Well I've been posting sporadically, waiting to get as many views as possible, but apparently I'm mostly writing because I still feel like it even if no one reads what I write. Oh well. Enjoy Day 3 ResidentEman!

I wake up with a start, grabbing my pistol next to me and sweep the room. I think a sound woke me up, but once I breathe, I realize what it really was. "OH JESUS!" I actually wretch the stench is so bad. That little stinker left me a final **** you! The smell is absolutely atrocious and I can't stand it. I look through the cracks in the boards covering the windows and see that it is daylight anyway, another excuse to leave. As soon as I pack up my gear, I pull away all the furniture covering the smashed boards and jump out. Looking quickly at my GPS to see where I marked the location of my bike, I ready my MP7 and start methodically moving through the shanties.

I go a couple of streets down, still about six streets from the exit and about a hundred and fifty yards from there to my bike, without incident. However, as soon as I turn to scan an alley to my left, I freeze in place. Six men are pushing a cage in the direction I just came from down a side street. Inside the cage is a huge, lanky, and thin man with a burlap sack completely coveringhis head tied on,grabbing the bars and shaking them violently. He must be seven feet tall and he's going absolutely nuts inside this cage. I try to slowly sidestep to cross the intersection and hope they don't notice, but suddenly one of them looks my way and yells something. Needless to say, I start running.

Well, it seems as if interest in my fanfic is waning, but I don't care. If you read this, comment, I don't care how short, but I'm trying to see how many people will read each part before I post another part. Anyway, here's the next part, enjoy!

Okay you ugly little monkey,I'll **** with you! I do not want to let this thing make me it's next victim, so I only have one question, how do I kill it? Well, I might as well go for broke, so I unsling my G3, set it to fully auto and let fly. The creature cries out upon being hit the first couple times, and then jumps to its left and clings to the wall, much like a licker. I track it all the way and keep spraying fire at it, missing most shots during the jump but finally pounding it with six rounds while it clings to the wall. It flies back as the rounds pierce through it's hardened exterior and its tentacles frantically swing around just as my G3 clicks empty. The hunter/licker/chimera whatever it was lets out a final screech and dies.

I let out a sigh of relief as it disintegrates and I know that the ammo wasn't wasted. Quickly reloading, I know that this station is empty, not surprisingly since that thing smelled like ****. Whatever, It's pretty close to sunset and I don't want to travel by night. So, I go downstairs and push several cabinets against the hole in the plywood I made to get in. Knowing I'll be safe for now, I remove my vest and set up my weapons near me, fully loaded. I'll miss my broadcast to Gary, but I don't particularly care. It's miss the transmission, or travel by night in unfamiliar and hostile territory. **** that. I sit back, and close my eyes. I know I won't sleep, but a man can hope right?

Just a warning, do not be angry about the creature of my own creation I put into here! I am almost getting tired of sticking to the bounds of a game and I want to make this fanfic different!

I check around me quickly in the silence, gun at the ready, my breath coming and going quickly, the only sound in the dead room.It's quiet, too quiet. I shake the clicheout of my head. There are two tables, one with a smashed radio on it, and the other covered in scattered papers, a messy medkit,and blood. When I approach, my heart almost stops. The blood is still wet, not more than a couple days old,plastering the reddened papers to the wood. The ink was smeared on the papers and I figured I wouldn't be sticking my nose into those private contents. I also see some stairs with two wooden crates beneath them. I wondered what was in the crates, maybe something useful, and I consider busting them open to find out. Oh screw that!I leave the crates where they lie not wanting to waste time.

I bring my pistol to bear, lining up the elevated, painted sights and proceeding slowly, checking where I plant my feet. A couple more ginger steps and I turn into the upstairs. The room is barren save for some empty gun racks and ammunition shelves. Not like I need those supplies badly considering the freaking armory my wood house has. On the other side of the room I spot the source of all the blood downstairs. A black man with a huge gash in his arm, withgauzewrapped around it and a ragas a turniquette. It must not have worked. Upon checking his pulse, I know he's dead. He is wearing Rhodesian camouflage and a tan shirt with the BSAA logo emblazened on it. Checking his dogtags, I see his name was Idi Mumba. The "Africa" tag under Country of Origin confirms he was from around here. I shake my head, wondering how the hell it keeps happening, these biohazards. I could only hope the bastards responsible would pay.

