Raccoon City Police Department.The Helipad.
Captain Enrico Marini stood before his squad, delivering a rousing speech.
To the public, S.T.A.R.S. was a unified elite force. But internally, the rivalry between Alpha Team and Bravo Team was intense. Bravo Team, often seen as the "B-Squad," lived in the shadow of the superstars in Alpha.
Enrico knew this. He felt it every time Wesker walked past him with that cold, superior smirk.
"This is it," Enrico thought. "This is the mission where we surpass them. We're going to solve the Arklay murders before Alpha even gets their boots on."
His team felt the energy. Five members of Bravo stood before him, brimming with confidence. They were tired of being the backup.
Especially Rebecca. The rookie medic had been itching to investigate the mountains for two months, ever since the first reports came in. But Havel—that lazy, paranoid jerk—had threatened to have her grounded if she so much as looked at the forest. Now, finally, the leash was off.
Bravo Team consisted of seven members (including Havel and Rebecca).
Enrico Marini (Captain): A veteran officer with sharp instincts and a strong sense of justice. Rough-faced but warm-hearted, he was the antithesis of the icy Albert Wesker. He was a detective at heart, able to piece together the truth from the smallest clues.
Richard Aiken (Communications): A slim white male with a buzz cut and an orange tactical vest. He carried the heavy radio equipment. Though skilled with a shotgun, for some reason, he had only packed a handgun for this mission—a decision that screamed "death flag."
Kenneth J. Sullivan (Point Man/Chemist): The only black officer in the unit, sporting a bald head and a green vest. Despite his rugged appearance, he was a gentle soul who loved gardening. He was the team's scout and chemical defense expert, though his age meant his stamina wasn't what it used to be.
Edward Dewey (Pilot/Rear Security): A giant of a man, standing over 190cm with arms like tree trunks. He wore a blue vest over a white shirt. He was the team's primary pilot and mechanic, a sniper-qualified marksman who exuded safety and reliability.
Forest Speyer (Sniper/Vehicle Specialist): A young man with long, rocker-style hair and tattoos on his arms. He wore a deep blue vest and carried himself with the swagger of a rock star. A close friend of Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, he was Bravo's ace marksman. He had heard rumors of Havel's shooting prowess and was dying for a contest.
And then there were Havel and Rebecca. The "Lazy Genius" and the "Mischievous Rookie."
Enrico was winding up his speech when he paused. He counted heads.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six...
Wait. Where was the seventh?
"Rebecca!" Enrico barked. "Where the hell is Havel? Did I not make it clear this is an emergency deployment? Don't tell me he's hiding in the bathroom trying to skip work again!"
He looked around furiously. His inspirational moment was ruined.
"Umm..."
Rebecca scratched her cheek awkwardly. "Captain, Havel said he needed to... 'gear up.' He asked for five minutes. Can we wait?"
She honestly didn't know what he was doing. S.T.A.R.S. missions were usually rapid response. They traveled light: standard vests, sidearms, maybe a submachine gun. Speed was life.
"Gear up?" Enrico frowned. "What does he need to gear up for? We're investigating a train, not invading a country."
Little did they know.
Havel, currently in the locker room, was thinking: You guys are going into a zombie outbreak with 9mm pistols and knives? Are you playing a survival horror game on Hard Mode? Not me.
Clomp... Clomp... Clomp...
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the corridor. It sounded less like a person walking and more like a tank rolling out.
The team turned to look. Their jaws dropped.
Emerging from the shadows was a... dark mass.
A black riot helmet with a ballistic face shield. Tactical goggles. A military-grade single-tube night vision monocular mounted on the side. And covering the lower half of his face was an S10 gas mask with green lenses, giving him the appearance of a mutant warthog.
He looked like HUNK, the Grim Reaper himself.
He was wearing a Level III heavy tactical vest with shoulder pads, neck guards, and groin protection. His knees and elbows were encased in hard-shell armor.
strapped to his thighs were two massive hand cannons: the Desert Eagle and the S&W M500 he had bought from Old Man Hawk.
dangling from his belt were half a dozen flashbangs and fragmentation grenades.
On his back was a 30kg rucksack, bulging at the seams.
And in his hands? Not one, but two shotguns. In his right hand, the lever-action Winchester 1887 "Terminator." In his left, the Winchester M1897 "Trench Broom" with a bayonet lug.
He clanked as he walked.
To top it off, he was whistling a tune through his gas mask.
Dun dun dun, dun da-dun, dun da-dun...
The Imperial March from Star Wars.
Havel stopped in front of the stunned captain. He slammed his heels together, struggling slightly under the weight.
"Report, Sir!"
His voice was muffled by the mask.
"S.T.A.R.S. Officer Havel Lee, Badge Number 9527, Tactical Assault Specialist. Reporting for duty! Ready to engage!"
He puffed out his chest (and his butt) in an exaggerated salute.
The team stifled giggles. Forest Speyer actually snorted.
Enrico rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine coming on.
"Havel..." Enrico growled. "Are we going to war? Did you just raid the entire armory? What the hell is all this?"
"Safety first, Sir!"
"Safety?!" Enrico pointed at him. "You're wearing a bomb suit! We're investigating a missing train! And why do you have two shotguns? Where is your standard issue rifle? Are you planning to bayonet the suspects?"
"Close quarters, Sir! Shotguns are best for... aggressive negotiations!"
Enrico looked at the heavy backpack. "And what's in the bag? Rocks?"
"Ammo, Sir. Lots of ammo."
Enrico sighed. This kid was either a genius or a lunatic. Probably both.