Darkness Arises: Reborn
By Metal Harbinger
Author's Note: As I've promised, this is going to be the rewrite for my smash hit (if you wish to call it that) "Darkness Arises," which I hope to make bigger and better than before, don't know so much about the "bigger" part just yet, but at least hopefully more refined than before.
As it was with the original version I am open only to constructive criticism! If you're going to be a dick and can't say anything positive or helpful, then move along because you've got nothing to see here. I am here on this site to have fun and learn new things I need to improve as a writer, as should everybody else who comes on here.
For a last minute legal disclaimer, I do not own Resident Evil nor do I own any of its characters, monsters, locations, etc. They are the property of Capcom and any similarities to real-life individuals, places, events, etc. are purely coincidental and not in any way intentional.
Also as shown in the opening of any Resident Evil game, this fic will contain scenes of explicit violence and gore, as well as strong language. Viewer discretion is advised.
Before I go any further I also wish to give a special thanks to Crow T Rob0t for volunteering to be my beta reader this time around and helping make it more badass than before.
Anyways, that's the end of my rant. As always read and review! Now on with the re-launch of Darkness Arises! Correction, it is REBORN!
Prologue: The Assignment
A ringing phone permeated the silent atmosphere of the small apartment, followed by the labored grunts of its lone occupant.
A loud grunt emanated from the large bed and a massive figure tossed and turned several times to stir himself awake before he finally reached a muscular arm over to grab the cordless phone on his nearby nightstand and nearly knocked it to the carpeted floor below. With the phone firmly in his grasp he switched it on, letting out a long, tortured sigh before he spoke.
"Hello Mr. Cavanaugh, it is a pleasure to finally speak to you," an icy voice boomed from the other end.
"What?" the man sat up in shock. He was now wide awake.
"Who are you and how the hell did you get this number?" Jake Cavanaugh growled as he swung his long legs over and placed his bare feet on the carpet. "More importantly, how the hell do you know my name?" he added clenching the phone tighter and wanting to strangle the mysterious individual on the other end.
"I know much about you Mr. Jacob Cavanaugh, or should I call you 'The Red Dragon' as your previous associates have called you," the man chuckled arrogantly.
Jake seethed in anger. Being woken up by a mysterious individual who seemingly knew him from out of nowhere was not the ideal way to start the day.
"Alright, who the hell is this? Are you a pig? If you are, I will track you down and then I'll rip your head off and shit down your fucking neck!" he snarled viciously. Using his free hand he reached for the Beretta 9mm. he always kept hidden underneath his pillow when he slept. The gun was fully loaded and in good working condition. If his phone line was tapped and the police were nearby waiting to ambush him, he would be prepared.
"My, my Mr. Cavanaugh, I knew you had quite the temper, but seriously is this any way to greet someone who comes bearing a generous offer?" the caller chimed, unafraid of the young man's rage.
"What offer? For all I know you're probably just some nameless schmuck with a death wish who'll use me and then try jacking me from behind when I least expect it!" Stepping towards the lone curtained window he gently pushed it aside and peered out what little space he had, searching the adjoining buildings and rooftops for any suspicious looking characters, but could find nobody else afoot in the early morning hours. "Believe me, you wouldn't be the first either!"
"Calm down my friend, I do not wish to harm you in any way. Like I just said, I'm here to make you an offer that could make you a very wealthy man," the caller continued.
Jake had heard that line before, both on Mafia movies and in person where the powerful Mafia don would try to make some nobody underling an offer he supposedly could not refuse and then leave him lying in a pool of his own blood afterward. For now he would play dumb and listen to what this fellow had to say.
"Go on!" he ordered lowering his head. Whatever this man had planned he hoped he would be too smart to fall for it.
"Thank you. Now as I have just stated, I am prepared to make you an offer that could make you a very wealthy man. I'm sure that you have heard about an incident that took place in Minnesota's Arklay Mountains back in late July, involving an explosion at the Spencer Estate, am I correct?"
