1: The New Recruit
Resident Evil: A Change In Pace
Alt. Title - Biohazard: A New Direction Taken
A Resident Evil Fanfiction
By Snafu the Great
Snafu's Disclaimer and Introduction: I do not own the motley crew, locations, weapons and viruses/Plaga used in the Resident Evil universe. If I had, I would stick Al Wesker, Chris and Evil Jill in a cage match against Ryu, M. Bison (the dictator) and Chun-Li. I claim the OCs, so that's not that big of a loss. With the completion of Resident Evil 5, there was a nagging thought in the back of my demented little skull...what if certain events in the storyline played out differently than in the official canon? Which is why for the past year, I've been working on this little project after completing Resident Evil: Reflections. It's far from complete, but the story is coming along nicely.
This fanfic is basically, a look into the lives of the First Couple of Survival Horror, and it follows most of the official storyline, but with a twist. Taking a page out of J.J. Abrams' book when he did Star Trek, this is an 'alternative universe fanfic,' in which as mentioned above, key elements have taken place differently in this fanfic. This fanfic has plenty of violence, so you have been warned. Also, this fanfic will cover Resident Evils 1-5, as well as Code: Veronica and Degeneration.
Also, I must warn you that both Chris and Jill are slightly out-of-character, mostly as to how they fight, their personalities, and use various types of firearms, some of which was inspired by the scenes in Resident Evil 5 where Jill beats the shit out of both Chris and Sheva, as well as Chris's military background, and his upcoming appearance in Marvel vs Capcom 3. Their styles will be revealed as the story unfolds. Also, as I was researching the characters on RE Wiki, I saw that some of their vital stats (mainly, their heights) were retconned for Resident Evil 5, so I'm going to go with those as well. And no, Chris will not look like he's been juicing up on steroids by the time Kijuju rolls around. He starts off with a medium build ala Royce from Predators, and will progress throughout the story.
Most of the information I picked up regarding the weapons and certain viruses/Plaga I give credit to Resident Evil Wiki. Part of my inspiration for writing this fanfic comes from Story of Us, also a RE fanfic written by strike, as well as several fanfics by The Magnificent Kiwi. I also drew inspiration from the Wildstorm comics, as well as the S.D. Perry novels, and RE: Apocalypse. And keeping with RE tradition, there's gonna be plenty of diary and journal entries in the story. Oh, and be on the lookout for appearances from characters in the series. I hope you enjoy this fanfic.
UPDATE: No, this story is not dead. Not by a longshot. I had to retcon Jill's ethnic background for the story, as official canon has her as French on her father's side and Japanese on her mother's side. Plus, Jill has a more intimate connection to Umbrella aside from P-20. Plus, some chapters have some new stuff added to incorporate Jill's mixed ancestry.
Part One - Raccoon City
Chapter One: The New Recruit (Rewrite)
A.N.: For time purposes, I've used part of a discontinued RE fanfic for parts of the first chapter. Also, the minor errors are corrected.
Raccoon City, Colorado – 200 miles southeast of Denver (one year before the Mansion Incident...)
Raccoon City. A nice mountain town located at the base of the surrounding Raccoon Forest and the Arklay Mountains whose population barely reached over 100,000.
It was also raining. Or it has been, for most of the day.
Christopher Redfield was sitting in his truck, an old Ford pickup, listening to the radio at the traffic light. The windshield wipers were thumping back and forth, as Chris popped a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. So far, he had not touched a cigarette ever since leaving the Air Force, keeping his promise to his sister, hence the gum.
The crash, followed by the bone-rattling impact caught Chris off guard. He lurched forward in his seat, but his seat belt kept him from going through the window. After a few moments, he realizes two things: One, he was pushed into the intersection by a few feet. Two, he had been rear-ended. He looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw another car – a classic 1967 Chevrolet Camaro – wedged between his truck and a smaller truck. He groaned to himself as he undid the seat belt and jumped out of the truck.