I now turn my attention to the padlocked door just next to him. With a key I find next to him, I slowly unlock and remove the steel padlock. With my Mk23 raised, I kick in the door, and am immediately greeted by a horrible stench like someone combined garlic with ketchup, mustard, and s**t. It literally burns my eyes, but I keep them open and almost wish I hadn't. In the middle of the barren room is some greenish brownmonstrosity. It almost looks like a hunter, but it has tentacles like an insect and a pulsing growth on its shoulder. My first thought is of that line from Predator: You are oneUGLY mother****er! It lets out a horrible screech and projectile vomits more of the foul smelling fluid my way. I narrowly avoid being splashed with it by dodging out of the room quickly. The insect hunter isn't too far behind though.

Well, I've been laying off this hoping for more people to read the last part, but whatever. Oh, and I am currently playing RE5, but don't expect to see too much from the game in here. But I love the game!

Two men, standing in front of several sheets of metal meshed together like the scales of a fish. They appear to just be staring off into space, and at maximum zoom, I can see that they have the red eyes of someone whose soul left long ago. If my emotions still existed after all of these years of killing, I would feel sorry for the people here, but I can't. Not now. I hold my breath and squeeze off one shot. The 7.62mm round shatters its way through even the reinforced skull and shreds the infected man's brain matter. His stunned friend receives the same treatment. Not bad shooting from two hundred feet with a suppressed weapon.

I stand and run to the sheetmetal with the space between it that passes as an entryway. I switch to my Mk23 and pass through, sweeping the small intersection of alleyways, seeing it to be clear. I look at my GPS and see that there is a small BSAA station marked on my map and head towards it by the path to my left. As I come to another intersection, a woman unexpectedly rounds the corner. I stop, lowering my weapon, about to speak, when she turns. The blood on her face and her snarl upon seeing me tell me she won't give me her phone number. I raise my weapon again, cursing myself for letting my guard down and squeeze off a double tap. As her death rattle escapes her lips, I hear more cries from around the corner. I bet her boyfriend was pissed. I run past the intersection and six men follow hot on my trail from the paths on my left and right.

Sprinting the whole way, I occasionally turn around to squeeze off a shot in their direction, hoping to at least slow them down. Finally, I see the BSAA station ahead of me, asquat,white,concrete edifice,boarded up against intruders. Well, I'm not about to take that **** I aim and squeeze off six shots, the remainder of my magazine into the sheet of plywood blocking the window directly in front of me. The holes are well spaced, allowing the plywood to soften enough for me to plow through it into the station. I roll and turn around to cover the window, reloading as I turn. Strangely, the people have left me. But if anything, the quiet only makes my adrenaline pump harder.

I went back inside and decided to radio Gary on the frequency he had given me. I was ordered to check in every morning so they knew whether or not I was still alive. So, I sat down and entered the frequency. After hitting the call button, I heard ringing sounds like a phone on the line, and figured Gary must have this frequency synced to his phone. Then I heard Gary's voice. "Hey, how you holding up?"

I told him about my run in with two of the infected and he said, "Well, that's odd. I suppose they must have been on patrol and seen your parachute coming down. I wouldn't worry about any more though. So, you going to hit the first town today?"

I answered an affirmative and he gave me a long winded reminder that I was to look for survivors and learn as much about the infection as possible and report it to him tomorrow morning. The other days were the same drill as well. There were about seven different areas to visit, and I should hit one at least every couple of days. I would also record all of my findings in a journal that I told him I had actually found when I sat on it to call him. Then we said our goodbyes and broke the connection.

A few minutes later and I have my gear on and I'm heading toward the first town...

