’s legal library. He’d never been in this part of the station before, but it had the same smell: paper, dust, and old carpet. When he reached the conference room, the door was already open.

  Inside, to his mild surprise, was Rebecca.

  She was setting up a CPR dummy on the center table, sleeves half-rolled and her usual jacket discarded onto a chair. A small stack of handouts sat off to the side, and she was muttering softly under her breath as she double-checked something on her clipboard. She didn’t notice him at first, not until he stepped into the room.

  She looked up, and froze.

  “Danny?”

  He stopped just inside the door, then gave a nod. “Hey.”

  Rebecca blinked, caught off guard. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saw the flyer. Figured a refresher wouldn’t hurt.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  She stared for a second longer, then laughed under her breath and looked away, visibly rattled. “Right. Sure. Of course. It’s just… I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Didn’t know you’d be here either,” he said, giving her an amused look.

  She gave a short, awkward laugh, running her fingers through the side of her hair. “Well, surprise. They voluntold me last week. Something about civic outreach. I don’t know. I didn’t really get a say.”

  There was a beat.

  Rebecca fidgeted with the edge of one of the handouts. “I’m not really a teacher.”

  Daniel looked at the setup. It was organized, methodical, and quietly competent. “Looks like you’ve got it covered.”

  That pulled a smile from her. “We’ll see. You’re early. Most folks trickle in late.”

  He took a seat at the side of the room, not quite in front, not quite in back. Others started to arrive not long after- a handful of locals, some older than him, some younger. A couple of familiar uniforms from downtown precincts. Nobody asked questions. Nobody gave him a second glance.

  Eventually the seats filled, the door was shut, and Rebecca stepped up.

  “Hi, everyone. I’m Rebecca. Tonight’s class is a basic CPR overview. We’ll cover adult and infant compressions, AED use, and what to do when emergency services are still minutes out.”

  Daniel leaned back slightly in his chair, watching her shift gears. The nerves melted off her with each sentence. What replaced them wasn’t bravado or forced polish, but something firmer. A kind of calm.

  She moved with confidence, breaking down rhythm and ratios. She demoed compressions on the dummy with precise pressure, and her explanations were direct without sounding clinical. People leaned in when she talked. Not out of obligation, but interest.

  Daniel watched, quiet.

  She was good at this. Really good, in fact.

  It wasn’t until the seminar was winding down, with Rebecca finishing her last points on AED placement and compression timing, that the door at the back of the room opened quietly. A heavyset man stepped in without fanfare, dressed in a neatly pressed shirt and slacks, a trimmed moustache riding his upper lip and thinning dark hair slicked back. He stood silently at the rear wall, arms folded across his chest, and no one gave him a second glance.

  Daniel didn’t notice him either. Not at first. His eyes were elsewhere.

  He was focused on Rebecca. Focused on how effortlessly she had taken control of the room, how clearly she broke down critical techniques, how comfortable she looked explaining life-or-death procedures to a dozen strangers. The nerves she’d shown earlier were gone. In their place was something capable, clear-headed, and real.

  He was impressed. Genuinely.

  So when the man at the back cleared his throat and stepped forward as the last questions faded, it caught him off guard.

  “Well now,” the man said, loud enough to project without shouting, “that was a heck of a presentation.”

  A few people turned. Rebecca blinked, the moment of surprise flashing across her face before she straightened.

  “Thanks to everyone for coming,” the man continued, stepping into clearer view. “It’s always good to see community members getting involved. And we’ve got our instructor to thank for that. Let’s all give a round of applause to our host tonight, and our newest STARS recruit, Rebecca Chambers.”

  There was scattered clapping, polite and genuine, but Daniel barely heard it.

  STARS.

  He looked at the man. Something slotted into place: Police Chief Brian Irons.

  And now Rebecca.

  Rebecca Chambers. STARS.

  It hit him like cold water. Not because it was shocking, but because it explained too much. The momentary pangs of memory. The odd feelings that he sometimes got. The strange sense of familiarity that had followed her since day one.

  Daniel stayed seated as the clapping faded, the room thinning with polite farewells and shuffling feet. Chief Irons gave a few final nods before slipping out, the scent of smug satisfaction practically trailing behind him. People took the cue and began filing out, murmuring their thanks or small talk as they went.

  Rebecca stayed behind, slowly gathering her things with a kind of practiced distraction. She wasn’t speaking to anyone, wasn’t even pretending to. Just folding handouts, organizing her clipboard, kneeling to pack the CPR dummy into its case like it required more attention than it did.

  Daniel hadn’t moved.

