The office of Chief Elena Mets was as obliterated as the security office in the hospital, with the exception of having no beasts eating the Chief's dead body. The office was a shambles; books and documents stained with blood everywhere and the painting on the wall ripped down. The wooden desk was dripping with blood, and had the body of the chief propped upon it, her face twisted in horror and suffering, her obese body shredded and exposing her ribs. It seemed that she had been attacked by a zombie, but she had taken care of it before she had died, the corpse of her killer on the floor, its head caved in.
Misty backed off, swallowing bile back and holding her handgun tight. She had found more ammo on the chief"s body, a clip containing six bullets. It wasn't much, but it was good enough. She and Bruce needed all the ammo they could get.
Next to the chief was a book which caught Misty's interest. It seemed to be the diary belonging to the chief.
"Perhaps she knew something we don't," Misty said to herself, and picked up the book, flicking through the pages.
"Day Two:
Things have been going wrong from the start. I have sent many officers to rescue the civilians that have not been gathered to the precinct. I ensured they left well armed and reinforced. The Mayor seems to be under the impression that it is an Umbrella assassination attempt, and is growing very impatient. He is becoming an asshole, and I wish he would leave me be. The noise outside suggests that the zombies are gathering around the precinct. I had better help out and secure the surviving civilians."
Misty scratched her head, and moved on to the next page.
"Day Five:
They got in somehow, I don't know! I went to check the cells and found that they were all empty of life. All that remains in there are the zombies of the survivors we gathered. We gathered the living members, but the zombies separated us. I haven't seen Mayor Wilkins in a while, but I couldn't care less. I am in my office now, locked in with Officer Billy Dole. He was bitten by one of them, and seems to be getting ill. I hope he gets better: I'm not trained in first aid."
Misty turned the page, only to find that it stopped at day five. Misty now knew how the chief had died: she had let the infected in, and that was her downfall. She was caring for her fellow officer, and it had been her demise.
It was a pity, but she couldn't dwell on it.
"Rest in peace, Chief Mets," she prayed, and walked out of the office, ready to enter the other door.

Bruce looked around the cells, and sighed with relief. There were eight zombies behind bars, and none of them were Harv Baker. The cells room was huge, about twenty cells and two desks for the cell guards, who now lay dead, hardly any flesh left on them. The smell of rotting flesh and excretion had been too much, and Bruce had vomited in the bin next to the closest desk when he had entered. Now he was getting used to it, and it made him feel worse than he had when he vomited.
The moans of the dead sent him back to the nightmares, and again he was there with his mother and father, in the alley behind his house, his mother crying, his father pulling out his gun, the shots fired.
He shook his head. This was not the time to go down memory lane, and he knew that more than anyone. His nightmares would have to wait until he got out of the current one he was in.
The door behind him slammed, and instinctively Bruce dived towards the wall, turning around and pointing his shotgun at the figure that had entered. The man was African-American, and was built like a wrestler. He wore a black shirt, baggy blue jeans and a brown baseball cap. The man held a steel pipe in his hand. He had a black, thick mustache and a shaved head.
"Who are you?" the man asked, his manner gruff.
"I ask you the same question," Bruce threw back harshly.
The man lowered the steel pipe, and relaxed his body. He held out his hand, and Bruce took it. The man hoisted him up easily, and Bruce was hoping that the man was not hostile, as many of his encounters had been.
"The name is Cal Blake, and I am one of the surviving prisoners of this place."
Bruce nodded. "I'm Bruce Campbell, local reporter. So you are a prisoner? Any reasons why that is so?"
Cal raised his eyebrow, and responded coldly. "I am not a criminal prisoner, if that is what you think. I was forced in here by the police for my safety. I tried resisting, but the bastards here wouldn't let me save my wife. Since the zombies broke in, I have been wandering around, helping as many as I can. I have saved a few people, and now I have saved you."
"Saved me?" Bruce asked. "From what?"
"From wandering around and probably end up like them." He pointed at the zombies in the cells. "Those poor people were put in there, like I was. We were considered dangerous because we were desperate to reach loved ones, so they locked us up. In the end, only I escaped here, hence the open jail cell. It was lucky I was locked up on my own. Wish I could say the same about the others."
"Have you seen a man, a reporter? His name is Harv Baker. He was in the city reporting the riot incident here, which is now obviously more than a riot."
Cal looked towards the ceiling, then back at Bruce. "I did see such a man, but it was four days ago. He helped me bust out of my cell, claiming I should not have been locked up. I tried asking him questions about the situation, but all he replied was that his name was Harv and he was going to bring down Umbrella."
"So he is not one of the ones you have saved?"
Cal shook his head. "Afraid not, sorry. However, I'll help you find your friend, and-"
Instantly, the door swung open, and Bruce gasped with shock as he saw who it was. Three men, all in black robes with their hoods up. The men moved swiftly. One jumped in the air and kicked Cal in the face, knocking the man into his open cell, unconcious.
Before they could approach Bruce, he smashed the butt of the shotgun on top of one's head, and blinked as he heard the cry of the man. A fist flew into his face, and before he fell into darkness, he heard one scream an order.
"Let's go now, we have got-"

Barry woke up to the sound of the door close quietly, and raised his handgun at the intruder. It was a young girl, wearing a half tee and jeans. It took him a while to see it was a survivor, but he did not lower his weapon.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he ordered sternly, holding back a yawn.
The girl raised her hands in surrender. "Don"t shoot. My name is Misty Walker, and I am looking for someone."
Barry stood up, his eyes and gun on the girl. "Well you are in the wrong place. Everyone here is dead, except for me."
He watched as the girl lowered her hands, and put away her gun. Realising he was being stupid, Barry holstered his weapon.
"I'm sorry," he apologised. "I haven't seen anyone in ages who is alive. The survivors around here take a shot at anything that moves, so I usually avoid human contact. Who are you looking for?"
The girl, Misty, put her hands on her small hips. "He is a reporter by the name of Harv Baker. I need to find him for a friend."
"Sorry, don't know anyone by that name, but I did see a reporter. He was hassling the chief about her views on this incident. That was about five days ago." She nodded in disappointment, and he continued. "I can help you find him if you want to. I might not be a military type, but I can do my best."
Misty smiled at him. "Thanks, I'd appreciate it. First, we need to find my friend, Bruce. He is the one who is really looking for this reporter. Perhaps if we work together, we can find a way to leave this place."
"There, I can help you," Barry grinned. "On the Town Hall roof is a copter, capable of carrying up to six people including the pilots. If we hurry, we might find this reporter and the four of us can fly off."
"Won't we need a pilot?" Misty asked.
"Not to worry," Barry smiled. "I am an expert. Before my days of being Mayor I was a pilot for the police. Now all we really need to worry about is-"
The door shattered into pieces, and as Barry had dreaded, he saw two men in robes walk in. The girl ran from them and to Barry, making Barry feel an anger rise within him.
"Don't move, scum!" he yelled, feeling powerful as he pointed his gun at them. "I will shoot you if you touch myself or the girl!"
The men looked at each other, and before Barry could blink one of them threw their sword straight into Barry's chest. He shook his head in confusion, and looked at Misty. She was staring in horror, her eyes wide and frightened.
"I'm sorry," Barry tried to say, but only made a coughing noise as blood rushed out of his mouth.
The world was going black, and suddenly Barry fell. The last thing he saw were the feet of one of the men, and heard the screams of the girl as they taken her away.