"This is not my day," he muttered to himself.
For the owner of the Camaro, a slender, dark-haired woman, this definitely was not supposed to happen.
Jillianne C. Valentine sat in her car, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, listening to her CD. Her three-day vacation was over and she was on her way to the Raccoon Police Department, at Captain Wesker's request when the accident happened. The S.T.A.R.S. were getting themselves a new teammate, highly recommended by Barry himself, and Wesker had requested both Alpha and Bravo teams to be present.
She felt her car being slammed from behind. A second later, her car had smashed into the truck in front of her. Even though she had her seat belt on, she was jerked around pretty good.
“Ow,” Jill winced as she rubbed the spot on her head where she had struck the steering wheel. She looked in her rear-view mirror. She had been rear-ended, her car propelling into the pickup that was in front of her.
She unbuckled her seat-belt and got out of the car, just as the driver in front of her got out of the truck.
Despite the unusual circumstances, Jill looked at the guy. He was attractive, tall, standing at six feet tall, with short, spiky brown hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed in a T-shirt, and khaki pants. Jill noticed that the guy was muscular. Not like Barry, who lived in the gym when he wasn't at work or spending time with his family, but more leaner and wiry. Given her past stint in the Army, Jill saw that his posture read military.
Chris looked at the woman. She was very attractive, exotic, but not petite, standing at five feet eight, with short brown hair ending at her neckline, the hair pulled back into a short ponytail. The unusual thing about her that stood out was her eyes. Most dark-haired women in general had brown eyes. This woman, however, her eyes were a unique shade of blue. Her lithe figure showed through the blue denim jeans and the black T-shirt with the phrase TOKEN REQUIRED emblazoned on the front. A pair of tennis shoes adorned her feet.
The car, however, would have to be towed. Chris's truck, thankfully was made out of harder stuff. He would still be able to drive.
“You okay?” Chris asked.
Jill nodded. “I'll live,” she replied as she turned to her car. “Wish I can say the same about my car. I just had the thing detailed. Now I'm gonna be late.”
By this time, the third driver, the one who caused the wreck, had emerged from the truck, blubbering apologies. Apparently, he had skidded on the wet road and slammed into the Camaro.
By this time, the police had arrived. Chris noticed that two of the cops knew the woman by name. His suspicions were confirmed when she flashed her badge at the two.
While the two cops were busy getting the statement from the third driver, Chris walked over to Jill. “You're a cop?” he asked.
“I am,” Jill replied. “How do you know?”
Chris pointed to the cruiser. “Those two officers knew who you were. When you showed your badge to them, that confirmed it for me. I can give you a lift to the police station, since I'm headed that way. First day on the job and I'm gonna be late.”
“You're joining the police force?”
“Yup. I've been recruited into some elite unit in the R.P.D. Special Tactics and Rescue Squad.”
“Service,” Jill corrected. “Special Tactics and Rescue Service, or S.T.A.R.S. for short. I work with them.” She then paused for a moment. “Wait a second...Wesker and Barry were talking about a new member being recruited to the team, some ex-military commando.”
“That would be me. Looks like we'll be working together,” Chris said, flashing Jill a smile that was rougish. He extended his hand. “Chris Redfield, formerly of the United States Air Force.”
Jill shook his hand. “Jill Valentine.”
From that day forward, nothing was simple.
Jill's car had to be towed away. Fortunately, Chris's pickup was still drivable, given its toughness, although the cargo door had a brand new dent. Since Chris was heading for the police station anyway, he gave Jill a lift.
By that time, the rain had started back up again.
“So do I call you Jill or Valentine?” Chris asked.
“Jill's fine,” Jill replied as Chris turned onto Ennerdale Street. “First time in Raccoon?”
“Nope. Claire and I were raised here,” Chris replied.
“My younger sister. She's graduating from Raccoon High this year,” Chris explained. “You?”
“I'm an only child. I was born and raised in Stone Ville. I've been in Raccoon for several years. It's not bad, but being one of Raccoon's finest was something I wasn't planning on doing.”