  He stared down at the table in front of him, fingers laced, jaw locked. The class had been solid. No… better than solid. She’d handled herself with a presence that didn’t come from a book. Measured pace. Firm tone. Answers ready. Demonstrations clean. She’d earned the room’s trust without trying.

  Once she got her nerves under control she ran things like a pro.

  And now he knew why.

  STARS. The word carried weight. More than she’d let on. And the way Irons had thrown it out, like an announcement, not a secret, told him everything about her silence.

  She hadn’t told him.

  And he didn’t know why that seemed to sting so much. She had always been a bit evasive about her job, but now it stood out. The redirects, the too-casual language, the almost nervous tic she got when work was mentioned.

  Their meals. The small talks. Her laughter. The quiet trust they’d found in each other’s presence. All of it now floated in his mind just a shade out of sync. Familiar, but slightly warped.

  He ran a hand down his leg and sat up straighter, pulling in a breath that didn’t settle all the way.

  She was zipping the last case when she glanced over. Her smile was small, tentative.

  "You still here?"

  He nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t feel like rushing out.”

  She walked over, the handouts tucked close to her side. “What’d you think?”

  Daniel looked at her, forcing a smile, though she didn’t seem to notice.. “You nailed it.”

  She smiled back, but it flickered at the edges. “Wasn’t sure if I looked like I knew what I was doing.”

  “You did. You do,” he said. “Especially once you got into the groove.”

  That earned a light laugh. “Thanks. Seriously. That means a lot.”

  He hesitated, then added, “You’ve got a way with it. Not everyone does.”

  Rebecca tilted her head slightly. “You’re full of compliments tonight.”

  “Just one. Said two different ways.”

  She seemed to relax then, for a moment, until his next words.

  “You’re full of surprises.”

  The air between them shifted.

  She glanced away. Laughing a little awkwardly. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  There was more she could say. More he might’ve asked. But the opening closed as quickly as it appeared.

  “You wanna walk out together?” she asked, quieter now.

  He stood. “Yeah. You need any help with all that?”

  She begged off, hauling the whole pack of displays over her shoulder and hauling the dummy up with a practiced ease.

  They left through the station’s side entrance. The night had settled in comfortably warm, the kind of summer dark that held the day’s heat without being oppressive. The city buzzed in the distance, but the streets here were quiet.

  For a few blocks, they said nothing.

  Rebecca finally spoke. “You’re quiet.”

  Daniel hummed and gave a short nod. “Lot on my mind.”

  “Anything you wanna talk about?”

  He looked at her, thoughtful. Then shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. Just a big presentation with a lot of info to memorize.” He deferred, giving her a disarming grin.

  She accepted that. No pressure. Just a faint nod as they walked a few paces more.

  At their apartment building’s front steps, she slowed.

  “This is us,” she said, almost wryly.

  Daniel hummed, slowing to a stop beside her. “Yeah. Right.”

  They stood there a moment longer than necessary, caught in a silence that wasn’t quite awkward but wasn’t easy either.

  “Get some rest,” Rebecca said softly.

  “You too,” he replied.

  She gave him a tired smile, then slipped inside ahead of him, her footsteps light as she took the stairs up toward their shared floor.

  Daniel lingered at the door, letting it shut behind her, the quiet settling around him like dust in still air.

  000

  The rain had started around four and hadn’t let up since. It wasn’t heavy, just enough to soak the streets and blur the light from passing cars outside the window. Daniel sat in the armchair by the small bookshelf, the faint steam from a forgotten mug of tea curling into the air. A quiet filled the apartment, the kind that was neither peaceful nor unsettling. Just still.

  He had spent most of the day grounding himself. Sweeping, making lunch, jotting route ideas in his Gridlink, flipping through a dog-eared novel he couldn’t bring himself to finish. Anything that wasn’t thinking too hard. He was still processing the information he'd been given yesterday. It was a lot to chew on, all things being equal.

  The knock was soft, barely more than a tap.

  He looked up.

  Another knock. Same rhythm. Uncertain.

  He stood, crossing the room with an easy gait, wondering who it was. When he opened the door, Rebecca stood there in a hoodie too large for her and jeans that were dripping from the rain, and her hair was damp and clung slightly to the sides of her face.

  “Hi,” she said, voice barely above the rain.

  Daniel blinked. “Hey.”

  Her arms were crossed, shoulders tight. “Can I… come in for a minute?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

  She stepped inside without looking around much, arms still wrapped around herself. He shut the door gently behind her.

  “Water?” he asked.

  She gave a small nod, not looking at him.

  He brought her a glass and she held it in both hands as she sat down on the edge of the couch. She didn’t drink. Just stared into it for a moment like it might offer a map.

  “I didn’t mean to ambush you,” she said finally. “I just... didn’t want to let it sit.”

