This is re-boot/write/vamp of my original story, "Jailbait". I love that story to pieces, but looking back at it, it was severely flawed, so, here's the correction to that! I'm not saying that it will be better, but hopefully it will be improved! And if anyone is worried about "Jailbait" getting deleted, rest assured, any previous "Robin-verse" fic will not be touched. Since originally posted, I have removed the use of song lyrics.

It was the night before Wednesday, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mutated tyrant that originally could have been a mouse - Well, that was half true. There was something moving in one room of the quaint two story house. On the second story, down the T-shaped hall, over the antiqued rectangular rose rug, on the last room before the left side of the T-arm, I was laying snug in my cottony blue bed. Only, this particular night was different from every other one that came before it. I was with HIM, the man of my dreams, and nothing could have been more perfect than this night. The fancy CD player he had gotten me for my last birthday blared dully on the cherry baseboard over our heads, beating hardcore classics from the 90s and surrounding years, like Nine Inch Nails' "Closer". I was sprawled over the plain navy covers, my arm tucked over his shoulder as he caressed me with his lips, moving up from my neck to my mouth. We were getting hot and heavy for the first time, well, it was my first time, but I didn't want to think about that. He was MINE, not Jill's, not Sheva's, not any other hussy's. CHRIS REDFIELD IS MINE.

Five years ago...

A woman screamed, her voice ringing out for what seemed miles. The streets of the ordinarily quiet city were rampant with the undead, the very walls crawling with the infected hell spawn they turned into. In the ensuing chaos, buildings were ravaged, cars were abandoned and in various states of disrepair, shops were little more than shelves and spilled goods, houses were left open and abandoned, and the power was naught but a wavering afterthought. The blood-red sun was low in the mountainous and dusky horizon on the third day of that hell, night was rapidly encroaching the apocalyptic city. Hundreds upon hundreds of zombies shuffled along in plain sight, searching for fresh victims to feed their insatiable taste for human flesh. The few survivors that were fortuitous enough to live this long were searching for their last escape from the city.

A twelve year old girl, runty for her age and dangerously low on sleep due to this madness, ran to the one place she thought might still have been safe from this nightmare, feet pounding faster than her heart. She had lost her mother in the initial swell of people trying to evacuate the panicked city, and she had been trying to reach safety ever since. Covered from head-to-toe in the blood, guts, and gore from the living and undead alike, the girl was drenched as if she had dove head-first into a sea of blood. But that didn't matter now; only survival mattered in this place. Why, she wasn't sure, but something in her refused to succumb to the hordes of zombies that sought to feast on her. She had to made it out of this place, she just had to.

Reaching the old prison, assuming that it would be safer than the church only because of the church's proximity to the graveyard, she slipped in through the side door with the key had looted from the pocket of a dead police officer. Cautiously, as stealthy as a cat, she looked around the hallway, her loaded berretta perfectly aligned with her line of sight. The place seemed empty at first, and that worried the girl almost enough to leave right away, but besides the thick walls of the prison, she had required more provisions. Going against her gut feeling, the girl entered the building, carefully closing the door behind her, exploring the pitch-black police station. Gun always at the ready, she reached for the very first door she found, hand slipping off something too slimy to be blood...

"Urgh!" She groaned, wiping her hand on her pants.

The door was locked away, so she continued cautiously down the hallway, opening the fourth door she tried. The others were locked, but only the first was coated in that slimy-stuff, thankfully. Proceeding after Berretta, she was relieved to see that the back-up generator was in this room and in working condition, so she turned it on, flipping all the appropriate switches. For the first time in her life, she had been glad that her father was a grease monkey and had taught her some things about generators, engines, electric systems, and all that. The power buzzed on in the room, dimly, but at least now she could see, so she looked around the room, finding a tool that would help her mix ammo on the spindly workbench. It wasn't something she had been looking for, but it was an object that would certainly come in handy, so she put it in her bag for later. Tired, she made sure the room was secure before locking the door and curling up on the workbench.

