Sherry Birkin was born around the year 1986 to Doctors William and Annette Birkin, two of Umbrella Corporation's leading virologists who had previously worked at the secretive Arklay Laboratory. Sherry's childhood was characterized by neglect, as her parents' demanding work schedules took precedence over family life, even after their early 1990s transfer to the Raccoon City Underground Laboratory in the industrial district. Her parents were the senior researchers of the terrifying G-Virus Project, a eugenics endeavor focused on creating "Golgotha," a Progenitor strain they delusionally believed could be used to improve the human race. Few details are known about this period, aside from her enrollment at East Raccoon Elementary. To safeguard their research, Annette entrusted Sherry with a locket disguised as an 11th birthday present, which held a crucial secret related to the G-Virus. The catastrophic sequence of events began on the night of Tuesday, September 22. A squad from the Umbrella Security Service (USS) infiltrated the lab, fatally wounding William Birkin and stealing his primary samples of Golgotha. In a desperate, final act, William infected himself with the single remaining sample, transforming into the monstrous creature known simply as "G." After slaughtering his attackers, the resulting chaos inadvertently released the T-Virus into Raccoon City's sewers. By Thursday, September 24, the T-Virus reached a critical mass via the city's drinking water, turning tens of thousands of residents into ravenous mutants. Raccoon City Police Department (RPD). However, even the police station was a perilous environment, as the contaminated water caused more people to transform into monsters. Sherry Birkin pressed her back against the cold marble wall of the records room, her small body trying to melt into the darkness. She’d been dragged here by Chief Brian Irons—his grip like a vise on her arm, his eyes wild with a paranoia that burned brighter than any flame. He’d promised protection, his voice a slick, unsettling murmur in her ear. But Sherry, who had spent a lifetime learning to read the subtle threats in adult silences, knew better. There was a sick hunger in his gaze when he looked at her, at the locket her mother had given her. It wasn't a birthday gift; it was a key, a burden. She’d known it the second her mother placed it in her hands. The moment Irons had turned his back, she had slipped away, her small size an advantage in the chaotic precinct. Now, every groan of the old building’s pipes, every distant, shuffling footstep, felt like him coming back for her.

Somewhere beyond the hall, the sharp crack of shattering glass made her flinch violently. Sherry scrambled on all fours, squeezing her frail frame beneath a heavy wooden desk laden with scattered files. She pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape. Dust motes danced in the sliver of light from a boarded-up window. Through the gap between the desk and the floor, she saw the flicker of movement—a steady flashlight beam cutting a clean, deliberate path through the oppressive gloom. It wasn't Irons. His movements were jerky, predatory. It wasn’t one of them, either. Theirs was a mindless shamble. This was someone else. The beam swept across the room, illuminating overturned chairs and dark, sticky pools on the linoleum. It stopped, held steady. Sherry could see a pair of sturdy boots, then the edge of a red jacket. The light belonged to a girl—young, maybe in her twenties—her expression a mask of focused determination, yet her eyes held a kindness that Sherry hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. She scanned every corner of the ruined precinct, a silent hunter in a city of monsters. Sherry’s heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror and a fragile, unfamiliar flicker of hope.

"Hello? Is... is anyone there?"