Several gunshots echoed down the hall. Claire Redfield winced as bits of shrapnel rebounded off the wall and onto her. She didn't have time to look at the gunmen as she sprinted down the service hall, desperately trying to stay out of their sights. It sounded as if there were two, maybe three pursuers, judging by the shouting voices commanding her to surrender. Every so often, Claire would pass a pulsing red light, another indication of the alarm she had set off. She was coming to a bend in the hallway. Another volley of automatic gunfire rang out, peppering the wall next to her. More voices behind her.
"They would sound a lot more convincing if they weren't trying to shoot me," she thought to herself. Claire was running so fast she could not return fire. She had shot one already, but more guards had swarmed her before she was able to escape. Her Browning BDM handgun was tightly clasped in her right hand as she ran, since she never got a chance to holster it.
Claire was several feet from the bend at the end of the hallway when the world around her exploded in a blinding white light. She gasped in surprised and slid to a halt. Her momentum almost carried her through the plate glass window in front of her. Raising both of her arms to shield her eyes from the dazzling glare, she caught a glimpse of what was on the other side of the window. She briefly saw the outline of a helicopter, with it's spotlight pointed directly at her. She didn't need to see the Umbrella logo stamped on it's side to know why it was here. Movement on the side of the helicopter caught her eye. A mini-gun leveled itself at her. The barrels began to spin.
Claire's heart caught in her throat as she let out a small squeak of fear.
"Shit...No!" her mind cried. Claire turned on the spot and rushed back. She caught a glimpse of something as she turned, her eyes adjusting back into darkness as she turned away from the helicopter's blinding light. It was one of the guards that was chasing her. She brushed into a second as she saw a passageway on her left. The guards tried to copy Claire's movement, but as she dove for the doorway, the helicopter pilot's finger had tightened on his trigger. Hundreds of bullets rained into the building. The pieces of metal, wood, and plaster obscured the blood and bone spewing from the two guards being riddled with bullets. The doorway Claire leaped for disappeared, leaving a large, irregular shaped hole.
Claire clambered to her feet. She had dropped her firearm when she dove; it now lay several feet in front of her. She scooped up her gun and took off again. She ran past doors and doors of which seemed to lead to offices. She was now on the outer edge of the building. Her body had begun to feel the effects of fatigue. Her legs were aching with pain, both from running and from the previous acrobatics. She breathed heavily as she continued on her way. Through the blinds on the window to her left, she saw a shimmering glow. The helicopter was back, the thin blinds casting blades of light across Claire as she ran. The pilot opened fire again, and the wall next to her collapsed, the bullets from the mini-gun penetrating the following wall. Despite the gunfire, Claire stayed on her feet, summoning more strength to keep running. The trail of bullets followed her, cutting into the building. She leaped through a second doorway in front of her.
As she sailed through the air, Claire closed her eyes and prayed that the helicopter could not target her again. There was no telling where she would land, and if she would be in any condition to move. She opened them again and saw the ground rushing at her. One of her legs caught the bottom of the stairs she just jumped down, sending her into a roll. Her ankle twisted, and she let out a cry of pain. Miraculously, she completed the roll and despite her injured ankle, stumbled awkwardly to her feet. Her breath stopped short. In front of her were two or three dozen fully armed guards. Most had automatic weapons.
Claire stood completely dumbfounded. She ran right into a trap. There was nothing she could do. She raised her hands slowly, beaten. The guards began to slowly advance on her. Perhaps they were a little afraid of her, since she had outwitted them so far. Claire couldn't tell. Their faces were blank and emotionless, like the faces of all those she had seen who worked for Umbrella. As they marched on her, she spotted a gap in between two of them. Behind them were several tanks, marked Flammable, with bright red flame warnings that contrasted against their dull gray exterior.
"Maybe, just maybe...I'm not going to let them take me that easily." Claire thought. Her Browning was still clasped in her hand. She slowly loosened her grip. The gun fell, free falling in a slight spin. Her intent was disguised by her situation. The guards saw her surrendering, but what Claire was doing was completely unpredictable. Claire counted half a second in her head then collapsed at the knees, her right hand reached out and snatched her handgun out of the air before it hit the ground. She hit the ground and pressed her body into the floor. Sprawled on her back, she aligned the sites of her gun on the tanks and pull the trigger three times. All three shots hit home. An explosion rocked the room. The flames enveloped the guards. There brief cries didn't echo as the force of the explosion liquefied their organs and crushed their bones. Claire rolled onto her stomach and covered herself with her arms as yet another shower of debris assaulted her. The room was silent. The only thing audible was the crackling of fire. Claire lifted her head and saw a few of the bodies were still moving, but then went still. She tried to get up, the pain in her body racking her joints
She was propping herself up when she heard a new sound over the fire. It was a dull metallic 'THUNK', coming closer. "Footsteps...," she realized. Claire fell back, leaning on her left arm and stuck her gun at the sound. Equally, a gun was shoved in her face. Claire stared at it briefly, then moved her eyes to look to the owner, but first she saw her gun. The slide was stuck back. She was out of ammunition, and his gun wasn't. The man holding the gun had dark skin and hair. He looked Mexican, or from somewhere else in Latin America. He had come down the stairs she had previously jumped. If it wasn't for the I.D tag hanging from his belt, Claire would have never guessed he worked for Umbrella. The man looked Claire in her eyes.
"Don't move," was all he said.
Claire knew she was finished. She dropped her gun, and the man quickly grabbed her wrist and turned her over, slapping a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. Claire's face was buried in the dirt and metal of the explosion. She was exhausted, and could barley move at all, let alone try to escape handcuffed.
"I couldn't have lasted much longer," she thought. "All I want now is to get some sleep. Although I might be getting more of that than I realize." The man grabbed her shoulder and propped her into a kneeling position. This was short lived, however, as Claire's suspicions came true. Something struck her in the back of the head, and sent Claire into the blackness of unconsciousness.
10 days later...
Rough hands on both of Claire's arms guided her blindly somewhere. Her shoulders were aching from her arms being cuffed behind her back. A brown sack was pulled over her head, obscuring her vision completely. At the start of her transfer, she was boarded onto a helicopter. After a lengthy flight, Claire had no clue where they were. The bag was placed on her head before they took off, and she didn't even know the direction in which they left. All she could sense was the cool air as the exited the helicopter. After descending a flight of stairs and entering a building, she heard a metallic rattle. One of the hands shoved her forward, and she fell to her knees. The hands moved to her wrist, where they undid the cuffs, then sharply yanked the bag off of her head. Claire blinked like an owl, and shook her head, trying to loosen her brown hair from it's matted mass. Thankfully, she always kept it in a ponytail. She had a second to glance around. She was in a prison cell. A very dirty prison cell. A voice spoke to her from behind.
"Your identification number is WKD4496. Welcome to your new home," said the voice. The last part was said with a hint of sneer in the voice. Claire turned around to retort, and promptly received the butt of a rifle slammed against the back of her head. Claire grunted and fell forward. As her vision blurred, she heard a different voice, speaking to the first.
"Her name is Claire Redfield. We caught her trespassing in our Paris lab facility ten days ago. She apparently infiltrated the complex looking for her lost brother, Chris Redfield, one of the surviving members of RPD's famous 'S.T.A.R.S' teams."
"Chris..." was the last thing Claire thought as she once again slipped unconscious.