“So what were you doing before you became a cop?” Chris asked.
“Professional thief,” Jill replied casually. “You ever heard of the 'Gentleman Thief,' Dick Valentin?” When Chris nodded, Jill continued. “I'm his daughter. He taught me the tricks of the trade. When I was sixteen, I was breaking into cars. After I graduated from high school at seventeen, I got caught on a breaking and entering charge. The judge at my trial gave me a choice – jail for five years or join the military for four years in order to learn some discipline. So I enlisted in the Army, stationed over in Fort Bragg with the 82nd Airborne, and later, Fort Belvoir. I was discharged at twenty-one with the rank of Specialist. I didn't want to return to my hometown, so I moved here, got a job with the R.P.D., and the rest is history.”
“Smart move. So how you got into S.T.A.R.S.?” Chris asked.
“I was working with the R.P.D. for almost half a year, specializing in break-ins, when I was asked by Captain Wesker for help on a difficult case,” Jill explained. “Thanks to my help, the case was closed faster than expected. The following day, Wesker approached me with a job working with S.T.A.R.S., and I accepted.”
“Look at it this way,” Chris said. “You're not in jail.”
“True. So what about you, Redfield? Any family other than your sister?”
Chris stiffened slightly. Jill noticed this and cursed mentally to herself. She had hit a sore spot with Chris.
“My parents were in a car accident when I was seventeen,” Chris explained. “Drunk driver hit them head-on. The drunk survived without a scratch. They were both killed on impact. I had to raise Claire on my own. I allowed her to return to Raccoon City for her senior year in high school.”
“I'm sorry,” Jill replied. “And the driver?”
“Serving life in prison, no parole.”
Jill could sympathize with Chris. She too had lost her mother at a young age, leaving her father to raise her by himself. But she couldn't help but to be impressed by the level of responsibility that radiated off of Chris. Aside from being a career military man, he had raised his sister by himself.
“And here we are,” Chris said as he pulled the truck into the parking garage that was situated across the street from the stone building that housed the Raccoon Police Department.
Chris cut the engine and removed the key from the ignition. “Excuse me,” he said as he reached over to his glove compartment and unlocked it.
Inside the compartment was a handgun. A Heckler and Kotch USP handgun, military issue, unlike the police-issued Browning Hi-Power pistols and VP70s that the R.P.D. used. Chris reached inside and removed the weapon. Making sure that the safety was on, Chris stuck it inside his shoulder holster, which Jill now noticed that it was concealed by his bomber jacket.
“Nice gun. USP?” Jill inquired.
Chris nodded. “Yup.” He motioned to the gun – a Heckler and Kotch VP70 – on her hip holster. “I see you're also into the H&K models.”
“They're standard firearms for the R.P.D., aside from the Browning Hi-Power handguns,” Jill explained as she and Chris got out of the truck. “I'm not that really big on the Brownings. Since you're expected, just follow me.”
The courtyard gates were open, allowing Chris and Jill to enter easily. Upon entering the lobby of the R.P.D., it was bustling with activity. Uniformed police officers and plainclothes detectives went about their business. Just another day at the office.
Chris looked around the place. “The R.P.D. bought out the old art museum?”
Jill nodded. “We grew out of the old station house,” she explained. “The city gave the police force a pretty sweet deal. Follow me.”
Jill lead Chris down to a set of double doors. When they entered the reception area, they were stopped by one of the cops there. Like most of the others, he was in uniform, the name tag read RYMAN.
“Morning, Valentine,” the cop greeted.
“Morning, Kevin,” Jill replied.
Kevin Ryman looked at Chris. “Who's he?”
“The newest member of S.T.A.R.S.,” Jill replied. “Sorry, Kevin. You didn't make it through the selection process.”
Kevin's jaw dropped. Usually, the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. unit would recruit members within the police force. This guy was a newcomer, and had taken his spot.
