Enter the Survival Hurrah!
You have now penetrated the endurance of terror, good luck…
I'm joking of course, chance can't help you here.
As soon as he saw them vanish from his sight, Albert sighed heavily; he thought they'd never leave him alone to his evil secret preparation. In order to think it all through he assumed a relaxed posture by leaning one arm over the handrail and supporting most his weight on one foot. Cliché-pose assured, and feeling quite confident about himself but regretting no one could see him like that; he devoted the next minutes to inner thoughts.
Among everything that he had planned, he revised again and again that which he had to accomplish. Being a methodical man, he was being true to his nature and was pleased to secure the fact that he was indeed ready. A grin graced his features… until his arm slipped consequently receiving the handrail in the stomach, muting a groan. He was glad no one saw that and straightened himself before running a glove over his hair. Next he used his master key on a door leading into the east wing to disappear.
Anyone who knows him personally would be surprised his inflated ego could pass through.
Chris was in trouble, that was putting it mildly but he had no time to ponder over a better choice of words. That ton of muscle had slammed the door shut in his face and now he was being mercilessly chased by creatures from hell, persistently slapped in the face by ruthless branches plus he had no gun. He did think about returning to Brad but the chopper that flew above his head bearing the S.T.A.R.S. logo was indicative enough that he would be of no help. His only chance was hoping that his weakening legs could support him until he found another way inside this menacing manor, preferably before he died.
Judging by the alarming sound of jaws clapping right behind his heels, the prospect of death wasn't that far. And his horoscope had warned him, too. When he had read the single line in the papers this morning he had scoffed, the 'You'll die HORRIBLY today.' more or less made him laugh then. Now he felt like rolling into a fetus position and cry, though these wicked dogs probably lacked the empathy to spare him then as well. Better keep running and hope the stars are wrong… else there would be a lot of dead today, additionally.
S.T.A.R.S.'s finest member, Jill Fucking-Outstanding-Valentine, found herself in a room with portraits and photographs hanged on the four walls around her. Most of them were quite disconcerting, depicting some families being happy and fake-posing with their cheesy smiles on a bright blue sky plus sunny background. She turned a mistrusting face away from them towards that statue representing a woman positioned in the middle of the room; hands were above her head holding a toaster. Valentine read the silver plaque, ''A woman making toasts'', she stared and tried to understand what it meant; either she doesn't understand art or the people living here worship toasters for some reason. She acknowledged it wasn't an essential part of the mission and refocused. There was an opening ahead at her left; a small desk had been pulled across the doorframe, to his right stood a door.
Wanting to explore that opening first, she pushed the shelf aside and walked through the small passage which had the form of an upside down U. It led to a dead end where paintings and jars had been abandoned along with an interesting poster entitled Resident Evil. Would have been uneventful if not for the zombie who now barred the exit as she turned the corner; 'dead end' turned out to be so fitting for this useless portion of the manor. Where did he come from? Who knows, perhaps from the toaster. Well she could have fallen on her ass like CAPCOM wanted her to, but instead she improvised and hit him on the skull with a painting. The fiber tore, now his head poking out of it, she ducked underneath his arm then he tried to follow her through the doorframe but got stuck thanks to his new necklace. The man's hands moved around through thin air as he moaned feverishly. She took in the amusing sight before stabbing him in the forehead to real-death this time.
The woman walked to the door to analyze the latch and cheated it with her super-extra lock picking devices; the mansion's childish mechanism was no match for her skills. It gave into a long corridor, there were some small cabinets at her left filled with strange items such as human bones, a loaf of bread, some other bizarrely vague items and a magazine titled 'Resident Evil's Strategy Guide for Losers'. She might have enjoyed the decor if not for the window at her right exploding into shards. One poked her in the eye but that was of no concern once she saw the bloodied dog who was already charging at her.
Stiffened into battle-mode, she immediately made it regret the night it felt like chewing off chunks of flesh from Valentine; four bullets did the trick but she wasted three others for sport. Truthfully it wasn't like she would run out of ammo soon; there was a stock pile of 9mm Parabellum rounds in that desk for some reason, that and a plastic pizza. And even if she ran out, even if the entire place was crowded with hellish creatures, one fierce look of her daring eyes would be enough to scare them away. Fuck yeah she's that incredible.
Equipped with her secret weapon, The Lock Pick of Supremacy, she went on into the bowels of stench. The place was quite pleasant really, fine furniture and decors; everything was fantastic, if only it weren't for cadavers plus this constant fetid aroma permeating the air and now her garments. Well Jill wasn't really one to care, the place was nice nonetheless plus she got to decimate zombies, prove her worth and survive in a multitude of non-survivable scenarios.