I woke up to the sounds of motors, ATVs or dirtbikes would be my best guees. I figured it was probably just the BSAA members who took their dandy time getting here, but I wasn't taking any chances. I rolled out of the bunk quietly and quickly and throw on my Khaki cargo BDU pants. After grabbing my Mk23 I made sure it was loaded and tucked it into my waistband. The whole time I heard talk in a strange language I could understand about as well as the stock market. Upon opening the door I saw two dirtbikes parked about thirty feet from the door and two African men walking toward me, one in a red shirt, the other in a white one. Each carried machetes with their scabbards on their belts.

Upon seeing me, they freaked out. They started conversing between eachother rapidly glancing at the parachute I had left unrolled. Feeling left out, I yelled, "Uh, hey! You guys from BSAA?" Wrong choice of words. Once they heard me speaking English all conversation stopped and they started shambling at me with machetes raised. Well, I guess I'm just antisocial. This must be some of the new infected. With this thought I quickly reached behind me and leveled my sidearm at redshirt's head. One round exited the barrel with a PFFT but something was wrong. The .45ACP bullet slammed home into the man's temple, but he just grabbed his face and started yelling. "What the ****!?" I yelled out as I shot him again, which put him down this time, but strangely just after he died, his body started dissolving. Whatever, less cleanup. Just as redshirt's body disintegrated I aimed at whitey and this time pulled off a double tap into the bridge of his nose. That put him down. I supposed I would be using more ammo putting these bastards down, but I would have to manage. The infection must increase the hardness of their bones and the density of their flesh, causing headshots to just piss them off the first time. Kind of like how Hunters reacted to the T-Virus. No big deal. At least they brought me a ride into town...

I feel a brief sense of vertigo as I freefall above the desert, but I quickly refocus and see my target. An oasis that just so happens to be centrally located near all the towns is just below me. In that oasis is a small wooden hut built by the BSAA to be an emergency fallback position should a situation get out of control. Perfect place to set up camp and check for survivors initially. It would also give me a constant water supply in this harsh environment and is as close to safe as you can get around here. After a few more seconds of gazing at my new home, I pull the ripcord and feel my weight go to my toes as I feel myself being ripped upwards, even though I know well enough I am still falling as fast as a car on a highway. I slow down quickly however and wait to hit the ground.

When I see my equipment bag hit the ground I bring my knees up and disconnect my chute. After a fall of ten feet or so, I roll once and come up on my feet as my standard white silk saviour floats down behind me. First stop, the wooden hut barely thirty feet from my right. I trek through the sand, grabbing and dragging my equipment bag on the way, to the door. As the sheet of plywood with BSAA spraypainted on it creaks open, I get my first view of the place. It is a simple abode about 30x30 in size with a couple bunk beds packed into one corner. My first thought is that this is a bit big to be classified as the hut Gary told me about, but then I remembered it was supposed to house twenty people in case of an emergency and figure it would most definitely feel like a hut to them. I drop my bag just inside the door, and upon further inspection, wonder why I bothered bringing it.

A gun rack on one wall was filled with AK-47s, MP5s, M24 bolt action sniper rifles, USPs, M9s, and even an RPG. Ammo crates littered the floor space in front of the ten foot long area all of it was packed into. Next to there was a full kitchen stocked with canned food and MREs, and through a window in it I could see an outhouse. I could definitely say I've stayed in worse places. I mean, sure the floor was cold, hard packed dirt, and yeah the walls were plywood, and so what if the roof was rusty sheetmetal? It was home for now. "Anything beats Guantanamo," I mused, chuckling to myself as I wondered how much longer the liberals would let that place last. I spent the next couple hours until dark setting up my equipment in an orderly manner, finding no survivors and a solar powered GPS unit while doing so, and then I went to sleep, wondering what the next days would bring.

I will now be numbering the parts by days rather than parts so that you can get an idea of how long this story will span. I'm planning on having Jacobs be stuck in this environment for quite a while. I also plan on exploring the possibility that the outbreak in Africa has been going on long before Chris showed up and has been a series of outbreaks rather than one, which would be why the BSAA would be there anyway.