  Daniel didn’t answer right away. He lowered himself to the far end of the couch, giving her space.

  Rebecca cleared her throat.

  “Does it bother you? That I’m in STARS?”

  He frowned slightly. “No,” he said. “Why would it?”

  “I noticed you were quiet. After the seminar. I thought maybe… maybe it weirded you out.”

  He shook his head. “It caught me off guard. That’s all. Seems obvious in retrospect, you know?”

  She seemed to agree, but it was more to herself than him. Looking up, she met his eyes, her own tired and a bit bloodshot. She twisted the glass in her hands, waffling as she looked for the words.

  “It’s okay, if it does. It’s weird for me too,” she admitted. “I’m just eighteen. Everyone else in Alpha’s older, more experienced. I’m the team baby, literally.” She sighed. “It’s not where I saw myself, you know?”

  Daniel stayed quiet. Let her keep going.

  “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I wasn’t trying to hide it. It’s just… you're nice. No, wait, I mean... you don't... you don't talk down to me. You've never treated me like I was some kid. That... It means a lot to me. You're fun, and I don't feel like I have anything I need to prove to you. You're... you're my friend.”

  She paused. Her voice went quieter.

  “But after the seminar you were… hesitant. I saw it in your face. And then the walk home after, you were quiet, withdrawn. And I thought... maybe it ruined something.”

  Daniel shifted slightly, watching her, but still didn’t interrupt.

  “My uncle was a cop. He told me that becoming a cop, picking up the badge, it changes how people look at you. Said it makes it... hard, for them to see you the same way. And my mom…” Rebecca swallowed, throat tight. “My mom hated it. Thought I was wasting everything. Said I was too smart to chase crooks around with a gun. We had a fight about it, and she... we said some stuff that I don't know if we can take back.”

  Daniel’s jaw clenched slightly.

  “She kicked me out. After the fight. I moved here with what fit in my trunk. STARS set me up, got me a place. But I’m not really part of the team yet. That's why I'm always tired. I'm still in training, and because I'm just... just me, I have to work twice as hard just to not get in the way. And outside of that?” She gave a weak laugh. “I don’t really have anyone.”

  She looked up at him now. “Except you. I don’t want to lose that.”

  Daniel exhaled through his nose and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

  “You haven’t lost anything,” he said. “And you don’t owe me any kind of explanation. Not then, not now.”

  Rebecca’s shoulders sagged slightly, as if some tension bled out of her spine.

  “I was surprised. That’s it. Not disappointed or freaked out. You’re the same person you were before I found out about the whole STARS thing, and honestly, I think it’s kinda cool.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, eyes wide and searching. She opened her mouth, closed it, seemed to be looking for the words. It made sense to him, if that was what she’d been dealing with. It’s not easy when you have to start over from nothing, and worse when it feels like all you can do to stay afloat is keep pushing.

  Daniel leaned back and gave her a real smile, as genuine as he could. “You can talk to me. But only if you want to. I’ll never ask it of you.”

  She blinked fast, then nodded and looked away, breathing out hard like she’d been holding it in too long.

  They sat in silence for a moment. The rain pattered softly against the window.

  Daniel stood and offered his hand.

  She handed him the glass, stood up, and tried to look like she wasn’t losing fifty tons of weight off her back. She failed, but he let her keep the illusion.

  “I’m still your friend,” he said simply, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.

  Her expression cracked. She stepped forward and hugged him, brief but tight, before pulling back just as fast.

  Her face was flushed, but she managed a breathless, “Thanks,” before bolting out the door.

  Daniel stood alone again, the door clicking shut behind her.

  The room was quiet, except for the gentle, amused laugh he gave at the door to his apartment, and the hyperventilating girl hiding behind it.

  000

  Saturday arrived blanketed in haze, the world outside Daniel’s window sunless and sweltering. The sky was a flat, overcast gray, but it did nothing to cut the weight of the heat. Humidity clung to everything like wet gauze. Even the walls of the apartment seemed to sweat.

  Daniel sat in the chair by the table, one leg pulled up, elbow braced on his knee. The windows were open, but the air refused to move. A bead of sweat ran down his spine. He didn’t care. His thoughts were louder than the heat.

  It had been five weeks. Five full weeks since he’d first staggered into Raccoon, disoriented, memory frayed at the edges, unsure what was real. He remembered the ache in his limbs. The way the streets had felt unfamiliar even when he knew their names. And above all, he remembered the first person to speak to him in that haze: Rebecca.

  It hadn’t taken much. A kind word. A joke. A plate of food. But it had mattered more than she knew. She didn’t hover. She didn’t pry. She was just there, present, steady, and kind in a way that grounded him.