Jill decided to leave Kevin alone and lead Chris down to another corridor – an L-shaped hallway.
“Selection process?” Chris inquired. “Since when did S.T.A.R.S. had a selection process?”
“It was something that Captain Wesker had cooked up,” Jill explained. “He wants only the best of the best. Kevin's flunked the selection process twice. Come to think of it, this is the first time that Wesker's hired someone outside of the R.P.D.”
“Actually, I got a friend who works here,” Chris admitted. “Barry Burton.”
“Wait. You know Barry?” Jill asked.
Chris nodded. “My dad knew him when he used to work here at the police station, so yeah, I know him. He promised to put in a good word for me with your boss. Barry called me last night, telling me that I was hired and to come here today.”
“That explains a lot,” Jill said. “But still...you're probably the first person outside the R.P.D. that Wesker's ever hired, and he's very picky about those who want to join up in S.T.A.R.S. Better hope you can live up to the Captain's expectations, or else you'll be out of a job.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Chris dryly remarked.
“That wasn't advice. That was a warning. Captain Wesker's a perfectionist,” Jill corrected as they reached another door, and another long hallway.
“What can you tell me about Captain Wesker?” Chris asked.
“Well, he sees himself as something of a Renaissance man,” Jill explained. “Total Machiavellian attitude, but he's a brilliant commander. He's also pretty anti-social, for some reason. I've never seen him outside the police station. Look for a guy with slicked back blond hair, wears black and has a pair of shades on his face.” Soon, they reached a set of double doors. “Here is the briefing room. The others should be here.”
Inside the Briefing Room, there were over a dozen men inside, seated at the desks, chatting amongst themselves. Chris took notice of the single man standing behind the podium – a walking mountain of muscle with reddish brown hair.
The man also took notice upon seeing Chris and Jill enter the room. "You made it, Chris," Barry Burton said, shaking his hand. “Find the place okay?”
Chris nodded. “Good to see you too, Barry. How's Kathy and the girls?”
“They're doing fine,” Barry replied. “Kathy sends her regards.” He motioned to Jill. “I see you met our resident 'Mistress of Unlocking' already.”
“He gave me a lift,” Jill said. “I got rear-ended on my way here and rear-ended his truck. He told me who he was and why he was here.”
It was then the doors opened and the captain of the Special Tactics and Rescue Service stepped in. A man, late thirties, dressed in black, with blond hair, neatly combed back, the pair of expensive shades covering his blue eyes. In one hand, was a manila folder with the name REDFELD, CHRISTOPHER LAWRENCE emblazoned on the front.
The man looked at Chris. “You're Chris Redfield?” he asked.
Chris nodded. “I am. You must be Captain Wesker.”
Albert Wesker nodded as he shook Chris's hand. “Good assumption. Albert Wesker, S.T.A.R.S. commander. And it's just Wesker. We're a low-key outfit here.” He motioned to the file in his hands. “Been looking through your file. Makes for some interesting reading.” He opened the folder and began to read off Chris's stats and accomplishments. “Christopher Lawrence Redfield. Born 11 April 1973 at Naval Station Norfolk, Virginia. Moved to Raccoon City with his parents at age 5. Parents deceased – Scottish ancestry on your father's side, mother's a Dutch immigrant. A younger sister. Graduated from West Raccoon High School at the age of 14 with an IQ of 198 – most impressive, with high marks in mathematics, physics and science. Fluent in several languages, pretty handy. Graduated from Raccoon University at 17 with a double degree in Advanced Mechanics and International Relations.”
Jill looked at Chris, obviously shocked, as were the gathered members inside the briefing room. Appearances were obvious misleading, since she didn't peg Chris Redfield as a genius, since his devil-may-care attitude was very deceiving.
Chris caught her look and simply shrugged his shoulders. “What? So I'm a prodigy.”
“Commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Air Force, the youngest in its history, following completion of Officer Candidate School. Did you know that Jill here is also ex-military?” Wesker asked, nodding his head in Jill's direction. “If memory serves, she was in the Army for four years. She also received firearms and advanced combat training from First Special Forces Operational Detachment. Aside from that, she is – or was – the youngest ever to join the Army's Military Police Corps at the age of nineteen. The standard recruiting age for the military police is twenty-one.”
Chris looked at Jill, surprise written on his own face. “Delta Force, huh? That part I did not know.”
Wesker chuckled as he continued to read off Chris's dossier. “Assigned to the U.S. Air Force Security Forces, and later, U.S.A.F. Combat Control Team as a sharpshooter. Crack-shot, ranked second in international competition. Skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and an accomplished mechanic and pilot. Awards include the Purple Heart, the Silver Star – twice, Air Force Cross – also twice, countless recommendations from various officers. Court-martialed and found guilty for exceeding authority over his rank and insubordination, and was given a choice: a dismissal or a general discharge with rank intact.” He closed the file. “Care to explain?”
Despite Wesker's eyes concealed by his shades, Chris met his gaze. "I believe that human life means much more than rank, Wesker."
“I was a First Lieutenant when I volunteered for a stint with the U.N.,” Chris began. “I was friends with a RAF officer named MacPherson. Crazy bastard from Liverpool, but a good man. We were sent to the Balkans on a special peacekeeping mission when we were caught in a sniper's nest. Three of the U.N. representatives were killed, and two members of my team was injured, myself included. The order to withdraw was given, and to cut our losses. But I couldn't leave MacPherson out there to bleed to death.”
Wesker put two and two together. “You went back and rescued your fallen comrade.”
“That's right. MacPherson pulled through, thankfully. Should have gotten a medal. Instead, I was put on trial for disobeying orders. I was found guilty and given the choice of facing time in the brig, a loss in rank and a dismissal, or a general discharge with my rank intact. I chose the latter.”
“Pretty noble thing, saving your friend's life,” Wesker admitted. “But insubordination does not fly with me, Redfield. You work for and take orders from me, understand?”
Chris kept his poker face. “Crystal.”
“There's an open spot in Alpha Team, due to the fact that I had to move some people around,” Wesker continued. “And since some of the officers told me about how Valentine literally ran into you, she's your new partner.” He turned to the other men in the room. “This is the pride of the Raccoon Police Department – Special Tactics and Rescue Service. You'll be working with me on Alpha Team. Barry's the second-in-command.”
“Gee,” the man in the bandanna said from the front row. “You sure know how to make friends quick, Jill.” he stood up and shook Chris's hand. “Joseph Frost, mechanic.”
Joseph pointed to the other man who was asleep on the desk. "That's Brad Vickers, our resident pilot. We all call him 'Chickenheart,' due to the fact that he's better off in a chopper than on the battlefield."
Brad raised his head. "Bite me," he said before placing his head back onto the desk.
Chris surveyed the rest of the men in the room. “And this is Bravo Team, right?”
The dark-haired man with the mustache and stubble nodded. “That's right.” He stood up and shook Chris's hand. “Enrico Marini, leader for S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team.”
He pointed a thumb to the rest of the men. These are my men. That's Kenneth Sullivan, our biochemist, Richard Aiken, our communications expert, Kevin Dooly, our pilot, and that's Forest Speyer, our marksman. Edward's not here. He's at home nursing a cold."
Forest took a step forward. "You're the new guy, huh? So what's your specialty?"
Chris's eyes flashed as he rose to the challenge. "Marksman."
Forest humphed. "Funny. I'm also a marksman. So what are your credentials, Redfield?"
"You heard it from Wesker,” Chris replied. “Crack-shot, ranked second. I even got several marksman championships to back that up."
"OOooohh," the other S.T.A.R.S. members ad-libed.
"Okay," Forest said. "Let's see how good you are, Air Force."
"Lead the way."
Due to the fact that the Raccoon Police Department was lacking a firing range on the police grounds, the police firing range was located one block away from the police station.