She thought about how everything had happened to her, how she had lost everyone in a single day. The day had started out sunny and bright, a prefect Friday to just laze around the school. But by noon, everything had changed. She had gotten into a fight with another girl that morning, so the school had called her mother to pick her up, and on the way home, the first of the zombies emerged. Many of the people had crashed or gotten into other accidents, and because of that, her mother had pulled the car over and told her that they would walk home. There were only a few more blocks to go before they would reach the house, but panic had swept the streets in a jolting frenzy, and the girl's mother had been swept away in the crowd. Struggling against the masses to get back to her daughter, she stopped short. Just a short ways off, a young officer had tried to contain the widespread fear by taking control of the situation, but a crazed citizen had pulled out a gun. Managing to save his own life, the officer had directed his assailant's arm in another direction...Just within arm's reach, the girl's mother fell on the sidewalk, facedown. Crying, the girl bent down on her knees and clung to her mother, unable to look away from the hole in the back of her head. Her long black hair was sticking together in a red matte, and her brain, halfway blown away, was exposed for all to see.

At first the girl had cried at lot about losing her mother like that, almost for two straight days, but when her tears had started to alert the monsters to her presence, she had no choice but to man-up if she wanted to survive. Finding a handgun and a clip from behind the counter of the store she had broken into, she aimed at the slack-jawed cannibal closest to her. Switching something off in her head, she pulled the trigger of the small gun, splattering its brains so that she and the counter were both covered. Ignoring the nasty smell, she immediately fired at the other two creatures, taking them down with only a few shots. Realizing that the shop had been compromised, she grabbed some foodstuffs from the selves and replaced them with her school things, slinging her black backpack on her back and leaving before more could come. After spending a few hours crammed up in a tree for a short, fitful sleep, she had ventured to the old jail...

The girl snapped upright, giving herself whiplash, hearing a moan from outside the door. So there were zombies here as well! Actually relieved to hear the moan, the girl tiptoed to the door and took a peek from behind the dusty blinds. In the frosty-white light, she made out at least two, one just outside the door, and another down the hall by a pair of barred double doors. Checking her supply of ammo, the girl thought that it would be better to travel through the ventilation system in case there was something stronger out there. Hopping on the bench, she reached out for the open vent and climbed in, but not before she kicked over a metal clamp. Drawn by the sound, the two undead began pawing at the door, but sadly they were too late; she was already looking down in the next room.

"Hm," She watched through the slits in the vent as a single monster wondered under the vent, a map of the station on the wall just opposite it.

Slowly removing the grating from the vent, she dropped from the hole on top of the creature's shoulders, like a parent holding their toddler on their shoulders. It tried to turn its head to bite her, but she was firmly planted to its neck so that it couldn't move, though she was not strong enough to snap its neck with her thighs, so she clung to it, pulling out a long hunting knife from her belt, impaling it directly in the forehead. It fell down to the hardwood floor, dead, and she stood up after pulling the weapon from its head, cleaning her knife on its blue uniform. She knew she had gotten lucky that time.

"Uh-huh," She nodded, unpinning the map from the wall and looking it over before putting it in the side of her backpack.

Examining the room more closely, it was the boss's office, smartly decorated with numerous awards and accomplishments. And it was full of ammo! Taking her pick, the girl picked up as many cases as she could carry in her bag and put in a few extra. About to leave, she noticed that there was a radio on the desk, so she clicked it on, hoping that it would reach far enough for help. This very well could have been her last shot at hope.

She was about to speak, but someone else was trying to contact the radio, "Hey, what's going on out there? Over."

"We need evac...Over." Her voice was cracked and dry, and quite frankly, she was surprised that she still had one.

"What's your location? Over?" The voice was old, tired maybe.

She looked at the map, seeing both a street address and coordinates, "I'm at the old police station on Raven and 5th, over."

"Rodger. Someone will be dispatched, so you just stay put, alright? Over." The radio flickered for a moment.

"Understood. Over," She put the radio by her knife, praying that the rescue would happen soon, "Please, I don't want to die..."

Two days later, she was still physically unharmed, using both her wits and small size to her advantage. When Barry Burton had arrived at his destination to collect the survivors, only one was waiting for him: a twelve year old girl and she had been through hell, he could tell from the half-dead scared look in her eyes, "Are the one who called?"

"..." She looked at him, muted from the shock of her experiences.

He took her home with him before the fate of the city had reached the government and the place was sanitized, and within the year, he and his wife had adopted her and given her the name Robin, for the insignia on her backpack. Robin Stacy Burton slowly regained her ability of speech over the years, but she never once showed any signs of regaining her memories from her life before the incident. Though they were concerned by that, no body minded too much, because she was happy and functioning. And even though no one knew it, Barry's close friend and old partner didn't hurt her choice to live in the present either. True, he was eighteen years her elder, but that didn't stop her from liking him.