  He hadn’t realized how much she mattered until she stepped through his door the night before last and asked if he was angry with her.

  And now, here he was. Sitting in his apartment, five weeks in, and nothing about this situation felt under control. Because what even was the point of this whole thing if he lost that one vital connection that made it matter? What even was Raccoon to him but a place on a map without the connections that made it feel like home?

  He’d told himself he was building toward something. Planning. Preparing. But the truth was harsher: he’d been drifting. Cautious. Careful. Playing out the early days in slow motion and calling it progress. And even then, he would hesitate to say it was guided by some higher goal. The disparate truth was that his plan consisted of waiting until the outbreak, raiding some hospitals and finding a super secret lab, then came the question marks, and… profit? What the hell kind of half-baked idea was it? Shit, it wasn’t even half baked, it was still sitting half-assembled on the counter.

  The two definitively useful things to his name: the Gridlink, bought at absurd cost, and the handgun on his belt were useless without having some greater purpose guiding what he did.. Everything else; the maps, the notebooks, the routes, the habits, were all useful, but they weren’t decisive. They were filler.

  And that’s what he needed now. To be decisive.

  He got up and crossed to the corner of the room, kneeling beside the small drawer where he kept the coin pouch. It was heavy in his hand, the dull clink of metal inside offering no comfort. These weren’t trophies. They were tools. Resources meant to be spent. And for too long, he’d just been sitting on them.

  He thought about what he needed.

  The first was obvious- A weapon. Not a backup. Not a sidearm. Something powerful. Specialized. Something capable of dealing with threats far beyond the scope of a mugger or junkie. Something that could tear through the kind of monsters he knew Umbrella would eventually unleash. He didn’t know what the Survivalist had, but the man had shown him a ledger, and Daniel remembered the pages he hadn’t dared consider yet. Now was the time.

  Second up was a data platform. His Gridlink was useful for notes and analysis, but it couldn’t store gigabytes of raw data or crack into a secure network. If he was going to investigate anything substantial, like any labs, terminals, whatever Umbrella had buried, then he needed something industrial-grade. A hardened laptop with serious storage and connection tools. He’d ask for the best, and if it cost him, so be it.

  The third, he knew, was direction. Real information. The Survivalist had hinted, last time, that there were things he might know; whispers about rogue actors and cracks in the Company’s foundation. Daniel didn’t know what he was looking for, not yet. But he trusted that the Survivalist could point him toward something. A lead. A clue. A reason to move beyond walking in circles.

  He stood again and dropped the coin pouch onto the table with a soft thud. It was heavier than it looked. Every coin inside could become something vital if he stopped hesitating.

  There was no “perfect time” coming.

  He was past the part where caution counted as strategy. Rebecca’s trust had shown him that. She wasn’t waiting for some golden answer. She was trying, every day, despite fear and loneliness and the pressure of a title she didn’t ask for. And here he was, with resources she didn’t have, stalling in place.

  That had to end.

  Tomorrow, he’d seek the Survivalist out again. Not to window-shop. Not to ask what was available. But to get what he needed. The moment to commit had arrived.

  Because one way or another, things were going to start happening. If his hazy memories served, the first real incidents started happening in July of ‘98, and that gave him around a full fifty two weeks to prepare, and looking back on it, he’d squandered a tenth of it already.

  This is assuming that things kept to his increasingly unreliable memories. Because it was coming, and when it did, he wasn’t going to be caught standing still.

  Sunday came in silence. The oppressive heat from the day before hadn’t broken, but the sky was clear, and the streets shimmered under early light. Daniel was up before most of the city. The routine was simple now: stretch, floor work, band resistance for the shoulders. It wasn’t glamorous, but it helped. Structure helped.

  By the time he was lacing his boots, the kettle was whistling, and the city was starting to stir.

  He made it to Kendo’s before nine. The shop was open early on Sundays, with the back range already buzzing. Through the steel door and out to the gravel lot, he found half a dozen regulars already unpacking their gear inside the attached range next to the shop. Targets were set. Brass swept. There was something calming about it… functional, familiar, even, in an oddly meditative kind of way.

  Barry was there already, chatting with a couple of the older guys near the benches. Daniel gave a short wave and received a broad grin in return. Kendo gave him a nod from behind the workbench near the range shed.

  He didn’t feel quite so much like an outsider anymore.

  Daniel joined the others quietly, unpacking his Jericho and giving it a quick once-over. His mag pouches were in place, the holster secure. Everything where it should be. The familiar clack of a slide snapping into place grounded him.

  Today was a drill day. Nothing too structured, but serious enough. Barry took a few minutes with each of them, correcting grip here, stance there. When he came by Daniel, he gave a simple “Good work” and moved on. It was nothing showy, but the approval landed. His groupings were tighter than the week before. Not perfect, never perfect, but better.