She wondered if Chrisco had that much fun, wherever he was. She approached the second window making out another Doberman in the darkness. It was just sitting there looking miserable with its head in between shoulder blades, both eyes missing and a gooey substance dripping from its jaw. She noted how dumb it looked, chuckling, when it suddenly jumped disintegrating the window; though instead of coming through like the agile monstrous canine it was, the dog only managed to impale itself on broken glass. It remained there whimpering and growling simultaneously, clawing away at the ugly tapestry as Jill blinked at it. Looks like it didn't take kindly to be laughed at for it savagely started to chew at its own paw, although looking even more retarded now. She walked to the unfortunate trespasser and unsheathed her combat knife before stabbing it in the neck; can't all be bad ass.
Pinkfield had finally found a way inside after being forced to jump-scale a wall, ascended aided by vines and made his way through a horizontal opening that was close to the ceiling. He found himself in a passage with white statues of some cherubs, which were creepier than anything he'd seen so far, and a metal door at his left that was locked. Judging by the indentation resting near it, he wouldn't be able to open it. A dog howled as if it was constipated which urged Chris to run inside panicked.
The door led him into the mansion where a whiff of the most unpleasant air assaulted his nose. He was busy vomiting over the furniture and floor when the Captain got out of a small room near aforementioned furnishings. Wesker distractedly stepped in the pool of regurgitated food, and then stared at his recruit as if he was looking at some gross useless carcass squirming with maggots that someone had pissed on, left to rot and bloat under the sun on the side of some shitty random road in the middle of Fucking-Nowhere Town.
The brown-haired man wiped his mouth and his eyes widened upon seeing his superior finding him like this, plus having set feet into his vomit. Way to make an impression, but Albert already knew what the dumb Alpha was all about; so there was no hope left to amaze him. The recruit didn't have time to explain himself that the Captain clapped hand on his shoulder and squeezed, «Perfect timing, we've got a small matter to discuss. », the blond man showed him some sort of key and Chris tried to decipher what it meant. Staring back at the man's features, it was the first time that Brownfield saw him smile; similar to the white set of teeth of a predator, a shark.
Wesker smiling scared the man and shook him within his very soul.
Alpha Team's tank was investigating the second floor, even though Barry said he'd return to the dining room. Truth is that room scared the hell out of him as he couldn't rid his mind of that damn red stain. And well, investigating was a big word; he'd laid his heavy frame against a wall staring at the picture his wife had slipped in his vest. He had been looking for Tylenol when his fingertips came in contact with the awful thing. He always threw it away, saying he kept losing the photograph, coming with different excuses; but his wife would always replace it with a new one. He swears it's as if she takes snapshots of them every damn day only so she can tuck that useless piece of paper in his uniform, to torment him. Yes, because it is torture. As he stares at his daughter's enchanting faces, which makes his stomach turn; he can't help but wonder what in the hell he's supposed to feel. Aside from complete disinterest, that is.
Being a father is so, so hard on the spirit. Being too muscular is what is tough on the body though, he should stop working out. He can barely scratch his own back anymore; come to think of it perhaps that's what kids are for…? He contemplated for a couple of minutes but would have to think about it later when he'd be in a place far more secure then here; meaning when a cadaver isn't rubbing its decomposing flesh against the door next to him while moaning in anticipation. Yeah that's one thing he could do; aside from finding another tranquil spot to sulk while the others fix all this mess. Still he wished he had pills, this heavy stinking air was giving him one hell of a headache; or was it just the thought of that red stain taking his vigor away? Hard to say exactly but the big man was really suspicious of it, even to the point where he had refused to turn his back on the liquid while exiting the dining room.
The great considerate father stepped over another corpse and finished crossing the corridor, thinking he was somewhat privileged enough not to have stumbled into Wesker or Valentine yet. The photo was carelessly dropped on the floor and got tainted with zombie blood; Burton felt relieved leaving the two accusative chubby faces on the moldy rug, unaware that a second picture was in his pant's back pocket.
Danger is never too far behind.
The bathtub was full of dirty water, curiosity got the best of Jill and she pulled the plug. It drained and revealed one decomposed fellow who stumbled out and tried to grab her legs. She violently rammed her heel at his head, fracturing his already weakened skull allowing blood and puss to pour out then she puked all over it. No need to turn around and seek somewhere more suitable to vomit since this scene was already unhygienic. Poor zombie though, all he had tried to do was tickle her. Then alright maybe he would have sunk his teeth into her leg but it would have been a courteous little chew just so he could replenish his empty stomach. Terminator-Valentine could be so harsh sometimes.
