I have recieved a great many requests for the sequel to my previous novel. Though it is not finished, I thought I might give you all a taste of the evil that is to come. Prepare yourselves, this will be a nightmare you won't soon be rid of.

But beware, I strongly urge you to read my first book, as this is the sequel and you will understand little if you choose to read this first. While you may think this follows the video game, it certainly does not.

Summary: Leon and the others have barely been able to cope with the aftermath of the incident involving the Spencer Estate. However, after only two months, another seed of evil has been planted, and subtly it has begun to grow. Before anyone can react, all of Raccoon City is caught up in the hellish flames caused by none other then the sinister Umbrella Corporation. Leon, Joseph, as well as two other characters must find their way out of the city. All the while they are hunted by Jessica Trevor, Lisa Trevor's mother who has become insane with a rage that only the death of every human can suffice. However there is another assassin, a soldier who's only purpose is to find Leon Kennedy, the 'Perfect Soldier', and take him dead or alive to the hands of Umbrella.

"If the suspense doesn't kill you...something else will."


Part I

The Precursor to Evil

Prologue

July 26, 1998. Raccoon Forest.

It was a scarlet sun setting in which the helicopter rode steadily through. Purple and crimson like arteries cut and bleeding wide across the skies. The trees' gnarled branches reached up like black fingers into the red horizon, mourning the loss of the sun, their guardian against the oncoming darkness. It was that very darkness which masked the woods, transforming them into a deep and horrible nightmare. Death, as it were, was nothing more then trickery as opposed to the many other horrid things that had transpired in this accursed place.

At least that is what the infamous Mr. Death thought of it. He sat amongst his comrades in the hull of the chopper, knowing he was the only one relaxed about the mission. He breathed in through his oxygen mask, suctioned to his skin; he could feel its hard plastic and unbreakable metal becoming a part of his face. Its circular, red eyes were his eyes. The every curve of metal welded to metal was his flesh. The skull-like helmet that protected him was his own.

Mr. Death allowed a gaze to pass over the other soldiers. There were only three. Umbrella's military advisors had been wise to send only three others, keep the casualties minimal. After all, they know that in the end it would be only Mr. Death who returned from the mission alive. That is why he had earned the name "Mr. Death". He was the only one who could cheat it and fate on a constant schedule.

"Hunk," called one of the operatives through his own oxygen mask, a rookie, "We're preparing to land just outside the premises as you ordered, sir."

"Good, make it fast and quiet," Mr. Death replied in his deep, croaking voice.

He continued his thoughts. He was the best, of course, only because he had been born and raised to be the best. From birth he was tested and trained. Everything about him was adjusted, sculpted, augmented, and perfected. He was the machine Umbrella needed to sweep away its dirty work and bring back results. And of course, he never failed.

The chopper settled easily with a subtle whir as the winding blades slowly died down, the engine quieting. His team of operatives all looked to him for commands. He smiled behind his mask, knowing that he could see right through theirs into their scared faces. He eyed them, dressed in complete black uniforms, suited heavy with armor and padding. The red-eyed goggles of their masks stared back at him, identical to his.

"Our objectives are simple. Eliminate any remaining carriers, and remove any evidence linking Umbrella to the remains of the Spencer Estate," he spoke monotonously, just as his spirit was, "Any questions?"

"What if there are officials at the scene?" spoke one of the operatives through his mask.

Mr. Death immediately answered by slamming a magazine into his HK G36 Carbine, and cocked it.

"There won't be," he replied grimly.

000

The team all leapt out in single file of the helicopter, Hunk led first. Officer Watkins was the last. When he'd asked the question of any cops being at the mansion, he half expected an answer like that from Hunk. What a self-absorbed prick. The guy was all hardcore, no unique thought. Every time someone had to be "erased", or every time they had to "fix a leak in the system", Hunk came on out of his chambers (where he spent the remainder of his time unless testing was to be done) and they'd brief him, then he'd go.

Watkins had been one of the longest living recruit members for Umbrella's special task unit (U.S.T.U.), but of course that didn't mean shit in the real world. He'd only been there for six months. The thing was, whenever recruits would go on missions with Hunk, everyone died except for the man himself. Well last mission, some small deal to off James Marcus, the scientist responsible for the entire biological warfare department, Watkins had gone in with Hunk and had come back out. Everyone was astounded, especially Watkins. That Hunk guy was quietly furious, and that's kind of what put Watkins on edge now. He was putting a bad vibe on this Hunk guy, and he didn't feel safe about it at all.