  After an hour or so, one of the older men, gray around the temples, with a faded RPD range shirt, came up beside him while he was reloading.

  “You shoot quick?” the man asked.

  Daniel shook his head. “Not really. I tend to go slow and deliberate.”

  “Makes sense. Most folks do. But out there,” he nodded vaguely toward the city, “you won’t always have time for deliberate.”

  The man gestured to his own worn leather holster.

  “Quickdraw’s worth learning. Not that flashy cowboy nonsense. I mean getting the gun out clean and getting rounds on target before they do. You practice that?”

  Daniel shook his head again. “No.”

  “You should start. When you’re at home, keep it unloaded and work on the motion. Where your hand lands. How your arm clears your side. Repetition builds muscle memory, and once you got that, spend some time doing smooth draws and firing. Don‘t worry about hitting on target at first, either. Work up to it.”

  Daniel nodded, listening carefully. “Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it.”

  The man gave a small grunt of approval. “Good. Too many guys skip the fundamentals and get cute. You got time, use it.”

  He moved off without asking for anything in return.

  Daniel holstered again, more aware now of the way the grip rested against his hip. He tried a slow draw- nothing fast, just watching how his hand moved. It felt awkward. Not natural. That needed fixing.

  Later, during the cooldown and cleanup phase of the morning, Barry came over, wiping his hands on a rag.

  “Glad to see you mixing in with the old timers,” he said, chuckling. “They’re cranky, but they know their stuff.”

  “They’ve been good to me,” Daniel replied. “I’m learning a lot.”

  “You’re putting in the work,” Barry said seriously. “Most guys think buying a gun’s the end of it. Carry it once, shoot it twice, and they think they’re ready. You’re doing it right.”

  Kendo joined them a few minutes later, setting a new box of targets down on the table. “He’s right, y’know. First gun ain’t a solution. It’s just a beginning. Glad to see someone taking it seriously.”

  Daniel looked between the two of them and gave a quiet nod. “I didn’t get into this for fun. That’s just the side benefit. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

  Kendo smiled at that. Barry clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep showing up. That’s half of it.”

  The session wound down with talk of gear, drills, and a few old stories that blurred the line between lesson and entertainment. Daniel stayed until the lot emptied out, helping to clean up brass and fold targets.

  When he finally left, the sun was high, and the heat was in full swing again.

  The afternoon light was sharp and yellow by the time Daniel reached the edge of the industrial district. Heat rose from the asphalt in lazy waves, and the world buzzed with the hum of cicadas and distant traffic. He crossed through a narrow alley behind an old machine shop, boots crunching over broken glass and gravel, until he saw the edge of green peeking out behind the fence.

  The park was forgotten, same as before. A few warped benches, rusted play structures, and a heavy copse of trees that boxed out the rest of the city. It was quiet, too quiet for anything but deliberate memory.

  Daniel stepped through the fence gap and spotted the shape tucked beneath the tree line. The same camo cloak. The same battered crate. Same waxy skin and jaundiced eyes, crouched beside a cold fire pit like some post-apocalyptic trader out of a fever dream.

  The Survivalist raised a hand as he approached.

  “Well look who’s come back with some purpose in his spine,” he drawled, voice warm as ever. “You’ve got the look of a man who stopped thinkin’ and started needin’. I like that.”

  Daniel came to a stop a few feet away. “I’m here to do business,” he said plainly.

  The Survivalist grinned and clapped his gloved hands together. “Now that’s music to my ears. Been wondering how long it’d take.”

  Daniel sat down in the proffered stool, letting himself relax into it, his duffel bag dropping heavily onto the dirt. “I’m looking for a gun, among a few other things. Something solid and reliable, but lightweight and good for tight spaces and corners. It needs stopping power, too, and decent magazine size. And, if at all possible, good recoil control.”

  The survivalist shifted aside, fishing out his weathered ledger and flipping to a marked page.

  “I got a few things I think might catch your eye,” he said, fingers dancing over the paper. “Got your traditional SBRs, a few SMGs, that lean one way or the other. Generally, you have to sacrifice somewhere to get somethin' else. That said, I got one that might do. Recent acquisition. Take a look.”

  He snapped the ledger shut and reached behind him, thumbing open a heavy latch on the military crate. The lid creaked as it opened, and from inside, he produced a long, foam-lined case. He set it on the ground between them and clicked it open.

  Daniel leaned in.

  Inside, resting clean and sharp against black foam, was a compact bullpup firearm. Matte black, integrated reflex sight, horizontal magazine across the top. It looked like something out of a tech-forward armory. Familiar, but strange in the best way.