I'm flying in a cargo plane above Zimbabwe and I'm loaded down with gear, ammo, and several guns. Basically, the plan is for me to jump out of the plane with a parachute on and land in the middle of the savannah. Great plan except the fact that I will be several miles from the edge of the each town I'm supposed to recon. My job is to set up camp there, then look for survivors and determine the state of the threat, if it is a small outbreak in a town or so, or if the whole series of villages has gone to hell. Having read up on all data available, the hypothesis is that the infection is a variation of the T-Virus that still allows the infected to have some coordination and ability to communicate and use tools. When I asked why I was being sent in alone, I was told by Gary "Because one man can move more quietly and quickly than several, and we don't want to endanger any other lives that have no experience with these types of situations. Besides, you probably wouldn't want some government tool slowing you down anyway."

Of course he was right, but I made sure I got plenty of hardware to cover my back. I'm loaded down with a tan plate carrier loaded with magazine and gadget pouches, two hip holsters, one for my standard Mk23, with a suppressor and LAM, and the other on my left hip for a Heckler and Koch silenced MP7 with 4.6mm hollow tip rounds. I have ten loaded magazines for each, five in my vest for easy access, and five more along with boxes of bullets in a huge assault pack on my back. Overall, I probably have a total of twenty clips worth of ammo for each. Then I have my primary weapon, a Heckler and Koch G3A3 with a collapsible stock and an adjustable 1.5-9x scope. Suitable for almost any range. This is also fitted with a suppressor. I have ten loaded magazines for this as well with another ten mags worth of ammo boxes in my bag. A full load of MRE's, a camelback to be setup on my vest after removing the assault pack, a tool kit, the GPS devices, and a tent. All of this is in a bag attached to me by a bungee cord while I'm strapped with a parachute. I look at the red light and feel the wind rushing past me from the open bay door. The light goes green, and I jump.

I have been so busy these past months, and I bet some of you thought I died haha. But now it's time for me to stop leaving you unsatisfied with just one measly part of the promised big story and get on with it. After all, with RE5 looming in the near future, I really should give it the same fanfic treatment as the others right? I'm going to pull a change with the timing by the way. Rather than five months in Guantanamo it's going to have been two years.

I sit back down with my fists still clenched as Gary starts to explain exactly what he wants from me. Apparently in Africa, a series of bio-terrorism attacks have been causing a problem in an impoverished string of desert communities on the border of Zimbabwe. All contact was recently lost with the BSAA units stationed there. "Our last contact with them was this transmission," Gary says as he reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a tape player and presses play. "Oh **** what the hell!? The people are going nuts! I'm hiding in a small hut right now using the last battery on this satellite phone to tell you guys that things are ****ed up here. I don't know where everyone else is, but if you expect this not to require the Raccoon City solution, you might want to send some back up and contain this NOW! Please God, please send anyone!"

Well, after a month of waiting to see if anyone else would read the first part, here's the second!

So, according to my new "handler," there was a strange outbreak going on in Africa on the border of the Sahara Desert that was like nothing else. These zombies apparently were fast, intelligent, and could communicate. Or so a group of missionaries who narrowly escaped their clutches said. Gary wanted me to go in and check it out and try to determine the source of the outbreak and look for survivors. Alone, with nothing but unmarked equipment and supplies.

"Hold on, what the hell is going on for you to send in one guy, me of all people, with unmarked gear to extract survivors? How is this supposed to work and why?" Gary considered my question for only a moment and told me, "We don't want to be accountable, we don't know what's happening, so we can't send in military personnel with no experience fighting these things and have huge casualties on our hands. The fact is, the odds are against this mission's success, but we have to do it anyway. And with the promise of payment and freedom, you're probably the only non military guy we could get to do it."

The honest tone in his voice genuinely shocked me. After months of being bull****ed by this guy and his buddies, I didn't expect to finally be told the whole truth. I pushed my fingers of either hand into my temples and tried to think how to respond. Well, I didn't want to rot in here, so I supposed I only had one choice. "Fine."