They traversed through the forest now, everything gradually becoming darker. As usual Hunk led them, fully aware of anything and everything. All four dressed in black, the only significance out of any of them was Hunk's badge on his right shoulder. Fucker. He was an experiment, nothing more, but he always had his head so far up his ass. Watkins didn't like him; he hated him to be honest. He hated how he stood nearly a foot taller then the rest of them, how he was built like the terminator, and how he didn't even know fear.

Watkins lost all train of thought as they traversed through the woods. Everything closed in on them, wanting to ensnare them in the red skies and black ground. Watkins flipped on his heat scanners for a minute, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of one of the carriers. Nothing the heat sensors could pick up. Nevertheless, He felt that all knowing feeling that they weren't alone. Something was out there.

The way the military advisors had spoke of this mission, it sounded bad. From what Watkins understood, there had been an accident in the lab out here, and now specimens were running free throughout the woods. What was worse, Project Tyrant had been eliminated by what were supposedly police officials who had entered the mansion under investigation under the murders caused by some of the carriers. So now they had to deal with the government. Well whatever, so long as Watkins got the paycheck, he didn't give a rat's ass.

Hunk rose a fist in signal and they all stopped, crouching low into the foliage. There they sat in wait. Watkins examined the surrounding pine trees hovering about them, almost as though they were curious about the group's diminutive figures. Watkins wished for a moment he wasn't forced to wear the damn oxygen mask, so that he could allow his face to feel the fresh, cool air that lingered with the scent of pine. But no, he had to wear complete black from head to toe. And it was damn heavy too. Body armor, extra layers, steel-toed boots. Now Watkins had never seen any of these biological weapons, but how bad could these bastards be? They were just carriers.

Hunk signaled for them to spread out and begin the search. Watkins cocked his carbine rifle and slowly began to descend down a long, sloping hill covered with pine needles and brush. He eyed his comrades, taking note of their positions, and moved on. The light ebbed away, almost completely enveloped by shadow. Everything became very dark very fast, and only the crimson skies above them remained as a weak light source. Hunk had given them specific orders not to turn on any lights, "it will attract the carriers."

Suddenly a distant screeching howl wallowed out into the fog that had begun to roll in about them. Was it a wolf? No way, there was some, raspy, gurgling screech about it that gave it a warped sound. Everyone was silent, unmoving. They listened, and again it came. Closer this time. Almost like a kind of wailing, agonized cry that peaked into a howl. It carried on the wind that blew gently amidst the trees. Watkins began to feel sweat pour from his skin atop his eyebrows and down the middle of his back. He could feel his fingers become wet and hot as he held the gun tightly to his chest.

Suddenly the single howl caused an uproar, and dozens of cries began to intrude upon its solo. All of them, growing steadily closer. Louder and louder, they were at the ridge that surrounded the team. Then, just as it had come, the moaning wails ceased.

Watkins listened, eying his partners. Everyone was tensed and hunched over their weapons. Everyone except Hunk. His tall, broad figure stood calmly, watching the horizon and surroundings with his gun at his fingertips. Watkins began to ease his tension in the silence but-Wait a second. Wait. What was that? What was that noise?

The young recruit removed his helmet to listen closer. There was a noise. It was subtle, an almost obscure beating, like the sound of drums all beating together as a chorale of singers heightened their voices. The noise steadily began to grow louder and harsher, and suddenly Watkins realized it was almost in rhythm, like one part of an entire percussion set. The voices began to grow louder. This wasn't right, and Watkins steadied his gun when suddenly he heard Officer Jameson screaming. The massive eruption of shots echoed throughout the valley and Watkins turned towards the noise.

More shots and a brilliant flash of light emitted from Jameson's gun. It briefly illuminated the figure of Jameson firing into the dark before all went dark again. Another burst of light from the carbine and Watkins saw something that made his skin crawl. A human-like, yellow eyed, monster with a maniacal grin, dancing with Jameson and his rattling bullets. Darkness and screams again, and suddenly another flash and Jameson was thrown to his back upon the ground, more of the devilish, wild-eyed demons encircling him.

And suddenly the flash became like a constant strobe light as Jameson as completely covered by the growing numbers of the creatures, and they began to hover about him. In the wild light, Watkins could only glimpse them as their mouths gaped down upon his wriggling, crying body, stripping the flesh from his bones. The tearing, stretching, and snapping sounds made Watkins' head spin.

Then he heard it, the groaning behind him. He turned and screamed as he opened fire. A brief illumination, those insane yellow eyes and open mouth, wild black hair, and the beast went down in a splatter of blood and meat. Watkins looked down and recognized it. They were people, rotting, twitching, bloody thirsty people. The carriers.