  “FN P90,” the Survivalist said with a grin. “Little Belgian number. NATO’s been toyin’ with ‘em for a while now. Word is a few crates fell off the back of a truck in Europe. And wouldn’t you know it, a good friend of mine made sure one of those crates landed in my lap.”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

  “Sure as sunrise. And you’re the first one I’ve shown it to. She’s a beaut. Full auto, smooth as butter, and chambered in 5.7x28; real punchy stuff. Cuts clean through soft armor, has excellent piercing metrics against the harder stuff, and you’ll barely feel a lick of recoil.”

  Daniel picked it up carefully, the weight surprisingly light in his hands. The grip was strange at first, but balanced. Ergonomics were clearly built for movement, not show. He’d seen them back before, on TV or in the media, but had never handled one himself. It felt surprisingly good in his hands, though.

  “She lives in the sweet spot,” the Survivalist continued, “right between an MP5 and an M16. Smaller frame, but you ain’t giving up performance. Compact. Tight. Good for, say… urban environments.” He winked.

  Daniel turned the weapon over, then looked up. “How much?”

  “One gold coin,” the man said without hesitation. “And because I like you, and because you’re gonna need it, I’ll throw in three mags, a reloading tool and a thousand rounds of trainer-grade 5.7. They’re soft-tip and they don’t have half as much punch as the mil-grade, but the feel’s the same. Clean, easy to shoot. Plenty to get you familiar.”

  Daniel hesitated only for a breath.

  His only gold token from the pouch pressed into the man’s gloved palm.

  “Done.”

  The Survivalist nodded, pleased. “Good choice. I’d bet my boots this one’s gonna serve you well.”

  He started digging back into the crate, producing a sealed ammo can, three translucent magazines, and a crank-operated tool. He laid them out neatly beside the weapon.

  “Get to know her,” he said as he worked. “Shoulder the weight. Learn how she moves. Ain’t no point carryin’ iron if you don’t know how it dances.”

  Daniel agreed, sliding the gun and the rest into his duffel with care. Once it was away and out of sight, he looked back to the heavily covered man.

  “I need a few other things,” he said, straightening up. “Specifically something with a lot of data storage, but can be used to access computer systems and hard drives. The tougher the better.”

  The Survivalist’s eyes brightened with interest. “You’re finally talking like a man with a mission.”

  He set the ledger across his lap, flipping through pages with worn, deliberate fingers. Dozens of scribbled entries, diagrams, codenames, and serial numbers passed beneath his eyes until he found the one he was looking for. He tapped it with a grimy finger and pulled a laminated sheet from a side pocket.

  “Now this here,” he said, holding it up, “is not your run-of-the-mill clamshell. Built like a brick, it’s a ruggedized field platform built for places usually on fire, or under fire, or both.”

  He turned it over so Daniel could see the diagram. A heavy casing, rounded corners, thick keyboard with pressure-sealed gaps, and a flip-down panel of covered ports along the back.

  “She’s waterproof, shockproof, and hardened against localized EMPs. Run it over with a truck, she’ll still boot. Storage capacity’s exceptional for a portable unit and has modular slots for drives and add-ons. The battery is good for two days of solid use, too, but she comes with a second in case you need it, and the best part? She comes with a full universal dataline bundle, including the proprietary hookups.”

  Daniel leaned in, eyeing the specs. He’d seen some of Umbrella’s equipment once, in vague half-memories, and this was just what he needed. It looked heavy, and was built like a tank, which, considering what he figured he would be walking into, was probably ideal.

  He nodded once. “How much?”

  “Silver,” the Survivalist said simply. “One coin. Fair as a fair deal gets.”

  Daniel reached into the pouch, felt the smooth weight of a silver disc between his fingers, and handed it over.

  “One more thing,” he said, slipping the laminated sheet into his bag. “Information. I need a lead. Something real.”

  That made the Survivalist pause.

  “Ain’t nothin’ I can do about that, partner. Not with what you can afford, anyhow. What you're askin' for is a premium, platinum at the start, even for the little stuff.” The Survivalist said, as he shifted around. “There’s a lot of junk out there,” he said slowly. “Some pearls in the muck for certain, but…”

  “But it’s outside of my price range, and you don’t do returns.” Daniel said, and for a moment his heart dropped.

  “Now hold on.” The man said, and Daniel perked up. “Just because you ain’t got the scratch doesn’t mean you’re dead in the water.”

  “See, sometimes folks got a need, and I fulfill that need.” the Survivalist said, “But it takes work and time to find the goods, y’hear? And I can’t be everywhere. So I tell you what, maybe there is something we can do for one another, partner.”

