The city around him was in a state of sheer pandemonium; chaos in its purest form. Buildings were crumbling, fires raged unchecked, and screams echoed through shattered windows like sirens of doom. The streets were littered with the remains of the dead and dying, and the scent of death hung heavy in the air like a toxic cloud.

As Brad piloted his helicopter past a row of once-luxurious apartment buildings, he couldn't help but shake his head at the sheer madness that had engulfed Raccoon City. It was as if Hell itself had come to the surface and spread its dark tendrils across the city.

As the helicopter soared over the once-vibrant city, the apocalyptic world appeared before Brad. Rows of buildings, now hollow monuments of a lost era, stood eerily quiet. He expertly maneuvered his trusty transport around roadblocks and crashed vehicles, the desolate streets echoing only with the sound of the chopper's rotor blades.

Brad's eyes darted around the crumbling urban jungle, a grim smile hidden behind his aviator shades. It was a twisted, surreal world. No traffic, no people - just undead remnants shuffling mindlessly.

— Y'know, I had one job... get the damn rocket launcher to your team. Ended up becoming Raccoon City's '#1 zombie delivery driver'.

Brad's voice crackled through the radio with a dry, self-deprecating chuckle, his vintage chopper rattling through the crumbling city streets. He narrowly dodged a horde of shambling civilians - zombies now - his helmet visor smeared with gore.

— But hey. Least the tips ain't bad. Last guy tipped me with a chunk of his femur.