Resident Evil: Phantom Reflections

Have you got a game, book or movie you'd like to make a story out of? Want to expand on a story or plot that stopped? Have an original idea for a story that you want to post somewhere? Here's where to do it. Basically an RPG where one player controls ALL characters in the story.

Resident Evil: Phantom Reflections

Postby The Kingpin » Tue Nov 08, 2011 3:21 pm

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Chapter I:
Calm Before the Storm

Thunder boomed overhead, the dark grey sky above crying icy tears upon the ground of what had once been Raccoon City. Now, skeletal husks remained of what few buildings had been able to withstand the nuclear missile that was used to sterilize the city, an eternal reminder of the evil man was capable of. On the edge of the once bustling, cheerful city, stood the Raccoon City Memorial Graveyard. In it were the empty graves of those who perished in the incident, encircling a large black Monolith, upon which was written the story of this tragic city; a testament to the crimes that had led to it’s destruction, and with it, over 100,000 civilians, men, women and children. a single fresh grave stood amidst the many older ones, a shadowy figure standing before it, the long coat he wore ruffling lightly in the cold Autumn breeze, the man looking down at the grave through narrowed silver eyes…


On the gravestone read the identity of the new resident. ‘In memory of Albert Wesker. Died 9th of March 2009. Aged 49 years’. “And so…another chapter is closed…Ironic that it closes here, where it all started, in a graveyard of failures. The events that caused this incident may have ended long ago…..but the outcome…will reflect into eternity”. With that, the man turned his back on the gravestone, leaving the ruins of Raccoon City behind him, thunder booming overhead, a single crow perched on a tree near the entrance, watching the departing visitor as he entered a black car, driving off down the path to an interstate, disappearing into the darkness as lightning lanced across the sky…


Another page was finished, a tired hand writing the last of a lengthy report. The dull table lamp illuminating the paper seemed almost sleep-inducing, momentarily dwarfed as white light bathed the room, the roaring boom of thunder seeming deafening on the silent backdrop of the clock and the scribbling of the pen. Oh how he hated paperwork. The brown-haired man reached for a mug of coffee on the edge of the table, perched on a B.S.A.A. coaster, not lifting his eyes from the paper he wrote on, swearing as a crash broke his concentration, glancing over to see that he had accidentally knocked the mug off the hardwood desk and onto the oak floor of his study, shards of the white mug scattered across the floor by his desk. With a sigh, he stood up, eyeing the coaster the mug had been on. Beside it lay a badge and B.S.A.A. ID, on which was a picture of the man, the name Chris Redfield stamped on it, along with various bits of information, including the gender, age, blood type, date of birth, authorization level and ID expiry date. Wasting no time, Chris made his way toward the door of the small, bookshelf-lined room, wanting to get this overwith quickly so he could rest, heading to the kitchen to get a towel to wipe up the mess.
He opened the door, the dim glow of the table lamp doing nothing to illuminate the dark lounge of the small apartment. Another thunderous boom tore through the building as light cast shadows across the entire room before him, a chill running down the man’s spine. Even 12 years later, the memories still haunted him. Memories of that fateful night, the evening of July 24th 1998.


That night, S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team had been deployed on a search and rescue mission in the Arklay Mountains, where their colleagues in Bravo Team had crash landed following engine failure the previous day. The hours that followed their arrival would scar the survivors for years to come.


Shortly after landing, they had encountered what seemed at the time to be a massive pack of rabid, wild dogs. In a panic, the pilot, Brad Vickers, took off, leaving the rest of Alpha Team stranded. They retreated from the area, and soon found themselves inside a mansion. And that….was the beginning of a nightmare that would span over a decade.


Chris walked into the kitchen, reaching for the light by the door. As it flicked open, he was forced to shield his eyes, the white ceramic tiles and table-tops almost blinding him after the relative darkness he had spent the last hours in. he walked towards the sink, reaching for the closet underneath, drawing from within a dust-pan and a rag. As he turned back, another boom of thunder rumbled in the distance, a flash of white light seeming to lance through the apartment through the large windows In the lounge. Turning off the light he walked back to the office, swiftly cleaning up the mess and dumping it in the waste bin, getting back to work quickly, all the more eager to finish his work, exhaustion getting to him. The fact the apartment was provided by the B.S.A.A. while he was in the area only furthered his discomfort. Staff comfort was definitely not high on their list of priorities. The books lining the walls were all manuals, guide books and history books detailing the nature of the work B.S.A.A. Agents were expected to perform. The desk he worked at was minimalistic, a wooden work surface with steel legs and a couple of drawers on one side, a small laptop on the desk provided by the organization itself. The computer chair was relatively lightly padded, the chairs in the kitchen made of steel and dense plastic. The doors were barely more than an inch thick. And even the bed was comparable to a military bunk, something that Chris ironically ended up thanking his years in the Air Force for. The man sighed as he sat down, grabbing his pen, resuming his work once more. However, he would soon find his work interrupted once more, as the phone on the desk rang. “Chris Redfield speaking” he answered briefly. “You’ll be expected at HQ at 8 AM on the dot. Have some bags packed. You’re leaving the country tomorrow afternoon” said the voice of a woman on the other side. Director Iron’s secretary, Julia. “Understood” said Chris, before putting the phone down. What a night…
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG

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Re: Resident Evil: Phantom Reflections

Postby Iceking » Tue Nov 08, 2011 10:32 pm

Good begining chapter. I'm looking forward to finding out what suprises the man who visited Wesker's grave will have later on in the story.
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Re: Resident Evil: Phantom Reflections

Postby Giratina93 » Wed Nov 09, 2011 2:08 am

I was waiting for this... Oh, Wesker, what would Resident Evil be without you? But alas, now you are dead... or is he?
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Re: Resident Evil: Phantom Reflections

Postby Doc 42 » Sat Mar 10, 2012 3:21 pm

Just read this, not being a fan of Resident evil, I had avoided it till now.
Too short to really draw any conclusions from, but I am looking forward to finding out what Chris has been called out for.
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