Outbreak: Such Fond Memories
I was about 11 years old when I first discovered Resident Evil Outbreak. File #1 and File #2 had already been out for a year or two. I was visiting my cousin—the one I always siphoned games off of—and spotted the Outbreak case sitting on his shelf. I wasn't great with horror games, not then and honestly not now either. I still panic in modern horror titles. But something about this one was different.
I picked up the case and noticed a strange little white bubble: "Online"—the first time I'd seen that on a PS2 game. I flipped it over: "1-4 Players." That stopped me. Normally, I wouldn't even touch horror games, but something about the idea of going through it with other people made it hard to put back down. I asked my cousin if I could borrow it. He agreed.
Then came the challenge: figuring out how to get a PlayStation 2 online. It took me a couple of days, but when it finally worked, it was love at first sight.
I wasn’t good at the game. I died—a lot. But then I met someone online. They were patient, kind, and helped guide me through the first scenario, Outbreak. We moved on to Below Freezing Point, and suddenly I felt like I could take on the world—with this mysterious friend I could only communicate with through preset voice prompts.
Then the inevitable happened—I got separated.
I panicked. Hard. Sprinting through corridors, terrified, not knowing where I was or what I was doing. When the first zombie rose up from the floor, I nearly lost it. I slammed myself into a random room and just spammed the "Help!" button, hoping someone would find me. And they did. I clung to that teammate like a lifeline until I was reunited with my friend.
Later, in The Hive, a whole new level of fear unlocked—an elevator with way too many buttons. Where did my friend go? What floor? I had no idea. After that first disastrous attempt (I died alone in a hole somewhere), my friend developed a system: they’d perform ground attacks to "point" at which floor button I should choose. Brilliant. Eventually, I beat the game.
And then they asked, “Do you have File #2?”
My head exploded. There’s a File 2?!
That game helped me through some rough times. It gave me a world to escape to, people to lean on—even if I didn’t know their real names. I'm incredibly grateful that people are still playing it today. I only wish Capcom would revisit the series. But until then, this feels like home.
If you see Chaffy around, be sure to wave and say hi. It’s always less lonely with friends.