Jake knew right away what the man was talking about.
Throughout the summer the small Midwestern metropolis of Raccoon City had been receiving tons of media attention after a series of brutal and bizarre "cannibal murders" had been reported throughout the surrounding forests. At first, the murders had been attributed to random wild animal attacks, but soon would be proven to be the work of cannibals, prompting the Raccoon City Police Department to mobilize its elite Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, or S.T.A.R.S. for short.
Little is known of what actually happened on the night of July 24, 1998, but when the night ended the Spencer Estate had been decimated and only five of the original thirteen S.T.A.R.S. members came out alive. They reported having encountered outlandish creatures such as zombies, green reptilian creatures, large spiders and other monstrosities and that some corrupt corporation was behind everything. All that was known afterwards was that the S.T.A.R.S. unit had been suspended indefinitely. The exact fate of the members themselves was unknown.
"Yeah, I know what you're talking about…" Jake replied "…so what does this have to do with me?"
"I'm glad you asked Mr. Cavanaugh and now we will get down to business. The incident at the mansion was caused by a viral outbreak. One of the main men behind the incident was a top-ranking scientist named William Birkin."
William Birkin. Jake had no clue whom that particular individual was, but he knew right away this so-called offer he was receiving would revolve around this man and he knew that he would have to pay attention to what this mysterious individual had to say about him.
"Alright, so where does this William Birkin fellow come into play?" he asked with great interest.
"Dr. Birkin is a top-ranking scientist with an international pharmaceutical conglomerate, known to the world as Umbrella Incorporated. I'm sure you are familiar with them as well."
Who wasn't familiar with the Umbrella Corporation? They were always in the national headlines in some way or another. Stories of their recent successes in the medical research field had been all over the news. Not only that, the company also had a hand in a series of other fields as well, such as computer software, beauty products, robotics and numerous other ventures that would practically put them in a high position wherever they chose to set up shop.
The man continued with his speech, "As of late, Dr. Birkin has been working on several top secret projects for Umbrella, mainly dealing with biological and chemical weapons."
Umbrella involved with chemical warfare? Now that was something new to him and had further piqued his interest.
"From what we know, the man is becoming increasingly paranoid. It has been figured for quite some time now that he has been using the company's equipment and funding to work on his own individual projects without the knowledge or approval of his immediate superiors. We believe he now suspects someone is on to him and fears that the corporation is trying to steal his research right out from underneath him. It is further thought that he may go public with his findings, or try keeping it to himself and possibly sell it to the highest bidder. Either way, it would be bad for business and we cannot have that. This is where you will come into play my friend."
"So what was Billy B. going to do with this pet project of his if he wasn't giving it to Umbrella?" Jake thought to himself, "It would be like inventing the light bulb, turning it on and cackling over its glow in a room by yourself."
"Okay, I'm listening…" he said easing himself back towards the bed never taking his eyes away from the window.
"Just who does this guy think he is? Is he some pencil pusher for Umbrella?" Jake mentally asked himself.
"Mr. Cavanaugh, I want you to eliminate William Birkin," the man said, slightly raising his tone, "You must get rid of that man by any means necessary. He has become too much of a nuisance for our liking and having read upon your track record we know you are the man for the job. I don't care what you have to do, if you have to shoot him, stab him, bludgeon him, run him over or even poison him, I want him dead. Kill anybody else that gets in your way too, we can't risk having any witnesses."
"So my reputation precedes me? I'm touched," Jake thought with a great deal of sarcasm. He then spoke aloud, "How much will I be paid for this job?"
"Ten million dollars," the man replied.
Ten million dollars, now that was a lot of money. Indeed it was a tempting offer, but he could not allow himself to be distracted by such a great dollar amount. He had no idea who this man was and he knew mysterious types like this always had some kind of ulterior motive in mind. Would he be sincere in following through with the promised reward? If this man had anything else planned, then so help him he had better come prepared because the Red Dragon would personally hunt him down and make him pay for his stupidity.