She ventured on a small paved path outside which also lead to a dead-end with a rusty boiler being all worthless; not like she was going to use it to cook infected meat. She also found a big sack of chemical but deemed it preferable to leave it be, «I don't do this kind of drug. », meanwhile Dobermans roamed around the metal fence drooling at their future meal. The smarter canine of the two eventually jumped over, Jill faced the sudden threat by jamming her knife in the dog's socket as it leaped for her throat. The mutt whimpered and once on the ground she stabbed it again, then she stood while staring at the remaining dog that was now busy trying to run through the fence, getting nowhere forever. She actually felt sad for it hence shot it in the head before stepping back inside; immediately regretting it due to the stench.
Her next discovery was a twelve gauge shells shotgun, fully loaded and all there for the taking. Of course it could have been a trap, the hooks rising when she picked it up could be proof of a contraption meant to kill, along with the cameras placed in order to film her ultimate death; but she just dismissed that. With her being skilled in disarming traps and many other skills we're jealous of, you'd think she'd have handled that one like a pro; but no, CAPCOM forbade it. When she exited the small room the ceiling began descending at an alarming rate; soon she'd be deader than all those zombies. She thought about blowing her head off with the shotgun which would be a lot more painless than having her bones crushed slowly as she neared demise.
However panic seized her thus she wasted the seconds she had left to live by cursing worse than any men ever did, that's when Barry heard the commotion even though he should have been on the second floor. Turns out he could run rather fast despite his colossal frame when pursued by a horde of five zombies, who all roam about unsteadily and really slowly. Now hearing this ruckus he got a bit scared at first; felt that running away from such an angry creature would be best, until he recognized Valentine's tormented voice. Well now he absolutely felt that leaving was crucial…. but the dust and stench he'd been breathing made him sneeze loudly.
Jill's focus snapped back into action, «Help me I'M GOING TO DIE ATROCIOUSLY! »
Burton eyed the door with lack of sympathy, he was about leaving when magic words came from her mouth, «I have a shotgun! »
A fraction of a second later the solid lock burst open consequently hitting her in the stomach, the door shattered into many pieces and a hand reached inside for her arm. A sharp piece of wood cut her face as he gracelessly pulled her out but at least she was relatively safe now, seconds later the gigantic ceiling struck the floor with a loud noise. Jill was staring at it wide eyed but Barry was already trying to remove her hands from the weapon. She swiftly looked his way then, thanking him, still clutching on the shotgun ever so sturdily. Barry's eyes thinned as he wondered how the hell she was able to do that.
«Sure, I erh, yeah. Jill? »
«Yes? »
«Give me that shotgun. »
She looked at his Magnum poking out of its casing, «But, you've already got an ass kicking-»
He promptly interrupted, «Jill I have a family! »
She blinked, both their hands still on the weapon and Burton's face faking deep distress. «You don't want anything bad to happen to them do you? And don't forget my dog Jill, think about the dog. », he said knowing she was unaware he had none. The woman's face was starting to show concern for his mental sanity, right before Barry's expression suddenly shifted to a darker mood, «I just saved your life. »
She started smiling, «You're right, I'm being inconsiderate. Here ta-»
He snatched it from her and immediately ran off through the double doors. She stared ahead as she listened to his footsteps. A sound like someone whacking their face on a wall was heard, then cursing, something being kicked provoking more cursing; then another door being slammed shut. Valentine shook her head, «Old Burry, willing to do anything to save friends and family. What a nice, honest man. »
The wall behind her cracked so she swiftly turned its way, aiming at it, «You shut up. » The woman remained there a couple of minutes, defying it.
Richard Aiken had been too curious. In wanting to find more shotgun shells to ensure his survival, which was normal behavior for someone trapped in such an austere venue; he unfortunately got surprised by the largest and most-fatal monster lurking in the entire manor. Because if it failed to eat you whole then its poison would ensure you still died: tough fate. Sure now he could warn the other team members but the price had been high, especially now that he was stuck with the most useless and annoying of the Bravo.
Rebecca was holding him, being rather ineffective despite all of her medical training since she lacked the only component that could potentially save him. His arm was bleeding heavily and had been torn in many places, plus it was starting to turn blue. He was feeling rather badly ill, the poison coursing through his warming body plus the lethal T-virus mingling in might be the cause of his, slight, discomfort. He wishes he had serum, in fact Chambers had seen bottles with labels bearing that inscription but she just had to illogically remain by his side. Of course the younger recruit could leave, all she had to do was run and exterminate zombies in her way then come back to give him a shot; but she just had to stay there while singing him a lullaby instead, that ought to help.
Poor Richard though, and the serum was so close, too; but no, he would die. Too bad.