Both Alpha and Bravo Teams were there, including Captain Wesker and Police Chief Brian Irons, as well as several police officers. Normally, Wesker would seldom be seen at the range, but he was just as curious as how good Chris Redfield is.
Meanwhile, Jill watched as the impromptu shooting contest went underway. Two of the cops, a tall, African-American man and a short-haired blonde woman around Jill's height, made their way over to the female S.T.A.R.S. member.
“What's going on?” Rita asked, her voice laced with her heavy Louisiana accent. “Who's the new guy challenging Forest to a shooting contest?”
“He's the newest recruit to S.T.A.R.S.,” Jill replied. “His name is Chris Redfield. Ex-Air Force commando.” She then added sheepishly, “I kinda rear-ended him this morning on my way in. Wesker's assigned us as partners.”
Marvin Branagh shook his head. “I don't want to know,” he said.
Meanwhile, Chris and Forest faced each other. "After you," Chris said.
Forest grinned and pulls out his Beretta handgun and proceeds to put an entire clip into the paper target. When the paper target came back, there were several holes in the head, chest and torso.
Chris shook his head. "My turn."
He took off his bomber jacket, revealing the shoulder holster underneath. Jill noticed that he was in good shape. He wasn't a gym buff like Barry, but the muscles were nicely defined. Chris pulled out his USP and ejected the clip. He picked up a fresh clip and a box of nine-millimeter parabellum rounds resting nearby. He then ejected the clip from the gun and began to load the new one with the bullets.
"What are you doing?" Forest asked.
Chris continued to load the bullets. "Just so you see that I'm not shooting blanks."
While Chris loaded his gun, Rita shot a look at Chris. “You gotta admit that he has a cute butt, Valentine,” she admitted.
That earned Rita a glare from the dark-haired woman. “Honestly,” Jill replied as she shook his head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Rita.”
“What? Can't say that I'm right, Jill,” Rita defended.
Chris finished loading the clip and slaps it home. Chris flipped off the safety and pulled the slide back, jacking a round inside the chamber, right before assuming a perfect ready stance and unloading all fifteen rounds into the paper target within the space of five seconds.
When the target came back there, was nothing but a single hole in the paper, right between the eyes.
Murmurs of amazement were heard throughout the firing range. Forest, in the meantime, did a nice impression of a fish out of water. Even Wesker and Chief Irons was impressed.
Jill did a double take. "Wow. Nice aim."
“Whoa,” was all that Kenneth had said.
Chris allowed himself a smug grin as he placed the weapon on safety.
“Impressive, Chris,” Wesker said. “Most impressive. Looks like Forest has himself a new rival.”
“He got lucky,” Forest snorted.
Chris's grin remained on his face as he reached for another clip and reloaded his gun. “You think so?” he asked, flipping off the safety and loading a new paper target. Pressing the button to send the target back, Chris said, “This time, I'm going to call the shots.”
Chris raised the gun. “Left pectoral.”
“Left and right kidneys.”
“Last, the Adam's apple.”
Chris pressed the button, bringing the paper target back. The gathered S.T.A.R.S. and police officers were in awe over Chris's marksmanship abilities as Chris once again put his piece on safety and placed it on the counter.
"Gee, he should be better off in uniform, rather than with S.T.A.R.S.," one of the officers said as he and the others piled out.
As Chris puts his jacket back on Wesker and Irons approach. "Can I see that weapon?" Wesker asks.
Chris hands him the gun and Wesker inspects it. "Hmm...H&K USP...military grade...not bad."
"Certainly not police or S.T.A.R.S. issue," Irons cut in. Turning to Chris, he introduced himself. “Irons. Brian Irons, Chief of Police. Good shooting.”
“Thanks,” Chris replied.
"In any case, welcome to the R.P.D." With that, Irons walked out.
Wesker, in the meantime, hands Chris back his handgun, who places it back in his holster. "Sorry, Chris, but you won't able to use that gun here. We'll get you a sidearm from the gun rack. I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning, Redfield. 9:00 a.m. sharp," Wesker said before following Irons.