"Move out!" Hunk shouted the order as their assault rifles screamed out into the woods, shooting random bursts as the carriers pursued them from all directions.

Watkins followed Hunk and the other operative, a young woman, he couldn't recall the name, and the three went sprinting off into the woods. The carriers ravenous cries and howls soon drowned out Jameson's screams, growing louder and faster. They flooded from the ridge, dozens of them, some sprinting, others staggering, few dragging their limp bodies behind them.

The three ran for the top of the eastern ridge, hoping to find safety at the helicopter. The carriers were everywhere, there must have been several dozen. Suddenly at the top of the ridge, two crooked, stooped figures appeared against the red sky. Then two more appeared, then more and more; completely surrounding the three. They charged. Several sprinting down the hill furiously and Watkins recognized them as having the symptoms of the second stage of a carrier, the berserker stage. The team turned and tried their way back down the hill, Hunk furiously releasing the wrath of his assault rifle upon the carriers.

Suddenly Watkins heard the other team-member wail, and he turned to see the woman being picked up by the zombies, pulled back from him and Hunk. Watkins watched in utter terror as the woman's clothing was ripped away followed by her flesh, the pale, white hands digging into her belly and ripping her open, grabbing into the cheeks of her mouth and tearing them apart, snapping her jaw clean from her face as they began to feed.

Then he felt the cold hands himself, and Watkins screamed as they ripped away his oxygen mask and bit into his cheek and forehead, tearing at his throat and nose.

"Hunk!" Watkins screamed as he watched the massive figure of the man continue to release bullet after bullet, "Hunk help me!"

He felt their cold fingers suddenly push into one eye socket, feeling them drive his eyeball into his skull. With his one remaining eye he saw Hunk turn to him and aim the assault rifle.

"NO!"

Hunk fired.

000

September 12, 1998

It began as an average day for every pale, overworked, exhausted employee in the facility. The morning alarm sounded fuzzily throughout all the speakers, the power humming to life as the generators began. The employees rose from their beds into the fake, metallic encasement they had practically been forced to live in. This day would mark an entire month in which they had not seen the sun, or outdoors itself. Each day they would rise, work rigorously at their various tasks, occasionally interrupted by the need to eat and rest. Of course even those were maintained and controlled, the employees were told when they were hungry, and when they were tired.

John Schibilski was pretty sure their employer, the Umbrella Corporation, was simply trying to brainwash them. John was one of the top researchers in the clandestine department of biological weaponry. Despite his name, John looked like and Asian. Simply because his mother had been. He was short, wiry, and very pale. Ever-growing bags hung beneath his eyes, and he had that pink swelling about his eyelids that came from keeping them open for too long.

Yes, he was almost certain that it was brainwashing. John rose with a yawn, grumbling at the shattering cry of the alarm clock from the intercom systems built throughout the entire underground facility. He rose and stretched from his cot in his tiny, simple room. He looked to his desk, made of metal and neatly kept with only two pens and a single stack of papers. He was not allowed to write any letters to his loved ones, nor to create anything "of free mind". Yea...that wasn't a big flopping hint that there was some sort of control that Umbrella was trying to clamp to the back of their employees.

He went to the closet and slid open the door, undressing from his pajamas. Ah his pajamas, he loved them, they were the only thing that could display himself. That and his ties. Oh he loved them both. His pajamas, a bright white with little figures of Mario, the infamous video game character running about with tunnels here and there. And his ties, each of them brilliantly colorful and normally decorated with some sort of cartoon character. He knew it sounded crazy, but it was all that John had left of reality in this strange and self-degrading place.

Yet it was for his family. At least the pay wasn't bad. Well, in all honesty the pay was exquisite. He was able to see to it that his family lived lavishly up in New York. John sighed as he put on the deodorant Umbrella had made and began to dress in the clothes claimed by Umbrella.

The only drawback about the money was that he couldn't spend time with his family. No, here he was stuck a mile underground in a massive facility all beneath Umbrella's sponsoring city: Raccoon City.

However, the company wasn't all pretty grins and thumbs up. They were dark, and very sick beneath the polished surface. John and all the other employees across the world were paid to keep quiet of what they knew. The Umbrella company was dirty money. They were ruthless, caring nothing of what they did to people. Even their own people. A few months ago the top scientist for John's department supposedly "disappeared". The officials who were head of this facility said that he ran away, but John had heard otherwise. William Birkin, yea that was his name. Genius, complete genius. He was the one who came up with the T-virus, as well as the new prototype they were testing now.

