Resident Futa

Jill Valentine hunches forward, scowling at her emails and clicking to download attachments. She drags and scrolls to zoom in on the grainy pictures. The plates match.

Her chair squeals as she leans back in the S.T.A.R.S. office. The room is quiet for a change, and smells of Moon’s donuts and coffee. She rubs her sandy eyes and chews her lip, reading the response from the Thurstee County Sheriff’s Department.

Forest is the only other person in the room. “Oh, come on,” she mutters. She, too is hunched over her computer, her ears covered by headphones. She’s trying to renew her CPR certification.

Jill folds her arms and looks over her shoulder at the captain’s dark office. Wesker hasn’t been around much lately. She opens a new tab to check the weather, and an ad for Umbrella Pharmaceuticals begins to play. She tries to skip it, and that opens an ad for the Football Ultimate Television Association, that horrendously horny, exploitative reality TV soccer league that floods social media with slow-motion replays of bodies in offensively sexy uniforms jiggling. FUTA seems to favor hung, busty women. Jill’s eye twitches as she closes the ad, then she looks up as the door opens.

“Rookie,” she says, and Leon Kennedy stiffens. He isn’t with STARS; he isn’t even done with his probationary period with Marvin yet. “What are you doing dressed like that?” Going undercover as a fitness trainer himbo? She doesn’t say that part out loud, but Leon’s shirt is entirely too tight, and his shorts are not doing whatever he thinks they’re supposed to be doing. These are not his department-issued workout clothes.

“Uh, hi, Officer Valentine.” He smiles at her.

That smile doesn’t work on Jill. She’s seen it before on less beautiful but more interesting men who have still let her down. When she doesn’t react, he clears his throat.

“I’m just meeting Chris,” he says.

It’s fine. It’s not like Jill’s his supervisor; what does she care if he wants to dress slutty? He’s not her problem.

“Cool,” she says, and turns back to her computer to print the emails. She adds them to a S.T.A.R.S. folder and ties it shut with string as Chris enters the office.

“Good to go?” he says.

“Yup,” Leon replies, shouldering his duffel.

“Everything OK, Jill?” Chris can’t read body language or social cues for shit under normal circumstances, but he has a nose for danger, and he can tell when she’s tense.

“I’m worried about the Arklay thing,” she says as she gets to her feet. “I’ve got that lady driving all over the country in a car paid for by Umbrella money.”

“Umbrella’s got a building in all fifty states,” Chris says. “I’m guessing.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got their own fleet of cars. Why are they working this hard to make sure their prints aren’t on this vehicle?”

“I don’t know. But didn’t the captain tell you to drop it?”

“Captain? What captain?” Jill tucks the folder under her arm.

Chris gives her a disapproving look, but she speaks before he can. “Rookie,” she says.

“Yeah?” Leon replies.

“Other rookie,” Jill clarifies.

Rebecca Chambers is poking her head in. She’s also dressed for a workout, but she’s wearing her green RPD gear. It’s cute, and Jill sees right through her. She jumps and blushes.

“Yes, Jill?” she says.

“What do you want? You’re off today.”

“Is, uh…”

“No. Wesker isn’t here.” Jill looks meaningfully at the dark office.

Rebecca’s face falls. Yes, she didn’t put on all that eyeliner that doesn’t suit her, get her nails and hair done, and have those shorts professionally altered just to walk in here and have Wesker not see them. What a blow for her. Jill has no sympathy for her.

“Don’t you people have jobs?” she asks.

Chris snorts. “Have a good one, Jill.”

She waves as he and Leon go.

“Yes!” Forest pumps a fist, still intent on her training. “Rescue breathing. Let’s go.”

Jill goes over to the crestfallen Rebecca and gives her a little squeeze. “Get out of here, rookie. Your self-respect and confidence are out there somewhere. Looking for you. You won’t find them doing this.”

Rebecca crumples a little.

Jill sighs, softening. “Your little pixie cut looks good, though.”

Rebecca lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah. You got Leon’s attention, at least.”

“Did I?”

“Are you blind?”

“You really like it?”

“Don’t—don’t do that,” Jill says tiredly, planting her palm on Rebecca’s blushing face and pushing her away. She leaves the office with her folder and sets off into the halls of RPD. Previously a museum, the building has a bizarre layout, and some questionable decorative features. Jill is more or less used to all that. But how is Rebecca so smart and talented and still doggedly chasing emotionally unavailable people?

She cringes past the taxidermized animals to Chief Orlova’s office, where she knocks, then pinches the bridge of her nose as she waits.

The voice is muffled by the heavy door, inlaid with an elaborate RPD emblem. “Come in.”

Jill goes into the spacious office, which is stiflingly lavish. Like much of RPD’s main precinct, the warm, aggressive colors aren’t Jill’s style at all.

Irina Orlova is slim and dignified, always looking put together in designer pantsuits. She doesn’t look happy. The massive TV over the fireplace is paused on a FUTA replay focused on the sprightly redhead whose dumb smile and perky ass dominate half of FUTA’s marketing campaign. Jill only knows this because the ads are inescapable. The other face of FUTA is a dusky-skinned, tall, powerful girl with a massive package that bulges obscenely in those uniform shorts that are tighter than bikini bottoms.

All of Irina’s decorations involve sexualized women, so it’s no surprise that this is what she’s watching.

Jill puts her folder on the desk. “Someone drove from Umbrella HQ here in Raccoon to central Florida in a car paid for by money that went through shell companies that we’re watching in connection to crypto laundering and moving fentanyl. I can connect that money directly to discretionary funds in our local Umbrella branch’s C-suite.”

Orlova does bat an eyelid, but that’s the only indication that she finds this at all interesting. “Is driving to Florida a crime, Officer Valentine?”

“No. But when people put this kind of effort into keeping their names away from something, it’s suspicious. I also want to know why Umbrella’s using these channels for crypto payments that we can’t follow.”

“I’m still not seeing the crime.”

Jill grits her teeth. “I want you to assign this case to S.T.A.R.S. so that we can find out what the crime is.”

“Case? What case? Captain Wesker chooses what material warrants S.T.A.R.S. resources. Not you. Not even me,” Orlova adds with a little smile. “I’m sure you find the chain of command very limiting, Valentine. But trust me, you don’t want to be out there without it.”

Jill watches the other woman’s face for a moment, then picks up her folder.

“Yes, ma’am.” She turns to go, then turns back, looking past Orlova at the TV screen. Isn’t FUTA based in Florida?

[ Expect a new chapter each Sunday. For context on what Resident Futa is and where it comes from, check out this blog post: https://www.vfuniverse.org/2026/04/what-is-resident-futa.html ]