Jake paused before replying knowing he had to be careful, "Alright…I'll do it!" he spoke, "I'm warning you, if you are playing me then so help me God I will track you down and kill you along with this Birkin shithead!" he growled, his voice adopting a gravelly tone as it lowered.
There was a brief pause before the man spoke, almost as if Jake's threats were beginning to sink in. "I'm glad to hear it. I totally understand your concerns Mr. Cavanaugh and I assure you that this is the only job I will ask of you to perform. You will be paid handsomely for this job and then you will be able to move on as if I never even acknowledged your presence. Right now as I speak, an envelope is being delivered to your doorstep. It contains information regarding your mission and it will also contain some items you will need in this assignment."
"What? This bastard knows where I live too?" Jake's mind suddenly raced as he listened for any sounds from the hallway.
"I wish you good luck Mr. Cavanaugh and happy hunting!"
With those words the line went dead leaving no time to respond. The young man made a quick dash for the front door with his gun raised.
Hugging the wall to the immediate right of his front door, Jake put his ear to the wall listening for movement. Clenching onto his gun for dear life, the sound of heavy footsteps pounding on the floor outside at a rapid pace made his whole body tense up. Lowering into a combat position, he listened as they advanced further and further until they were directly in front of his door and the sound of a heavy envelope being dropped reached his ears. Slowly and quietly turning the doorknob he pulled the door open and stepped into the hall with weapon drawn.
"Got you now!" he cried hoping to surprise his so-called "visitor," only to leap back in stunned silence.
"What?" he half-shouted standing in the quiet hallway. He peered through the dimly-lit hallway searching for any possible intruders only to find some heavily-tattooed biker and a young couple, all of whom had their hands raised above their heads with looks of fear etched upon their faces as they noticed the handgun.
Cursing quietly to himself, he looked down to find a manila envelope that appeared to have no return address and no visible markings of any kind. Quickly snatching it up he slammed the door shut behind him before he could attract any more unwanted attention and then locked it, staring through the peephole a few minutes before taking a deep breath and stepping back.
Already this was getting too freakish to comprehend and he was beginning to find himself wanting to get the assignment done and over with.
"I'm going to find out what this shit is all about," Jake said as he walked across his small living room and collapsed onto an old couch. He opened the envelope and spilled its contents onto a coffee table, finding a series of letters, memos, maps and photographs, along with a red and black ID card belonging to Umbrella, Inc.
"Obviously in case I have to sneak around one of their facilities to find this chump," he thought to himself as he closely studied a photo of the man who was his target William Birkin, a scrawny scientist with shaggy blonde hair. Sifting through the rest of the documents he would spend the next hour learning more about the inner workings of Umbrella, Inc., the supposed "real story" behind the Spencer Estate incident, Raccoon City itself, the S.T.A.R.S. team and Birkin himself.
"Damn, this whole deal sounds like one heavy duty case. Might not be as much of a walk in the park as I thought it would be. With this guy being a top scientist for Umbrella I know I'd probably have quite a few people gunning for me if I took a shot at him in broad daylight. I'll have to sneak up on this guy somehow and take him out as quietly as I possibly can," his mind said as he sat back in deep thought, "If I'm lucky, maybe I could make it look accidental or like a suicide."
After some brief moments in thought he went about his normal morning routine. He walked over to his small kitchen area and made himself a quick breakfast consisting of a glass of milk, bowl of cereal and a couple pieces of toast. As soon as he finished he washed his dishes and then went into his bathroom to take a shower, shave and then brush his teeth. He observed himself closely as he did.
Jake Cavanaugh was a fairly nice looking young man for his twenty four years. He stood six feet three inches tall and possessed a toned, muscular build that could easily intimidate many of his lesser enemies and even some of his more powerful foes. His face was fairly chiseled and he had dark bluish-gray eyes that often gave off a cold, unforgiving stare. Large black eyebrows were a dominant feature on his forehead that emphasized his cold stares, giving him a hypnotic, almost vampire-like gaze that could bewilder anybody who tried to start trouble with him, especially when he was in a bad mood. On his chin he had a small strip of neatly trimmed black hair making up a small goatee and his head was covered with short jet black hair he normally wore spiked up, which at the moment hung down nearly obscuring his eyes. The features that stood out the most about him were his tattoos.