  Daniel hesitated, something about the way the man said those words sitting unwell with him. He wanted data, something he can work with, something he can use, but… the man told him once he didn’t do favors. Not the kind you get for free, anyway, and that was dangerous. The Survivalist hadn’t lied to him so far, but there was truth, and there was truth, and depending on what the end goal was would decide which truth that was.

  “I’m listening.” Daniel said, leaning back. He felt the Survivalist smile at him, but it almost felt like a leer. Like the look a snake gets when it spots a big, juicy rat.

  “I can keep an ear out for you. See what’s being whispered about. If I hear something, I’ll get in touch with ya, partner. And then you? You do what you do. But you find something worth selling, then you bring it to me. I’ll even pay ya for it.”

  “And it’ll get to the right hands?” Daniel said, mirroring the words the man had told him weeks ago. If anything, the smile seemed even more predatory.

  “Of course, Daniel. No refunds or guarantees.”

  “Hm, and if I don’t? Bring it to you, I mean.” He had to ask, and the man suddenly seemed so much less jovial, so much more… disturbing. Daniel started to feel the heat, once warm and cozy, start to press in, and the man, his skin waxy and fallow, glistened in the light of the fire. His hand indeed heavy on Daniel’s shoulder, and it had a weight to it that pressed down on him.

  “That, son, would be most unwise, y’hear?” He said, more growled, and his voice was layered, strange, almost tinny. “Man’s word is his bond, Daniel. Man who breaks it, well, he ain’t worth much at all, you understand, partner?”

  Daniel’s voice caught in his throat, and his eyes were wide. His heart hammered in his chest as he felt the heat and the humidity coil around him like a rope. He forced himself to nod, once, then again. And the pressure was gone, and the man was sitting by his fire once more, like he’d never moved.

  “Glad we have an understanding partner.” The man grinned, all jovial smiles and wan chuckles again. “So are ya interested? Service for a service, paid in full?”

  Daniel sat for a long moment, the Survivalist sitting tight, humming a noiseless tune as he stirred the pot on the fire. The choice was… what even was that. It felt… he didn’t know. Didn’t even know where to start. He needed some real info. Something solid to start on, to go by, but this… what was the cost, really? Part of him wanted to argue, that if he found the silver bullet he needed in there he was committed to giving it to this man, and he doubted that he would get away with refusing to part with it. But the other side of that coin was… well, if he didn’t know about it at all, then he still lost out.

  The Survivalist even offered to pay for anything he found, and coins… This man had things. Knew things. What if he knew the real location of the underground lab? Or a way into the mansion? Or a dozen other useful things that would make getting in lifetimes easier, make it possible to stop the outbreak itself? Would that be worth rolling the dice?

  Daniel hated that the choice was obvious in retrospect. He needed the man’s resources, and to do that, he needed the man’s coins. And he needed the info. That was half the reason he came here to begin with and maybe he’d get lucky, find something worth that platinum coin to buy his silver bullet.

  “Fine. We have a deal.” Daniel said, and the Survivalist held out his hand. Daniel hesitated, his own hand hanging in the air for a moment, feeling like this… was more than just a bargain struck. Or maybe that’s exactly all it was. He only paused for a moment, though, firming his resolve, and the two shook. The world didn’t shift, nothing odd happened, but… it felt like something changed.

  “Good.” The man in ragged clothing said, “And as a celebration of our new partnership, I might have a bargain for you. Since you have that spare silver, and I suspect you might need something a little heavier than a wish and a flak jacket for what’s comin’.” The crate opened up, and he shifted around for something, before dragging out…

  “The hell is that?” Daniel asked, staring at the vest in the Survivalist’s hands.

  “This, son? This is a real treat.” It was a tactical vest in name only, the front replaced with angled hard plates that looked bolted on, running from the chest to the gut, gunmetal grey and layered over itself. But that wasn’t all, as it sported two pauldrons of the same banded metal, layered and gleaming in the dull afternoon light. It looked like someone had modernized roman legionary armor, all told, complete with snap-like buckles and insert loops that coiled around the sides.

  “Few years back Umbrella decided they wanted a more heavy duty option for protecting their various paramilitary organizations, eh? So they dumped a few million in developing this. Called it Phalanx, or Palisade, or some damn thing starting with a P that I can’t be bothered to remember. Point is, they came up with this. Hard titanium-carbon mix overplates bolted into ballistic fiber with an underlayer of scale-laminate inserts over a plate carrier. Triple layer defense meant to deflect the little stuff, stop the big stuff and prevent someone from getting stuck in up close. And it did that job well, too.”

  “But…?” Daniel asked, and the Survivalist laughed.