Chris watches him leave. "He doesn't like anybody, does he?" he asked Jill.
"Not really. By the way, you're a pretty good shot," Jill replies as she and Chris walked to his truck. "Hey, can you give me a ride home later? It'll give me the chance to apologize for the dent I gave you."
The rest of the day was spent with Jill explaining the rules and regulations of S.T.A.R.S. Aside from training, the unit also helps the R.P.D. on various cases, serving as mechanics, detectives and in some cases, uniformed police. Chris's photograph was taken and he was issued his R.P.D. badge and police uniforms.
“Since we're going to be partners,” Chris said as he maneuvered his truck through the city streets, “and that you know my personal tidbits, what about you?”
“I'm French on my father's side,” Jill explained. “Dad's parents came from Lyon before moving to the States. Dad was born in Boston, but moved around a lot all over Europe, as Grandpa was an engineer. My mom was, believe it or not, Japanese. She lived here in Raccoon City, where she worked as a nurse at the hospital, before moving to Stone Ville.” She cocked her head to the side. “You don't look like a genius, you know. I always thought geniuses had the Coke-bottle-frame glasses and the pocket protectors with the wire braces on their teeth. I'm surprised that someone like you is working for S.T.A.R.S. instead of Umbrella.”
The Umbrella Corporation, the worldwide pharmaceutical conglomerate, had offices downtown and a chemical plant within the city limits, as well as a research facility in the downtown area. It was also one of the major sources of income for the Midwest city and was nearly responsible for downtown Raccoon's revival.
Chris chuckled. “Yeah, and you don't look like someone who's worked with Delta Force or with the Mps, let alone being half-Japanese. Believe it or not, I was actually scouted by Umbrella, Tricell, and several more organizations when I graduated from college. They had a pretty sweet deal, but the Air Force had an even better package for me. So I went to the military instead. Dad was a bit upset that the Navy didn't offer me a deal, but he got over it. What about you, Jill? Aside from being an ex-thief, do you have any talents?”
Jill ticked off her fingers. “Like you, I'm also a college graduate – Criminal Justice major. I graduated last year from Raccoon University. I'm also a peak athlete, and quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat myself, mostly kickboxing. I can also play the piano – something my mother taught me. Given my upbringing, I can speak both French and Japanese. You already know about my stint in the Army as well as my training with Delta Force with the military police. Thanks to them, I'm a crack-shot, third best on S.T.A.R.S. Forest is the top marksman, but given what I've seen you do, he's got some serious competition.”
“And your father?”
"We're still close, despite the fact that he's in jail. I visit him every chance I get," Jill replied. "It's okay, though. Turn left here." A smile crept her face. "It's funny, though, I really didn't have a normal upbringing when I was growing up. Whenever I was with Dad, he would teach me how to pick locks and break into homes."
"You mean he actually took you on some of his..."
Jill nodded. "Yup. Dad considered that 'on the job training.' When I got busted, he told me to take the deal, make something of myself. Here we are. Stop here."
Chris pulls to a halt in front of an apartment building. "Here you go."
Jill stepped out of the truck and closed the door behind her. "Thanks." She gave him a small smile. "I'm really sorry about this morning."
Chris waved her off. “Don't worry about it. No one got hurt, so it's okay.”
“Can you pick me up tomorrow morning?”
Chris nodded. “Sure. Eight okay with you?”
Jill nodded. “Perfect.”
Chris gave her a friendly wave before driving off into the night. Jill watched until the truck was out of sight and sighed. 'That was unexpected,' she thought as she stepped into her building. 'Rita was right. He does have a cute butt,' she thought wryly.
Next Chapter: A not-so-typical day working at the R.P.D. The S.T.A.R.S. get some new toys. Wesker gets a visit from an old college buddy. Chris and Jill's lunch hour gets cancelled while at the bank.