On his upper right arm he had a large red dragon surrounded by flames, which many surmised alluded to his infamous moniker "The Red Dragon." On his upper left arm was a cracked skull with a bluish tint, blood red eyes and belching flames. Running across his shoulders was a mysterious tribal design with an unknown meaning, one that left many guessing its origin. On his lower leg was a large scorpion tattoo, one whose presence again baffled many. Finally on both forearms he had two different Chinese symbols each, their interpretations again a mystery. Were they meant to symbolize a part of his life? Were they meant to be a tribute to somebody? Did they serve as a metaphor? Their meanings were unknown to all except for the owner himself.
Setting down his toothbrush the young man mentally cursed himself again as he caught sight of a long, ugly scar that ran across his right collarbone and ended just at his sternum.
Every time he looked at that scar he felt both the physical and mental pain from the very night he had received it, so intense he almost collapsed and had to grasp the countertop just to steady himself.
"Damn it, I did it again!"
Tossing an extra towel over his head he guided himself out of the bathroom and then led himself back into his living area and over to his bedroom.
To call his bedroom a total mess was an understatement, it looked like a war zone.
His two person bed was always unkempt and his only cover was a single comforter that barely kept him warm some nights. The walls were covered in ugly green and gold patterned wallpaper that was peeling and exposed several holes underneath. The contrasting gray carpeting was filthy and covered in numerous kinds of stains, including blood, and at the moment was littered with empty soda cans and beer bottles, food wrappers, crumpled papers, discarded articles of clothing and a smelly week old pizza box. Other than his bed, his other furniture consisted of a small nightstand next to his bed with an alarm clock, cordless phone and a small lamp. His cellular phone also rested there and was still plugged into its charger. In the northeast corner of the room was a dinged up wardrobe that held his clothes and next to it was a large mirror.
Walking over to the wardrobe he quickly threw on a pair of boxers and socks before pulling out a Kevlar bulletproof vest and adjusting the straps before strapping it on. Next was a black t-shirt with an elaborate red dragon design that closely resembled the red dragon tattoo on his upper right arm, his favorite t-shirt. A pair of black cargo pants followed and then his favorite red, black and silver Cyke tennis shoes and lastly, a pair of black fingerless gloves he slid on and then threw a few practice punches in the air to psych himself up.
Reaching further into the wardrobe he grabbed a utility belt that had two holsters on it and several pouches for carrying miscellaneous objects and clipped it around his waist. More holsters would follow as he strapped on a harness around his shoulders that would enable him to carry an additional firearm and a couple grenades if need be, a shin holster concealed beneath his pant leg for carrying his combat knife and lastly a military-style side pack hanging from his side held in place by braces that went around his torso.
Getting on his hands and knees he reached under his bed and pulled out two wooden boxes and set them both onto his bed. He then went over to his nightstand and pulled out a set of keys for unlocking the boxes and first opened the smaller box.
Inside was an S&W Model 629 .44 Revolver, a powerful, intimidating handgun that he had always been fond of. Despite not having to have used it much, Jake still polished the gun constantly treating it with great care as if it were his own child. He knew the gun would probably seem like too much for one inept scientist, but also knew the man would probably have some form of backup if he was as "high-ranking" as the man made him out to be. In a small compartment beneath the gun were six speed loaders and he loaded them into the small compartments within his utility belt.
In the larger box was another personal favorite of his, the SPAS-12 Assault Shotgun, a rapid fire beast that came equipped with a foldable stock and shoulder strap. It had gotten him out of several sticky situations in the past and he regarded it as another trusted ally. Next to the gun were two full boxes of 12-gauge shells and he loaded eight shells into the mighty weapon, double checking to make sure the safety was still on. With the eight shells in his gun he was left with 32 additional and slipped them into his side pack. Slinging the gun over his shoulder he then grabbed his cell phone and favorite pair of Battle Eagle sunglasses before making his way back into the living room/kitchen area.