But anyways, John had been talking to another man who's cell was right next to Dr. Birkin's. He said that in the middle of the sleeping sessions, a man came to Dr. Birkin's door. He thought he had heard gunshots, but the walls in this place are so thick who can be sure? Either way, the guy said he saw some very big man wearing a face mask and all black walked out carrying a large bag.

The thought gave John chills as he buttoned his shirt and threw on his lab coat. Well, time to get back to the grindstone, he'd best leave those thoughts out of his head. But John couldn't help but wonder why William Birkin had been taken.

He sighed and pressed the code to the door, hearing the hiss as it slid open.

...Jesus Christ...

Dr. John Schibilski had stepped out of the bright light of his room into the red glow of the emergency back up lights. The main power had been shut off, and it was sweltering. But that wasn't what made John shiver with fear. A body lay contorted upon the floor of the hallway in front of him, and although it was dim he could tell she was dead. She was in such a position that John could tell her spine had been severed, her face and skull torn completely open and twisted. Several of her fingers were bent backwards, and both her arms were tucked tightly into her chest like a spider the way it curls up when it dies.

She stretched out in a puddle of sticky, crimson blood that squeaked when John moved his shoes in it. The liquid had come from several punctures in her chest. Large holes. The smell was terrible, she'd been dead for a few hours. John gagged, feeling his throat tickle and burn with his puke as he turned away.

"Oh God," he coughed, his body shivering despite the stressing heat, "So-somebody! Somebody help! I need help!"

Nothing called back but the distant drone of the emergency power.

John ran. He didn't know where he was going, just anywhere where there might be someone. He sprinted down the hallway, calling frantically. God, please God don't let it be that one of the biological weapons had gotten out. He could just imagine it. Some of them were so awful, not even his nightmares could create something as horrid.

"Help! Please!"
He knocked on nearly every door. No answer from any. Just that steady, steady hum that became louder. As he ran everything seemed to go from bad to worse. Blood was smeared along the walls, shattered glass, more bodies lining the floor. A head simply laying their, the expression of a young man in fear, the sight of death in his lifeless eyes. John hurriedly hung a right down one of the hallways. He needed to get to security, to find out what had happened.

Please don't let it be that one of the test subjects had gotten loose. They were the epiphany of nightmares. Blood covered the walls and floors, the bodies scattered in harsh ways, their figures telling stories of how they were killed. They had been murdered, ravaged by something intoxicated by rage, in a ferocity without benevolence.

John stopped to catch his breath, the bodies of two older men crumpled beside him. Had the bodies been infected? If they were attacked by anything with the T-virus in it, then yes they most certainly would be. He leaned down and examined the perforations along their mangled bodies. Amidst the meaty glop and blood, John could barely discern a small hint of a that milky whitish, bubbling chemical. They were carriers, and soon the T-virus inside of them would take over their entire body and they would be able to walk again. John shuddered to think of the carriers en masse like this. He'd better keep going-

What was that? John listened for he was almost certain he had heard a clicking type sound. There it was again, a low, hiss berated by a sloppy series of wet clicks. The sound almost like a moist purr, only it sounded bad. John turned, and in the dark red he could barely see a shadow coming forth. It was big, looming over all as it slowly crept towards him. Furious, wide eyes stared at him, a maniacal grin of stained, needle-like teeth. Countless limbs that carried its shadowy, forthcoming figure. Long, bony arms, daggered fingers and it's entire figure just dripping with sticky black scarlet.

John gasped at it's site, it's angry eyes staring at him with a thirst. He ran. He ran as fast as he could, flying for the security rooms. He looked over his shoulder to see that the phantom had not began heavy pursuit. It simply maintained its steady pace, coming closer...closer. It could break into speed at any second, and the thought horrified JOhn. He ran faster, barely making corners as he tried to lose it.

The monster, she had done this. How he knew that, or well that she was female, he couldn't say. He just knew. Her presence was so powerful, so haunting. He knew it was she who had killed everyone, spreading the infection. Finally he came to the door and burst into the room, electronically locking the room behind him.

The security room was quiet, the bodies of the two guards on duty crippled together in the corner, blood splotches along the wall and dotting over their faces. Their eyes were both rolled back into their sockets, their mouths gaping and their skulls smashed open. For some reason, their bodies were the worst he had seen. Their slumped figures got to him, just eating away at his sanity.

