July 24, 1998 – 22:17 hours
Raccoon Forest, northwest of the Arklay Mountains
The blades of the UH-1 helicopter cut through the mist like razors through silk. The forest below was a dark ocean of treetops, shifting and alive, as though something ancient slumbered beneath.
Jill Valentine sat with her back straight, eyes scanning the horizon. She wore the calm of experience, but her fingers rested too tightly on the grip of her Beretta. Across from her, Chris Redfield watched her in silence, nodding once when she met his gaze.
"Bravo Team dropped off radar fifteen hours ago," Wesker's voice came through the headset, cold and clinical. "This is a search-and-rescue op. No heroics."
"Define heroics," Barry Burton muttered, checking the rounds in his Colt Python.
The chopper banked suddenly.
"There!" Joseph shouted from the copilot seat. "I've got smoke—about two clicks northeast. It's—"
Static swallowed his voice.
Then the world went sideways.