"Hey, Havel."
"Over here. I found a door that's unlocked. I think we can check it out."
After searching the Main Hall for a while, the sharp-eyed Rebecca signaled from a corner. She stood by a heavy wooden door, hand on her weapon, but hesitated to enter alone. The facility felt too oppressive, too dangerous for solo exploration.
Meanwhile, the two men were busy scavenging.
Havel was sifting through a pile of rotting documents on a dusty desk. Most of the paper was yellowed and brittle, the ink faded by time and dampness.
"Wait a second, Rebecca. Let me finish reading this."
He squinted at the text.
"Training Facility Mission Statement... To cultivate the next generation of Umbrella's elite... Obedience... Discipline... Unity..."
"Tsk. Sounds like a cult or a pyramid scheme," Havel muttered. "Corporate propaganda."
He flipped to another page.
"Notice: Level 5 Security Meetings will be held at the following locations: 1F West - Strategy Room. 2F Southeast - Conference Room."
"Okay, that's useful," Havel noted. "Strategy Room and Conference Room. Those places usually have keys or maps."
He memorized the locations and turned to Billy, who was rummaging through a cabinet nearby.
"Hey, Billy! Find anything good? If not, let's group up with Rebecca. Standing around in the open is asking for trouble."
"Yeah. Got something."
Billy held up a heavy, square-headed metal tool.
"Looks like a crank handle. Or a panel opener. My gut tells me we're gonna need it."
He pocketed the Crank Handle. In a place full of bizarre mechanisms, a heavy piece of metal was always welcome, either as a tool or a blunt weapon.
Billy limped over, dragging his injured leg, and joined the others at the door.
"..."
"Same formation as before," Havel ordered, racking his shotgun. "I'll take point. You two watch the flanks and check the ceiling. Don't let anything get the drop on us."
"Check the ceiling?" Rebecca frowned.
"Trust me," Havel said grimly, adjusting his gas mask. "This is an Umbrella lab. The floor isn't the only place monsters come from."
He knew what lurked in these halls. Giant spiders. Aggressive crows that feasted on infected flesh. Infected monkeys (Eliminators). And worst of all, the Plague Crawlers—giant, mutated insects that loved to ambush prey from above. He had no desire to have a six-foot bug hugging his face.
Click.
Havel turned the handle and kicked the door open.
It revealed a long, narrow corridor. It was pitch black, thick with cobwebs and dust. Only a sliver of moonlight filtered through a window at the far end, illuminating shelves lined with supplies and ammo boxes.
It looked like a storage room.
Urrgh... Huhhh...
The moment they stepped inside, a familiar groan greeted them.
From the shadows of a corner, a figure shambled into the light. It was a zombie wearing a tattered security uniform and a tactical vest. Its skin was gray, its eyes milky white, and half its face had been chewed off.
It reached out with a trembling hand, moving with agonizing slowness.
"Slowpoke," Havel muttered.
He didn't hesitate. He raised the M1897.
BOOM!
The shotgun roared in the confined space.
Buckshot slammed into the zombie's chest and face, lifting it off its feet. It flew backward, crashing into a shelf and knocking over boxes of supplies. It didn't get up.
Havel lowered the gun, shaking his head.
"This guy was running on fumes," he commented. "Barely moving."
"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked, keeping her gun trained on the corpse.
"Metabolism," Havel explained. "The virus hyper-accelerates their metabolism to regenerate tissue and sustain the reanimation. But that burns energy fast. If they don't eat, they starve. When they starve, they go into a hibernation state—slow, sluggish, conserving energy."
"This facility has been abandoned for a long time. These zombies have been starving for years. If this were Raccoon City, with plenty of fresh meat running around, he would be sprinting at us like Usain Bolt."
"So... we're lucky?" Billy asked dryly.
"For now. But don't get comp—"
SKREEEE—!!!
Suddenly, a high-pitched, chittering shriek erupted from above.
Havel's warning about the ceiling proved prophetic.
Two massive shapes detached themselves from the darkness of the rafters. They were hideous—over six feet long, with segmented exoskeletons, fluttering wings, and scythe-like forelimbs.
Plague Crawlers.
Genetically manipulated insects created by Marcus in the early days of the T-Virus project.
They dropped down, mandibles clicking, ready to tear the intruders apart.
"CONTACT ABOVE!" Havel screamed.