John shuddered and turn to the only light source throughout the entire room, the massive wall of monitor screens displaying the many areas of this section of the facility. John stumbled to the monitors, looking over his shoulder at the red glow that stared at him through the window of the door. He turned back.
Biological weapon containment...where were the screens that watched those rooms. John had to find what subject got out. He had seen it, but it was so...so horrifying he wasn't sure if he had been hallucinating. She was so silent, her eyes intelligent but filled with lusting rage. God...she was the peak of any mortal's nightmare. Her image haunted him, the thought of her spindly legs and slowly twisting skull with that crooked grin.

His thoughts were shook as he found the monitors containing the simple, black and white images of the metal and glass containment cells for the test subjects. The 121's, John had prayed they were still contained. He checked for the cage-cam screen. He melted in relief was he saw the muscled figures of the 121 "hunter" projects still pacing back and forth solemnly in their massive cage. He checked the new tyrant specimens...301, 302, 303...all the way to 313, they were all accounted for; including the new "nemesis" project. It slept standing up in the thick, glass tube that was wreathed in steaming fumes.

John was about to check the beta 121's when suddenly he heard it. The clicking. The incessant clicking as she drew closer. John turned around to face the door. He watched it in terror, wanting so bad to shut his eyes and pray to god but somehow petrified with his eyes transfixed upon the red light that seeped from behind the door. He stood in the pitch black of the room, the glow of the monitors to his back, the dim red glow of the emergency lights outside showing upon the sweaty beads of his face.

Then suddenly he could see her figure slowly drive away that red light through the doorway, her face taking up the entire window, pressed up against the glass and staring. Insane, intent eyes focused on him as she breathed against the window through her long, narrow teeth. Her wrinkled, twisted face staring at him. Wanting his flesh.

"No..." he pleaded, "Just go away! You've killed enough! Just go away!"

But she slowly shook her head.

"Oh god..." John whispered, shrinking away against the computers and monitors.

With sudden force she burst from away from the window, rattling it. A cacophony of clanging, scraping claws, and pounding against steel shook and bent the ceiling above John. She was in the ventilation system, she was coming for him.

Louder and louder the beating, scratching sounds came, clambering hungrily for John Schibilski in the darkness. They were right above him now, seething, agonizing, booming noise that dug like bent fingernails into his ears.

John screamed and covered his entire face as his legs gave out-

-The noise stopped.

John's hoarse voice began to whimper and cry as he crumpled to his knees, his hands no longer touching his face but guarding it with quivering fingers. He waited...his eyes clamped shut. Waiting for death. Silence had never been so loud, pulsing in his ears as he cried and pleaded meaningless words.

Uneasily, he pulled his hands from his face, and opened his eyes.

Her stare met him face to face, gaping teeth and fierce eyes staring wide, their veins pulsing as her entire face dripped with blood from her victims. She screamed, a high, croaking wail that sounded like a hundred years of brutality and agony. John screamed as he felt her spindly fingers grab him and hurl his bodies into the wall of monitors.

He felt the screens shatter and electricity spurt out in a display of sparks and white streaks against his back, the feeling of heat and glass falling with him. His body rebounded, his face and chin colliding with the table edge and tumbling along the hard floor. He groaned and cried, picking himself up with bloody, burned hands. His chin was split wide open, his lip and back torn as he dragged himself into the corner, aware of only her heavy breathing behind him. She was just playing with him.

He backed into a corner and turned to face her, knowing his death could only be prolonged now. The flashes of electricity from teh slowly dying monitor screens lit the room like a strobe light. Flashing on and off. A brilliant burst of light, then complete darkness. Another flash, another moment of shadow. Each flash he could see every other detail of her demon-like body.

She now hung from the ceiling with her spindly, crooked legs. She was like a spider, a human, a ghost, and a winged demon without skin or soul. A brilliant flash, and she began to crawl long the ceiling, her long black hair draping over her entire, massive body. Darkness, and John could only hear the rhythms of breath, one induced by hunger and the want to kill, the other in fear as the prey.

Another burst of light from the monitors, and she was closer, just reaching the wall above him, looking down with her hair already dangling down and tickling his shoulders. Darkness again, and he could know nothing.

Another flash, and she was closer, the veins in her face pulsing and pumping blood and chemicals throughout her body. Again darkness reigned, and John could feel her hot, rotten breath begin to sting at his face.

A final flash of light, and she was inches from his face. In that second, John knew all that she had suffered and been through. It was her time for vengeance, she had killed all of these people with the intent of infecting them. She wanted the entire world to know her pain and suffering.
"God, what have we done?" John whispered.

Darkness came, and he could feel her fingers penetrate his jaw and sink down into his chest and stomach, swimming around in his stomach before shredding his guts wide open.