Chapter 2 : Twenty-Four Hours
The military surplus store sat between a pawn shop and a laundromat on Raccoon City's east side. The kind of place that smelled like canvas and gun oil, with prices written on masking tape and a owner who didn't ask questions.
I needed someone who didn't ask questions.
"Trauma kit," I said, pointing at the glass case. "The good one, not the civilian model. And fifty feet of paracord."
The owner—heavyset, gray beard, Korean War veteran by the faded patches on his jacket—pulled the items without comment. His eyes tracked the way I moved, cataloging threat level. He recognized something in my bearing.
"Flashlights. Two. With extra batteries."
He added them to the growing pile.
I grabbed MRE packets from a shelf. Six of them. Not because I expected to be eating them—if things went bad enough to need emergency rations, food would be the least of my problems—but because preparation was a habit I couldn't shake.
"Duffel bag?"
He pointed to a rack near the back. I selected a black one, large enough for everything I'd need.
The total came to a hundred and twelve dollars. I paid in cash, left no trail. The owner watched me load the duffel with methodical efficiency.
"Army?" he asked.
"Once."
He nodded like that explained everything. Maybe it did.
The hardware store two blocks over provided the rest. Crowbar. Two rolls of duct tape. Chemical light sticks—the twelve-hour kind that snapped and glowed without batteries or flame. A clerk tried to make small talk. I bought my items and left.
Raccoon City moved around me like nothing was wrong. Cars honked at intersections. Pedestrians jaywalked. A woman yelled at her kid outside a coffee shop. Normal life in a normal town.
Tomorrow, they'd all be dead or running or turning into something that used to be human.
The duffel bag weighted my shoulder. In my old body, forty pounds of gear would have slowed me down. This body carried it like nothing.
I needed to test Marcus Harrison's credentials. Needed to confirm that his security clearance actually granted Hive access. If it didn't, my entire plan collapsed before it started.
The Umbrella corporate building rose fifteen stories above downtown Raccoon City. Glass and steel and the corporation's distinctive red-and-white logo. Guards at the main entrance. Scanner stations inside.
I approached with purpose. Confidence. The kind of walk that said I belong here without saying anything at all.
"Credentials." The guard held out his hand. Young. Bored. The easy shift before everything went to hell.
I handed over Marcus Harrison's ID card. The guard scanned it. My heart hammered against my ribs—not visible, not audible, but there. If this didn't work...
The scanner beeped green.
"Harrison. Security Division." The guard's posture shifted. Slightly more respectful. "You're cleared for all public areas. Restricted zones require escort authorization."
"Just need to check my duty roster."
He waved me through.
The lobby was corporate sterile. White floors, white walls, the Umbrella logo repeated on every surface like a religious icon. Security cameras tracked everything. I found a public terminal near the reception desk and logged in.
Marcus Harrison's file appeared. Security Contractor. Clearance Level 4. Authorized for Hive deployment. Next scheduled assignment: September 23rd, contingency response team.
My throat tightened. He was supposed to go into the Hive. Marcus Harrison had been assigned to the same mission I remembered from the movies. The same mission that killed almost everyone.
I logged out and walked toward the exit.
The revolving door caught me by surprise. Not the door itself—my hand brushing against the glass panel. The contact lasted half a second.
The glass cracked.
A spider web of fractures spread from where my palm had touched. No pressure. No force. Just contact—and damage.
I stared at my hand. The skin looked normal. Pink and calloused and unremarkable. But the glass was definitely cracked, and I definitely hadn't pushed hard enough to cause it.
Security would notice. The camera had probably caught my face.
I walked faster. Not running—running attracted attention—but moving with purpose away from the building and the evidence of whatever I'd just done.
Three blocks away, I ducked into an alley and examined my hand. No pain. No marks. Nothing to indicate I'd just cracked reinforced glass with an accidental touch.
Superhuman strength. Enhanced physiology. T-Virus integration.
The movies had shown Alice developing powers after her exposure to the virus. Telekinesis. Enhanced reflexes. The ability to match and exceed anything Umbrella threw at her.
But I hadn't been exposed yet. This body had never entered the Hive. Marcus Harrison, as far as I knew, had been baseline human.
Unless Umbrella had done something to their security contractors. Unless this body had already been modified in ways its previous owner hadn't known about.
Or unless whatever brought me here had done more than transplant my consciousness.
I didn't have answers. I had a cracked glass panel, a racing pulse, and more questions than time to investigate them.
A diner sign glowed two blocks ahead. My stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten since waking up in a stranger's body.
The booth was red vinyl, cracked and comfortable. The menu offered burgers and fries and the kind of breakfast that would kill a lesser man. I ordered a double cheeseburger with everything.
It tasted better than anything should. The meat was real, the cheese was melted properly, and the pickles added exactly the right amount of crunch. Simple food. Perfect food.
The waitress—middle-aged, tired eyes, name tag reading "DIANE"—refilled my coffee without being asked.
"Long day?" she asked.
"Getting there."
She left me alone. Professional distance. Exactly what I needed.
I ate slowly, watching Raccoon City through the window. People passed by in ones and twos. Couples holding hands. Business workers checking phones. A mother pushing a stroller.
Tomorrow, none of this would exist. The virus would spread. The city would fall. The government would eventually nuke the whole thing to ashes and blame it on a reactor meltdown.
I could run. That thought kept returning. Take Marcus's car and drive until Raccoon City was a memory. Find somewhere safe and wait out the apocalypse.
But safety was an illusion. The virus didn't stay contained. The movies showed it spreading worldwide, transforming the planet into a wasteland of the dead and dying. Running just meant dying somewhere else.
And I knew things. I knew the timeline, the key players, the decisions that made the difference between survival and extinction. That knowledge was worth something. Maybe worth everything.
The bill came to eight dollars. I left fifteen, including a tip Diane probably needed more than I did.
Outside, the sun had climbed toward noon. Half my preparation window was gone.
My reflection caught my attention in the diner window. Marcus Harrison's face stared back with Thomas Harrison's eyes. Two men in one body. One dead, one impossibly alive.
The stranger in the glass would have to become someone new. Not Marcus. Not Thomas. Something forged from both—or neither.
I shouldered my duffel and headed back toward the apartment. Tonight, Umbrella would call. Tomorrow, the Hive would claim its victims.
And I would be ready.
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