  “But the damn thing weighs a ton, because it doesn’t matter how space-age the metals are, it’s still metal and this thing has a lot of it. More’n that though, it costs an arm and a leg to make, and it don’t matter how big a company is. It’s still beholden to its number crunchers. So this thing wound up on a shelf somewhere, floated around, and eventually found its way to me.”

  “And you’re willing to part with it for just a silver? Feels like this would be worth more than that, prototype and all.”

  “Normally, yep. But see, we’re partners, and you ain’t gonna be much good to me dead. So here’s a gift for you. One silver, and I’ll take the loss. Besides, good as it is, it’s not half as modular as some of the stuff gone out to market the last few years. You’re trading shelf space for protection.” The Survivalist shrugged. “But I suspect you can work with that, if you learn to carry the weight of it.”

  The trade was made, and the armor packed away, folding up nicely even with the built-in armor. He moved to stand, but paused when the Survivalist raised his hand to stop him.

  “Now,” the Survivalist said, straightening, “before you go runnin’ off into the fog with your new toys, let me offer you a deal. One-time thing.”

  He reached back into the crate and pulled out another soft pouch. Inside was a bundle of five more P90 magazines, still in factory plastic wrap, and a sealed tin of ammo marked with red stenciling.

  “This ain’t the training stuff,” he said. “SS190. Aluminum with steel penetrator tips, military grade. Punches harder, flies cleaner. Four hundred rounds, all told. You’re gonna need ‘em if you’re kicking hornets' nests.”

  Daniel gave him an accessing glance, before he asked, “You’re being awfully free with the bargains today. And don’t feed me that partner crap. You know as well as I do I need that info, so the rest of this is what, just keeping your investment alive?”

  “You got me, Dan. It ain’t just for you. If you’re gonna be useful to me then I need you movin’ round and gettin’ the job done. Now if you want this, it’s two bronze.” the Survivalist said, with a shrug, like he didn’t have a care one way or the other. “Take it or leave it. This deal’s a courtesy.”

  Daniel didn’t argue. He reached into the pouch and dropped two bronze tokens into the man’s hand.

  “Good man,” the Survivalist said, setting the mags and the tin aside for packing.

  Daniel knelt and started arranging the bag carefully, his duffel growing heavier. That vest alone weighed at least thirty pounds, it felt like.

  “Down to one,” he said aloud.

  The Survivalist’s eyes sparkled, laughing, as if he hadn’t just scared the shit out of Daniel just by existing. “One coin left, huh? What’re you in the mood for? Pack of gum? Canteen full of lies?”

  Daniel looked up at him. “You got grenades?”

  That drew a laugh. “Do I look like a fireworks vendor? …Don’t answer that.”

  He shuffled to the far end of the crate, reached into a flat compartment, and pulled out a roll pouch. Unfurled, it held a tidy array of cylindrical casings, all color-coded, clearly labeled.

  “Flashbangs. Smoke grenades. Old-style pull pins. Safe, simple, and damned effective in a hallway or stairwell. All of ‘em handheld. You want lethal, I don’t sell that cheap. But these? You can clear a room, make an exit, or just blind a crowd. Two per.”

  Daniel pointed to the flashbangs. “Two of those.”

  “One bronze,” the Survivalist confirmed.

  Daniel passed over the final coin. It disappeared, and the grenades went into a side pocket of the duffel.

  That was it. No coins left.

  “So when will I hear from you about this info you promised? I figure you don’t want me leaving you in the wind.” Daniel said as he finished loading the duffel, the straps creaking as he hefted it up. “Sooner I get it done the better.”

  “Aww, don’t be like that, partner. You’ll make an old man feel unwanted.” The Survivalist said with a chuckle. “But if it bothers you that much, I’m still movin’ my pieces round. Not sure when they’ll all align, but you’ll know when I’m ready. Promise.”

  “So what, then. I should just keep on keeping on?” Daniel asked, his tone bitter. The raggedy man just shrugged.

  “Keep on doin’ what yer doin’. You aught need to getcher ducks in an order anyway. Or do you think a single fancy piece a’ armor and a nifty gun is all you need to do the job ya want?” The man said with a shrug. “Info’ll be there when it’s ready, Danny-boy. Not before. You got time, son. Use it. Learn a little, finish out yer kit, practice yer shootin’ and all the rest besides.”

  “Christ.” Daniel sighed, as he hefted up the bag, the traps holding firm despite the weight. “Then I’ll keep an ear out, old man. I’d say it’s been a pleasure but-”

  “Git, boy. You got other problems aside from me to care ‘bout.” The man waved him off, and Daniel made his way out of the copse, feeling like he should have felt better about where he was, but really? He just felt like a little fucking fish in a big goddamn pond.