Setting his shotgun onto the coffee table he made his way over to a closet near the entrance. Hanging on an inside hook was a large black trench coat he had custom tailored so it had several concealed pockets on the inside for weapons, ammo and other important items and also a specially crafted holster that would enable him to hide his shotgun. Sliding the large coat on he would look twice as intimidating, like a true badass hit man ready to wreak some serious havoc.
Kneeling down he picked up a small shoebox and inside found an extra Beretta and military-style combat knife he would place in their respective holsters and then searched through another shoebox filled with ammo clips for both guns. Opting to leave some extra ammo behind, he loaded up on three clips for each gun. Pulling an old duffel bag from the closet he loaded the ammo into it and then scooped up his shotgun and slid it in.
Just as he was about to shut the door behind him, he suddenly caught sight of a black metallic sheath glimmering in the light of the outer room. Picking it up and inspecting it more closely he was now able to make out the elaborate red dragon designs and gold Japanese lettering. Taking great care he slowly removed the blade and examined it. The blade had been well maintained, recently sharpened and still able to operate with quickness and precision as he took a couple practice slashes before slapping it back into its sheath.
"I think I'll be taking you with me too," Jake said to the sword like it was a person, "Who knows maybe I'll get a silent kill on the guy." He then slid the sheathed katana into the lengthy duffel bag along with his shotgun and made one last inspection for any weapons he might have lying around.
At the very back of the closet he spotted something that made him cock an eyebrow. Resting on a shelf was a line of six M67 fragmentation grenades he had completely forgotten about, leftovers from his last mission.
Deep down he knew it would be overkill to bring such weapons along, yet there was also this weird gut feeling telling him to bring them along. Having trusted his gut instincts in the past with favorable results in the end he caved in and finally grabbed the line of grenades, placing them carefully inside the bag.
For medical supplies he grabbed a can of Umbrella, Inc. manufactured first-aid spray, an item viewed by many as a generic "super drug" and one of the company's crowning achievements. When applied to cuts, bruises or even large gashes it could accelerate the body's healing process and with it the immunity to further risks of infection. It was also known to cure a cold or headache within minutes, ensuring an almost infinite cash flow for the pharmaceutical giant. In addition to the spray, he also packed some hemostat pills to clot any massive wounds, some gauze pads and bandages. He wasn't exactly field surgeon material, but he still carried the bare essentials of what he thought would be needed.
Grabbing his wallet (complete with a fake ID) he slid it into his pant pocket and then the envelope, slipping it into the duffel bag before zipping it up. He made one last sweep of his apartment to make sure he had everything he needed was with him and then stepped up to the front door, stopping to take one last look of his dingy surroundings before stepping out and locking the door behind him.
"This is it," he thought to himself slipping on his sunglasses and making his way down the hall.
The young man tried to tell himself that he was ready for this assignment, but deep down a voice was telling him that something was up and that he had better not underestimate the man he was being sent after, a valuable lesson he had learned in the past.
This wasn't his first assigned hit; he was a mercenary hit man who had already performed several successful assassinations in the past few years. However, ten million dollars had been the highest amount he was ever promised for a hit.
He had no idea he was about to be sent into and what seems like a simple mission is actually the beginning of a nightmare that will forever change his life.
Author's Note: This marks the end of my prologue for my DA rewrite and this time around whenever you seem me typing like this, this will mean that I am either typing one of Jake's thoughts or he is reading a note, diary, memo, etc. Also, if you take note of the kind of tennis shoes Jake is wearing, that is meant to be a reference to Nike tennis shoes, just trying to avoid any product infringement lawsuits! As I've stated before, this rewrite will retain elements of the original DA, but will also have plenty of new elements and events as well. Until then, that remains to be seen. As always, read and review and SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME!