The Fall of Raccoon

by Jammer69er

It took just 9 days for Raccoon City to die in the wake of the devastating T-Virus outbreak. Experience the last days of Raccoon City's existence from the viewpoint of surviving R.P.D officer Dean Travers. Epilogue up and story complete.

25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: End of an Era

September 29th 0635 hours

Director Daniel Lindeman smoothed down the front of his expensive suit jacket, and gave his dark tie a quick readjustment, examining his appearance in the full-length mirror before him. His hair was freshly washed and his beard was freshly trimmed as well, but the bags under his tired eyes showed the fact he hadn't been getting much sleep lately, what with everything that had been going on.

Raccoon City had been sealed off from the outside world for over 3 days now, and although the military was keeping the perimeter sealed off from the outside world for the time being, people were starting to ask questions, and the story was on practically every news station in the country. That and the danger that the military could come into contact with the B. still wandering the forest. Though both variables were a major concern to them, of greater concern was the fact that if the virus was able to spread outside of the city a world-wide outbreak could be on the cards, destroying everything they had achieved: everything he had worked for.

He had devoted the last 40 years of his life to the company, starting as a lowly administrative head, and then working himself up to head of research at the New York facility. After 10 years in that post, he finally caught the attention of Lord Spencer himself, and found himself appointed to director of the overall facility, and with it, a place on the Board of Directors himself. If he were to lose that place, where would he go from there? Nowhere, he reckoned, except the retirement home. And that was no way for one of Umbrella's finest to spend their dying days.

Though he felt sickened by Spencer's disregard for the incredible loss of life suffered in Raccoon, he couldn't let himself focus on that disgust too much. After his confrontation with the CEO, he was almost certain he would have someone watching him from now on, checking to see that he stayed in line. Yet he was confident that he was safe within his penthouse, one of the most secure places within the whole city: the exact reason why he had chosen it in the first place.

He stepped out onto the open balcony, breathing in the morning air deeply. He looked out across the countless rooftops before him, and in the near distance he saw the imposing spectacle of Marcus Tower, the company's base of operations in New York, and Lindeman's own headquarters, which he had gladly loaned to the Board for use of their crisis talks. He knew most of them were gathering now, planning to go ahead without him, but he didn't care: he had other things to worry about.

He took out a cell phone from his jacket pocket and keyed in a number, lifting the phone to his ear. He heard the ring tone for several long seconds, but he waited patiently. It was almost a minute before he finally heard the voice on the other side.

"Hello?"

"It's me," said Lindeman, skipping the pleasantries.

"Ah, Mr Lindeman," replied his contact. "I trust all is well with the Board?"

"Don't ask," snapped the New York director. "Spencer is going to run us into the ground if he keeps at the rate he's going. The old fool…"

"So you've told me before," laughed the contact lightly. "Trust me, they all know Spencer's got more than a few screws loose-"

"And yet they still follow him obediently, like the dogs fetching a stick thrown by their master," noted Lindeman. "They're either stupid, of they're too scared of him setting his hound on them."

"You mean Sergei?" asked the contact, before he started to laugh loudly for several seconds. "That damned Russian…he's got a few screws loose as well: he and Spencer were made for each other! No wonder the old man was so keen to take him on board…"

"While your opinion fascinates me," said Lindeman, annoyance creeping into his voice, "it doesn't help to alleviate our current situation much. I trust you already know of what happened at the checkpoint?"

The contact scoffed loudly, ignoring the insult he had just received. "Greene? He was a reprobate, a scumbag who couldn't handle his damned addiction: he wasn't prepared for something like this-"

"Again, I didn't call for your opinion," snapped Lindeman, getting back to the point. "I contacted him because he was a desperate man, and desperate men are exactly what I need for situations like this. Now what's going on down there exactly?"

"Exactly as you'd expect," was the reply, ignoring the rather prickly response from before. Clearly, this guy was used to being treated like dirt. "We have press and reporters up the ass, and everyone else is on edge, as you might imagine."

"So do you think you'd be able to do something?"

"You're joking, right?!" replied the voice on the other end of the line. "There is no chance in hell that I can do anything about your little problem right now! Pretty much every move's being caught in camera and beamed out to the country, so I couldn't even step on a snail without someone seeing it."

"OK, OK," said the director, trying to defuse his contact's prickly mood. "Then just keep a low profile for the time being: if anything happens, then let me know. I may not answer straight away, as you know…"

"Those crisis talks get pretty boring, eh?" said the contact sarcastically. "So what does this mean for Raccoon City?"

"Let us worry about that," shot back Lindeman, the queasy feeling returning at the thought of total decontamination measures being used against one of their own cities.

"Hey, I'm on the front line here, so I need to know all the details," replied the contact. "I don't want anymore nasty surprises-"

"You've never complained about being kept in the dark," growled Lindeman threateningly, his patience wearing thin, "so why do you start now? Just do what I'm paying you to do!"

There was an uncomfortable silence from the other end, before being followed by a long sigh and a single word reply. "Fine."

Click.

Lindeman looked at his phone display, which simply read 'Call ended'. The director sighed and put his phone away, before running a hand through his hair again and then finally turned and stepping back inside his penthouse, sliding the door closed shut behind him.

---

Malcolm Donovan checked over the case once more, making sure that all of the daylight samples were still intact, along with the two injector guns. His P8 handgun lay on its side too, along with the single spare magazine he still had for the small-size handgun. Far as he was concerned, he had everything he needed. And he couldn't carry much else on him either.

He looked over at the screens again. Little moved on the dozens of tiny images, aside from the odd zombie or some other biological horror that wandered the empty halls. He guessed that he was probably the only one still left alive within the facility, aside from those two Umbrella assassins obviously, but they still couldn't get to him, for the time being. Which is why he had chosen to move out of his office, to find some other safe place to hole up.

Besides, Becket's corpse was starting to stink. He crinkled his nose and resisted the urge to throw up.

It was dangerous to leave the sanctity of his office, granted, but he was still within the Maximum Security area, which meant he still had some time left before they would figure out a way to get to him: more time that a B.O.W could kill them both, getting rid of both headaches in one fell swoop. And the area was relatively free of any other threats too, as he had activated the lockdown the day before as well, which sealed off every single lab and work place within the sector to make it practically impenetrable. Any zombies created when the virus spread would be sealed away from him hopefully.

He snapped the case shut and picked it up in his left hand, before grabbing for his handgun and tucking it down within his belt, for easy access if needed. Then finally, he picked up the master key from the desk top in his right hand, before dropping it inside of his upper coat pocket. He checked over his office one more time, making sure he had everything he needed, then he made his way towards the door, carefully skirting around Becket's body, and the lake of blood surrounding it.

He stopped at the door, watching back over his office, filled with the many memories and reminders of his past. It would be painful to leave it all behind, after doing so much for the company, but his life was more important right now, and it wasn't the first time he had sacrificed something for the greater good. He removed the master key from his pocket and pushed it into the lock on the door, turning it and licking it open. He pushed through, letting it swing shut behind him. Then he turned round and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the creaky groans greet him.

He gasped and stepped back in shock as a pair of zombified security guards came for him, still in their standard black uniforms. Strangely, neither of them were wounded or marked in any way, unlike the other zombies he had seen so far, though the deathly white skin tone and blank eyes still freaked him out. Then he realised that these were the two guards who had accompanied Becket here in the first place, and they had been banging on the door from outside after he had shot the captain dead. Presumably locked in here when the lockdown was activated, they had succumbed to the virus anyway and turned. Both of them still had their AK-47 rifles slung over their shoulders as well.

Donovan quickly raised his arm towards the nearest zombie, setting his sights over the middle of its face.

BANG!

He buried a shot through its left eye, and the monster crumpled to the floor without another sound. It didn't deter its companion though, who continued to approach in its shambling gait. The supervisor switched his aim and fired again, the bullet smacking into the man's mouth and tearing off his lower jaw in a hail of gory fragments. The zombie shuddered for a brief second, and then started approaching again, blood still pouring from where its lower jaw should have been. Cursing, he changed his aim and fired again, putting a perfect shot between the zombie's eyes. It crumpled like a piece of paper.

As silence descended once again, the supervisor breathed out in relief. He then looked round quickly, but the area was completely bare of any other threats. Looking back and forth again, he headed off, making his way deeper into the facility, but leaving the door to his office unlocked and wide open.

---

Dean Travers slowly opened his eyes, staring up at the plain steel ceiling directly above him. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes, and then he rubbed them tiredly and stretched his arms above his head. The cot he had slept on was highly uncomfortable, obviously designed for people only sleeping for the night, or for several hours at least, but at least it was better than nothing.

"Allright?" asked Ben Campbell, sat on a plain wooden seat just opposite the door, Dean's shotgun laid out across his lap.

"I've had better nights sleep," moaned Dean, sitting up and rubbing his eyes a few more times.

"Well at least it's better than nothing," replied Ben, looking away towards the door. "Trust me, when this is all over I'll book us into a nice luxury hotel, all the trimmings: on the house."

"That's very kind of you Ben," laughed Dean, "but when we get out of here, my old bed back home would be preferable to any hotel bed."

They had taken refuge in one of the abandoned dorms on the east side of the facility, after finishing their sweep of the western side, and finding nothing else of worth. Considering that the place was infested with zombies and other biological nightmares, taking a nap would be considered almost suicidal. But both men were dead on their feet from sheer fatigue, and if they had kept going then who knew if they would drop on their feet. So they took turns in having a few hours rest, while the other sat watch. They had even been able to lock the door using the Level 5 keycard they had found up on the surface, but it wouldn't hurt to play if safe. The encounter with those skinless tongue-monsters had rattled them both considerably, and both kept their eyes glued to the ceiling vents just in case. Luckily, there were no vents within this particular dorm room.

"Sounds good," laughed Ben, standing up at the same time Dean did, passing the shotgun back to his friend. "That's something else for me to look forward to when we get out of here."

"That's the spirit," said Dean, gladly taking his shotgun back and checking the tube magazine briefly. "Anything happening out there?"

"Nothing," answered Ben flatly, rubbing the back of his head. "No sounds, no voices: nothing. Looks as though this place has been forgotten."

"Lucky for us," said Dean. "But we still need to find a way out to that train platform…and we need to find a cure for the virus too."

Ben's expression darkened. He may have felt blessed at the fact that the two of them were able to get some peace and some rest in this place, but while they rested that damned virus was still coursing through their bodies, working on turning them into mindless monsters. According to the late U.B.C.S members, they still had plenty of time before turning, but when exactly they didn't know. It could be within a week, it could be within a few days….or it could be within the next few hours.

"Ben?"

Ben glanced up to see his friend's concerned features. "You feeling OK?"

"Oh, yeah I am," Ben said quickly, grinning slightly, seemingly a little forced. "It's just I feel as though we could turn into one of those damned zombies anytime."

"That's not gonna happen," said Dean firmly, passing Ben a small white pill, an anti-virus pill they had both been carrying around recently, and which would slow down the infection rate of the virus…for the time being at least. "Here, go ahead and take it."

"But what about you-"

"I've already taken one, don't worry about me," answered Dean flatly. "Now stop whining and go ahead and take it." Ben hesitated for a few seconds, looking between Dean and the pill, before finally taking it and swallowing it down in an instant. He then nodded after a few more seconds.

"Good to go," he said.

"Then let's get the hell outta dodge."

The door slid open and the two of them stepped out, glancing to and fro down each path of the corridor, searching for any potential threats. When they were satisfied the coast was clear, they headed off, walking down the corridor up towards a large junction at the far end, where a large mound of corpses was laying, along with a ridiculous amount of blood and gore, and shell casings.

Apparently the fiercest fighting happened within this part of the facility, as at least 5 slain security guards were lying on top of one another, dead where they had fought to the death. They also seemed better-equiped than the other security personnel seen so far, as all of them were clothed in Kevlar armour that covered most of their bodies, including visored-helmets that covered their faces: to Ben, they seemed to resemble riot police than security guards. They also seemed to be much better armed, as empty weapons lay abandoned all around them; mainly AK and M4 assault rifles, and even a few Benelli M1014 semi-automatic shotguns.

Also in the area was a large pile of zombie corpses, many of them with their heads blown off or with their torsos blasted open. There were a few other B.O.W's among the pile too, mainly Hunters, and a couple of those skinless monsters with the long tongues as well. Despite having all that firepower, those guards were still overwhelmed and killed, and judging by the deep crimson gouge marks covering their bodies, it was by either of those two monster types.

"They fought well, either way," noted Ben, checking a Benelli shotgun over to see if it was loaded, but failing and tossing the empty weapon aside instead.

"And it still wasn't enough," replied Dean, shaking his head. "We need to take things more slowly now, or we'll be joining them soon."

"Amen to that, brother," replied Ben, peering towards a heavy-looking steel door just a few feet to where they were stood. The words 'Aqua Tank' were imprinted on the door in large black letters, and he also saw that there seemed to be a shallow puddle of water just on the floor outside the door. He looked down at it curiously.

Why would they have an aqua tank down here?

He approached the door, his shoes skipping at the puddle as he stopped before the door, before taking a hold of the large handle and tugging. Nothing happened, and the door seemed to be stuck tight. Then he pulled again, putting much more force behind his efforts, and the door came open with a loud groaning of steel, and then he heard the wet sloshing sound as some more water came issuing out, lapping around his ankles and lower legs, making him step back in surprise. The water only spread out a small distance before it was gone, sinking into the grilled flooring and away from sight.

"Hey, what's that?" asked Dean as drops of water lapped at his feet, and he stepped back in surprise, looking down. Ben ignored him though as he peered round the door, and then finally stepped through, instantly feeling a cold chill hit him in the face.

The room was huge, around 30 feet in diameter, forming a rough circular shape, and nearly 60 feet deep he guessed, most of the space just filled with dark, murky water, that reached up to the steel catwalk where he was currently stood, the water lapping against his feet. He peered across the room, and saw what seemed to be a control room just across the way, the reinforced glass windows placed underneath the water surface broken through by something or other. But by what exactly, he still couldn't tell. He peered down into the water curiously, trying to discern the dark shapes that moved to and fro, but he couldn't pick the exact details out. He could smell copper as well, on the air, even on his tongue.

Then one of the shapes suddenly swam close by to him, on the surface, and he saw the dark grey fin slicing through the surface, leaving a wake of water a sit went.

It was a shark. A Great White, more likely, based on its colouration; dark grey on top, with a pure white belly. It was only a small one, about 7 foot long at the most, but it was still larger than him, and it had a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. And then it turned and disappeared down into the depths. He watched it disappear down, and he discerned a second shark, larger than the first one, and with several fleshy chunks ripped out of its dorsal fin and side.

Then a hand slapped on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out his skin as he turned to look into Dean's concerned face.

"Woah, just take it easy, its me," he said, and then looked past into the aqua tank, glancing around in wonder. "Didn't think they'd have something like this down here," he then observed, peering out to look into the dark depths.

"Careful," said Ben, motioning for Dean to step back from the edge, just as the larger shark came up towards them, breaking the water surface and sending out several large ripples, before diving down again. Dean looked genuinely shocked as the huge beast disappeared down again.

"Sharks?" he asked. "What were Umbrella thinking, working on some of those?"

"Do they ever think?" asked Ben in reply, just as soon as he saw a severed leg floating atop of the water on the far side of the aqua tank, crimson blood staining the dank water around it as well. Ben's face dropped when he saw it bobbing there.

"Come on, let's go," said Dean, pulling him back gently, watching the water carefully, as the bigger shark came back to the surface, bearing a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, stained with blood. Then it disappeared as quickly as it came, silently too.

"Yeah," agreed Ben, and the two of them quietly retreated back through the door behind them, pushing it shut as quickly as they could. The steel groaned as the door was pushed back into its frame.

---

The Blackhawk touched down, its rotors throwing up a considerable cloud of dust, and the weary soldiers on perimeter duty glanced up, and covering their faces as their clothes and equipment was rustled by the breeze. The chopper had barely rested down when Colonel Adams leapt out, his feet kissing the ground as he strode towards the command tent barely 30 feet away, a pair of foot soldiers following after him.

The flaps of the tent parted ad Gordon Fletcher stepped out, his face pale and drawn from the general exhaustion. When he saw Colonel Adams approaching, he felt the heavy weight form in his stomach again.

Great…just what I need…

He managed a firm salute as Adams stopped just before him, closely followed by his bodyguards.

"Colonel," the Lieutenant said, though the enthusiasm in his voice had long since deserted him. Colonel Adams took a deep breath and ran a hand through his receding hair, but otherwise his face was passive, so Fletcher couldn't tell whether he was still pissed off about the whole mess with Tobias, or something else.

"Lieutenant, let's talk in some more private conditions," said the Colonel, flatly. Fletcher only nodded in confirmation and lead the way back towards the command tent, followed by the Colonel's men. Just before they disappeared inside, the senior officer turned to his men and motioned for them to remain outside.

Inside, Lieutenant Fletcher sat himself down on his fold-out chair, as the Colonel glanced over the latest stack of reports from various units within their regiment. "So Colonel," asked Fletcher in a partly sarcastic manner, "what brings you out to the front?"

"Any word on the mess with Corporal Greene?" asked the Colonel, to-the-point. Fletcher expected that question, and he took a breath before he gave his reply.

"Not much," he said initially, "but it was common knowledge on the grounds that Tobias had a pretty serious gambling addiction. Some of us had bailed him out on more than one occasion…but still he couldn't pull himself out of that hole."

"So you're suggesting someone was manipulating him?" asked the Colonel, intrigued.

"Trust me, Tobias probably had some very big debts built up, owed some very nasty people a lot of money," replied Fletcher, tossing a plain-looking cell phone on the table next to them as he spoke. "We found that on Tobias when we searched his body…the only thing he had on him literally. There was only one number saved on it too: a 'D.L'."

"And who would that be?" asked the Colonel. There was a brief period of silence before Fletcher replied.

"Daniel Lindeman."

Colonel Adams was silent for a while, before he started to smile a little. "Sorry? You mean, as in the guy from Umbrella's Board of Directors?"

"I know it sounds a very long shot," explained Fletcher, "but I heard this guy's voice. And I recognized it, goddamn it. I called the damn number, and I had our techs analyse the recording too. If you don't believe me, then listen."

And with that, Fletcher moved over towards an audio-tape player that was sat on the edge of the table, and pushed the play button in. There was a few seconds of white noise, and then it played out the small conversation that had been shared the previous day. Adams heard it all, from Lindeman's prickly greeting, to the awkward silence before he ended the call.

"Well," said the Colonel, "that was certainly unexpected."

"You can say that again," replied the Lieutenant.

"But why would an Umbrella director be manipulating one of our own troops?" asked Adams, incredulous.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Fletcher. "Umbrella have a hell of a large stake in this whole mess. If it came out that they had something to do with it, then they'd all be finished. The directors included."

"I see," nodded Adams, "but that's a pretty big accusation to go around making, Gordon. Do you have any other proof aside from that phone call? A man like Lindeman could easily lawyer his way out of something like this, what with the company's collective wealth behind him."

There was a short silence before Fletcher finally replied.

"No, I don't." Colonel Adams sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Then I'm afraid there isn't much else we can do," he said blankly. "It's a tragic thing, everything that's happened with Tobias, everything that happened with Raccoon City…but right now we have more important things to worry about."

"And what would that be?" asked Fletcher.

"Gordon, we have orders to move all our troops out to minimum safe distance," explained Adams.

"So we're still going ahead with total decontamination measures then?" asked Fletcher darkly. "There could still be some survivors in that city, you know-"

"But we can't take that chance," retorted the colonel. "The loss of 150,000 people is a heavy blow, I agree, but the government, as well as everyone else, has the welfare of the entire country to worry about. You know that as well as I do."

"Sorry, but I still don't like it," replied Fletcher, shaking his head.

"You don't have to like it, but you still have orders to follow, and that's what you'll do," replied Adams, turning to leave the tent. "This is what being a soldier is all about. Trust me Gordon, I've taken part in my fair share of things I don't like in my career." Their was a brief pause, before the Colonel started to make a move to leave.

"Colonel, I'm sorry," said Fletcher suddenly.

"About what?" asked Adams, turning round.

"About Tobias," replied the Lieutenant. "I make a habit out of knowing every man under my command by name, face, habits, you name it. I should've known Tobias was up to something, and now I lost a good man and we have a major security compromise-"

"-we're only human, Gordon," said Adams lightly, walking up to stand beside the Lieutenant, but looking to some point in the distance. "You, me, Tobias- and humans lie, you have to know. You couldn't have known what Tobias had gotten himself involved in, and blaming yourself won't help anyone, you need to worry about the people you're still responsible for."

Fletcher remained silent through all of this, before Colonel Adams headed back towards the tent exit, pausing just before he passed through,

"Again Lieutenant, move your forces to minimum safe distance. Make sure nothing, and no-one gets left behind." And with that, he was gone, letting the tent flap come down.

Gordon Fletcher sat silently for a while, staring at the tape player near to him, as the audio recording of that phone call repeated over and over again. The Colonel was right on a few accounts: he didn't have to like all decisions high command made, but he had little choice unless he fancied being charged for insubordination. And also, he couldn't exactly let himself get bogged down over what had happened with Tobias At the moment, all he could do was to follow along with that was being asked of him.

"Damn it," he growled, rising to his feet and heading out to make his men ready, just as he heard Adams' Blackhawk starting to take off. He threw aside the tent flaps and ventured outside, heading straight towards Sergeant Bourne, stood conversing with the rest of his squad.

"Sir?" asked the sergeant, snapping to attention.

"We're moving out Bourne, get everything together."

"Where to?" asked the sergeant.

"Minimum safe distance," answered Fletcher, looking towards the ground. Bourne fell silent, and he even shifted on the spot a few times, but otherwise he remained rooted to the spot. "I know it'll be a tall order, but I want everything and everyone readied and moved out ASAP."

"What about the chopper patrols, sir?" asked Bourne.

"Recall them all," answered Fletcher directly. "I think it's fair to say we won't be finding many more people in that damned city…we need to worry about the people we still have with us right now."

"Yes sir," said Bourne, even as Fletcher started to move away, looking to inform the other leaders under his command. Bourne watched his commander go with a heavy heart, knowing full well the horrific implications of what was going to transpire shortly. But he had to get on with the job, either way.

"Come on ladies, let's get this over and done with," he announced, turning away towards his squad.

---

They heard the sounds of chewing from just around the corner ahead of them, and they both slowed down, perking their ears up. The sound of crunching bone was then heard, and Ben grimaced somewhat, trying not to imagine the scene that was occurring just out of his viewpoint.

"Zombies?" asked Dean curiously, but when the crunching noises ceased and a long, ragged gasp sounded, they knew it was something much worse.

"No, tongue-bastards," replied Ben, his face darkening.

"Perfect," whispered Dean. "I was kinda hoping for something a little easier just this once." And then the feeding sounds picked up again, the tearing of flesh mixed in with the crunching of bones being broken and splintered like matchwood.

"Well I'm always up for a challenge," smiled Ben, checking over his AK and making a move towards the corner, peering around quickly before pulling his head back as fast as he could manage. He looked back at Dean, and held up two of the fingers on his left hand, showing that he could see two targets. Dean nodded in confirmation, and checked over his shotgun again. Then he had another thought and slung it over his shoulder, reaching back for the .357 magnum he had acquired shortly beforehand. He found its weight comforting in his hands, and couldn't wait to try it out, to see the weapon's devastating power first hand.

"After three?" whispered Ben, getting his attention suddenly. Dean just nodded, and then the count down began.

"Three…two-"

Dean tightened his grip on his weapon.

"…one!"

The two friends quickly spun around the corner, aiming down the steel passageway before them. At the far end, two of those skinless monsters from before, their bare red flesh catching the light from above, were crouched over a dead body, tearing off strips of skin and flesh, splattering blood all around them. At the sound of feet on the floor, they suddenly spun round to face the source of the noises. The closest one, its teeth covered in fresh gore, shrieked at them, as though annoyed at having its meal interrupted. Ben squeezed down the trigger.

His first few rounds smacked into the monster's back, causing it to spasm and cry in pain, before it launched itself onto the nearby wall, clawing its way towards the two humans as fast as it could manage. The second one turned awkwardly and started to approach at ground level, the incessant click of its claws on the steel creeping into their ears. Dean aimed his magnum at the monster and steadied himself as much as possible, before pulling the trigger. Because despite all his police training, Dean had never used a high-powered handgun before.

BANG!

The gun went off with an ear-splitting discharge and jumped up in his hands, nearly flying out of his grasp and ripping his arms out of their sockets into the bargain. The sound rolled back and forth down the narrow corridor, nearly bursting his ear drums as well.

Damn it!

He managed to control the gun in time to see the tongue monster still approaching him rapidly, undeterred. The shot had sailed over its head by at least 10 feet. Readjusting his aim quickly, Dean fixed the sights over the monster's head, even as Ben opened fire again, cutting down the first monster as it came within 15 feet of them. It fell to the ground with a clatter, losing its grip against the steel. The second monster ignored this event as it opened its mouth and prepared to fling its razor-sharp tongue out towards its prey.

Dean pulled the trigger a second time, and this time his aim was spot on. The creature's head exploded like a gore-filled balloon, and the rest of its body slumped to the ground, blood still pumping out of the severed neck wound. Dean grimaced as he watched the grisly sight, then he finally lowered his weapon, breathing out in relief.

"You OK?" asked Ben suddenly, turning towards him.

"I'm fine," answered Dean, lowering his arms and then rubbing his sore shoulder. "Recoil on that's a bitch though."

Ben laughed out loud for a few seconds before slapping his friend across the back. "Well that's what you get for using a gun you can't handle."

"Hey, I can use this gun just fine," retorted Dean, sounding a little hurt. "It just takes a little getting used to, that's all."

"If you say so Dean if you say so," joked Ben as he kept on walking forward, aiming a quick kick at the first dead tongue monster he passed by. He then skirted around the second one carefully, as with its head missing he didn't really need to double-check at all. Dean watched him go for a few seconds, before he tucked his magnum back into the back of his jeans, and hurried after him, bringing out his Beretta handgun. He stopped behind Ben, who looked down at the remains of the monster's last meal.

The poor man looked as though he had been a researcher before, still clad in the shredded remains of his white lab coat. He also wore black dress pants and smart black shoes, along with a blue dress shirt underneath his coat. His chest had been split wide open as well, from just under his chin right down to his navel, his ribs cracked and broken away, most of his internal organs ripped out and devoured. A few loose strands of intestines remained though, spooling out like discarded ribbon, and the poor man's head lay several feet away from him, his blue eyes wide open, mouth fixed forever in a permanent mask of sheer shock and terror.

"These things need to learn some table manners," noted Dean, turning away from the sight, towards a nearby dorm door. The porthole was still smeared with fairly-recent blood, but he wiped it away with one of his jacket sleeves, trying to peer inside. Through the small glass port he could see that the room inside was fairly tidy and in one piece, but he could see a body slumped over one of the tables, unmoving. He tried the door, but it remained locked.

"Poor guy probably made it this far then bled out," noted the R.P.D officer. "Unlucky bastard-"

Suddenly there was a wide-eyed face at the porthole, just barely an inch from Dean's face, and he fell back, crying out in shock. In an instant, Ben spun round, his AK raised, and was shoving the barrel at the glass, towards the face, which suddenly moved back, raising its hands.

"Don't shoot! I'm human!" cried a muffled male voice, and Ben pulled his gun away, so it wasn't aimed at the fortunate human survivor anymore. He glanced at Dean, just as the heavy 'thunk' of the lock being released was heard, and the door opened halfway. Then a short man with short black hair and brown eyes stepped out, wearing the dirty blue overalls of the maintenance staff. He looked tired and terrified, his cheeks marked with dirt and sweat.

"Oh Jesus, am I glad to see someone else alive down here!" the man said, his voice high-pitched from the immense relief.

"Likewise," answered Dean, tucking his Beretta away. "What's your name?"

"R-Roy," the man stuttered, after a brief pause. "Roy Baker. I worked on the maintenance workforce down here."

"Well I'm Dean and this is Ben," replied Dean, pointing to his friend. "We're both with the Raccoon Police Department- or rather, we used to be."

"The police are here?" asked Roy, sounding a little more uplifted. "But where's the rest of your buddies? Your backup?"

"We are the backup," replied Ben blankly. "We could probably be the only police officers left in the whole city."

"What?!" asked Roy in horror, but Ben quickly changed the subject before the poor guy could get anymore exasperated than he was right now.

"Well Roy, looks like you're lucky to have made it this far," he remarked, checking the corridor to his right to make sure they were safe to talk. "Is there anyone else with you?"

"Well," said Roy, looking back over his shoulder towards the body sprayed across the table. "Me and my buddy Danny were together, but one of those skinless fuckers cut his stomach open, and he bled to death. There was nothing I could do; I don't have any medical training!" He cast a mournful glance over towards the nearby body, also clad in similar blue overalls.

"Is there anyone else still alive down here?" asked Dean, impatiently. "Anyone else at all you may have seen?"

"No, everyone else is either dead or zombified," said Roy, shaking his head, before indicating towards the dead scientists nearby. "He was with us as well, but he fell behind and those things were so damned fast! We had to leave him outside!"

Ben suddenly turned on the survivor, angrily. "You locked someone else outside? With some of those things?! Were you out of your mind?!"

"Ben-" started Dean, but he was interrupted as Roy opened his mouth, after a brief period of reeling in shock.

"Look man, I'm sorry to spit on your self-righteousness," the worker sneered, "but right now I'm only worried about number 1!" Ben blinked in surprise, and then started to say something else, but stopped when Dean suddenly took a hold of his arm and pulled him back a short distance.

"Ben, not now," he whispered in his friend's ear. "Yes, I'm aware he's a stinking coward, but we have come too far to start getting caught up on little things like this!" He fixed Ben with a hard glare for a short time, and then he turned back towards Roy, who just continued to stand in the open doorway, watching the two of them converse. At the same time, he constantly glanced back and forth, in a very twitchy manner.

"Look," said Dean turning towards the survivor and talking in a low manner, "we're planning on getting onto the train platform and taking the emergency tram out of here-"

"But that area's locked down," retorted Roy suddenly, his high-pitched voice going right through Dean. "You'll need the master key to get through-"

"-and we know where that is," said Dean firmly. "We need to get into the maximum security area, but we can't do that since the master keys on the other side of that damned door in the entrance hall."

"That does suck indeed, man," replied Roy blankly, in a very unhelpful manner too. Dean rolled his eyes slightly before he continued.

"Come on, there needs to be some other way into that place. We found one of the security guys, Pete, alive not too long ago. He mentioned you by name, Roy," pleaded Dean. "He said there was maybe some way to manually override the locks, and we need to know if that's true. Anything is better than nothing right now."

"Pete?" asked Roy curiously, before scoffing quietly. "I always knew Pete could never keep his big mouth shut."

He looked towards the ground for several seconds, and then he finally glanced up, and started to speak again. "Yeah, I handle the electric systems round here, including the lockdown system for the whole facility. Well, everything except the maximum security area of course, since the power for that place is separate from the rest of the facility-"

"Roy," snapped Ben, but then calmed himself a little before continuing. "Sorry, but we would like to get out of here sooner rather than later." Roy gave him a funny look for a few seconds before he continued.

"Anyway, the transformer room's not too far from here," he explained. "You go to transformer number 5- they're all numbered- and take off the main front cover. You should see a load of wire bundles inside, you just need to twist a few of them together and that should short the locks…hold on, I'll write it down for you-"

With that, he pulled the door to and disappeared back inside the dorm. Dean and Ben looked at one another as they heard the man rummaging around inside the room for something to write on.

"I hope this guy comes up with the goods," said Ben tiredly.

"Well we don't have any other choice," replied Dean directly, and Ben turned away, shaking his head, clearly not comfortable with going along with what this coward was suggesting. After a few more seconds, Roy emerged back into the doorway, holding up a folded piece of paper. On the front were scrawled a square-shaped diagram of what was presumably the layout of wires they had to cross over. There were also a network of criss-crossing arrows going to and fro, and Dean initially felt as though they wouldn't be able to get the deed done, but didn't voice any concerns right then.

"That should show you how to get it done," Roy said simply, passing it to Dean, who just took a quick look at it and then tucked it into his jeans pocket. "Just follow the numbers."

"Will do," replied Dean.

"One more thing as well guys," said Roy quickly. "If you see Donovan, watch out. That guy's got a few screws loose, I'll tell you that."

"We've already gathered that, thanks," said Ben, sarcastically.

"Hell, I didn't even believe in half of these things," said Roy, ignoring Ben's comment just then, "until a few days ago. Jesus, that was a shock. And Donovan acted as though it were business as usual, sending us topside to gather 'specimens'. Well it's been a long time since I took 9th grade biology, but I'm pretty sure bug monsters with razor-sharp teeth and claws don't glass as 'specimens' nowadays!" He was ranting by then, and Dean and Ben cast a quick glance to one another.

"But I'm sure that bastard infected this place to," Roy then growled, and the two cops were about to ask what exactly he meant by that when the technician kept going. "I was looking over the ventilation system not to long before it all went to shit, and saw that someone had broken some glass in the main filtration unit…after that, everyone went crazy and turned on one another. And I saw Donovan walking around that part of the facility as well…acting weird. I knew we should never have trusted that guy…"

"Right then, so where is the transformer room we need to find then?" asked Ben, trying to move things along.

"It's right at the end of this part of the facility, if you just follow the main corridor round you'll come to it," explained Roy quickly. "The door's clearly signposted too, so you can't miss it."

"Good," replied Ben, looking away down the passage to their right. The pristine steel corridor looked practically untouched by the madness engulfing the facility, the overhanging lights still lit fully, and not a bullet hole or claw mark in sight. "So are you coming with us then?"

"What?!" asked Roy, his voice rising in pitch a couple octaves at the mere suggestion of stepping foot outside his current sanctuary. "No way man, I'm going to stay right here where it's nice and safe!"

"You stay in one place, something is going to find a way in there and gut you like a fish," reasoned Ben in a low voice, but the Umbrella technician was having none of it.

"No fucking way man!" he wailed. "I take one more step outside this room and I'll lose it for sure! You've got the guns, you're the cops, you go deal with the problem!"

"We're not damned technicians!" replied Ben angrily, his voice rising in volume. "Having a diagram is good and all, but what if we fuck something up, switch all the lights out? To be fair, the last place I want to be is in the dark with zombies and other monsters running around!"

"Hey, that's not my problem anymore!" retorted Roy, starting to pull the heavy door shut. "You get out of here in one piece, then good on you both, but I'm staying right here until help comes!"

"For god's sake, there is no help coming, you moron!" said Dean forcefully, his frustration starting to get the better of him. But Roy just ignored him completely as the door slammed shut, and the sound of the bolt being slid into place was heard too.

"You stinking coward!" growled Ben, stepping forward and raising his AK rifle, but Dean pulled him back in time before he tried anything rash.

"Ben, just leave it!" spat Dean, pushing his friend a short distance away and putting himself in front of the now locked door. "If he wants to stay in there, then that's his choice. But I for one, am not going to waste my time and energy trying to convince a guy who's already made his mind up about something!"

The two of them continued to face each other down for a while, as they could hear the faint sounds of Roy muttering to himself fervently on the other side of the door. Ben's face retained its rather harsh expression, something that Ben hardly ever showed, considering his rather light-hearted nature, but Dean stood his ground, no matter how long that would take. They'd come too far now to start falling out over little things such as this.

"Fine," said Ben, turning away and walking away down the corridor, before calling over his shoulder, "the sooner we get out of here, the better." Dean watched him go for a while, opening his mouth to say something, but by then Ben had already disappeared around a corner. Not wanting to leave his friend hanging, Dean hurried after him as quick as he could manage.

---

Donovan breathed a low sigh of relief as he wandered into the main lab located at the far end of the maximum security area, as far as he could possibly go in this area. He allowed the hydraulic door to slide shut behind him, and then he moved across to the nearest workstation, setting the storage case down, along with his handgun, before looking around the currently dark lab.

The room was huge, nearly 60 square feet in size, so it could cater to all kinds of needs. Along the right hand side of the room were a series of steel workstations, similar to the one he was currently stood next to. Some of them were set up with PC's and keyboards, all of them showing the standard screensaver of the Umbrella logo dancing around the screen, while the rest were set up with various scientific equipment including glass beakers filled with unknown substances and Bunsen burners, long since abandoned in light of recent events. The opposite side of the lab was taken up mainly by several lines of steel storage shelves, containing row upon row of various brightly-coloured liquids and cardboard boxes filled with random items and files of old paperwork. In the far left corner of the room, a power generator sat idly in the corner, intended to provide a separate source of power to this room in case there was a power cut of some kind.

Donovan quickly crossed over to the generator and reached around the side, opening up a small cover on the side and flicking all the switches inside up, and within a couple of seconds, the humming began, along with a series of deep clanks as the overhead lights started to life, row by row, illuminating the lab floor, and Donovan followed the lines as they went all the way to the back of the lab, finally illuminating the very back row of the room.

The far side of the lab floor was raised by several inches off of the ground, and at least half a dozen large glass storage tubes were lined up, some of them empty, but at least three contained some form of biological horror. The one to the far right contained a Hunter B.O.W, its green scales and razor-sharp claws seemingly shimmering within the bubbling liquid it hovered in, its eyes closed, but the beast was very much alive, due to the small vital signs display on the side of the tube. The thing's heartbeat was barely audible, but there, keeping it in a suspended state until its captors decided to rouse it once again. A steady stream of bubbles issued from the bottom of the tubes, cascading up around the monster's body, before disappearing somewhere at the top of the tube.

The other two occupied tubes contained failed subjects of Tyrant creation. The two specimens still kept a rough human shape, but now they were mere mockeries of what they had once been, their skin pale and missing large patches of flesh and muscle, their hair practically fallen out in clumps, their limbs twisted and broken into horrific contortions, bony claws starting to form on their hands and feet. Both subjects had been long dead as far as Donovan was aware, but they had been kept in stasis for some reason, most likely as an example of how not to create viable Tyrant B.O.W's. Like the Hunter, a steady stream of air bubbles billowed around them as they hovered in the liquid.

The supervisor only gave the wasting freaks a few brief moments of notice, before he turned towards the huge red storage capsule in the very middle of the row of storage tubes, the massive object that was at least 10 feet tall, the same one which had been delivered to the facility some months back, considered a 'present' from the staff who worked at the Tyrant plant on Sheena Island, an isolated spit of land somewhere out in the Atlantic, a place ran by one of the most depraved people ever employed by the corporation, or so he had heard. There was a thick steel band around the centre of the capsule, and large white letters were printed across the top half. They simply read, in large block capitals, 'T-103 V 2.0'. A small console on the side of the capsule read off a long string of vital signs and other information, long streams of words that he just couldn't decipher.

In the end, I'm not a scientist.

He looked at the capsule for several more seconds, and then moved away, back towards the workstation with the storage case still left unattended. He sat himself down and turned towards the nearest screen, knocking the screensaver off. The plain green log in screen was displayed, and the supervisor quickly entered his details and clicked 'log on'. The hourglass icon appeared on screen briefly, and then his main desktop was shown, the backdrop just a large plain Umbrella icon. He stared at it for a few seconds, thinking to himself.

Our family pledged their loyalty to Umbrella: my father worked for them until his dying day, and me and my brother gave our whole lives to them, abandoning nearly every other luxury in life. And how do they repay us?

He felt the anger and bitterness seep into his body as he stared at that damned logo, before he calmed himself and opened one of the links on his desktop, which opened up a grey display that covered most of the screen. After several seconds of loading, the display divided into a total of eight smaller screens, each of them showing a grainy black and white view from somewhere within the facility. One showed the view within the facility's entrance hall, totally empty at the moment. Two more showed scenes within the dorms on the eastern side of the facility, where a lone maintenance worker paced back and forth within one of the locked rooms, seemingly muttering to himself. Two more showed his abandoned office and the area just outside it, and finally a few more dotted throughout the west side of the facility.

Donovan had taken the liberty of setting up several hidden cameras throughout the facility when he had first taken over as facility head, making sure that no-one else knew of their existence: he had even killed the ones who had installed the cameras in the first place, to prevent any knowledge getting out. The people who worked here were under his supervision, of course, and he had to keep a close eye on them as best he could, even if it meant going over everyone else's head. He had already been saved from dismissal once by Spencer himself, and if he were to screw up again, then there would be no chance of him staying with the company…

But now his staff either were dead or undead, and he had been largely responsible for that. The day beforehand he had casually wandered into the filtration room on the far eastern edge of the facility, a vial of T-Virus hidden within his jacket pocket. Then once he was sure that no-one had followed him, he smashed the vial in the very bottom of the main filtration duct, underneath the fan, where the virus itself would be spread via the ventilation system. Though normally it would be impossible to transmit the virus via the air, the tiny droplets that ended up being spread through the vent system inevitably came into contact with the staff, being breathed in or being rubbed into their eyes. Also it meant that most of the staff would be infected at practically the same time, rather than it being a gradual spread of infection like which that destroyed the city. He had hoped that the infection would spread too fast for anyone to start questioning where it might have originated from.

But unfortunately for him, some of the staff, in particular Captain Becket and his security force, had taken T-Virus antibodies previously, and as such they were able to resist the initial infection, long enough for them to mount defences against the zombies; and to start questioning where it had originated from originally. And it ended with Becket confronting Donovan in his office, and the captain dead on the floor with his face shot off. But, nothing could change what had transpired previously. He couldn't have any regrets now.

He glanced up and saw the two intruders on one of the east wing cameras. It looked as though they were heading towards the main transformer room, and in a hurry he might add. The blonde one was moving ahead, while his companion trailed behind, trying to catch up. It looked as though they were having an argument, but Donovan wasn't 100% sure from where he was watching from. He was starting to have his doubts about these two: from the way they handled themselves and fought against the B.O.W's, it looked as though they were making things up as they went along: indeed, when the brown-haired one had killed the Urstrix, he had barely managed to defeat the monster, only being able to reach his shotgun when a few Eliminators broke free and distracted it.

Maybe they weren't Umbrella assassins after all. They seemed like amateurs compared to the highly-trained USF members, who knew all about battling every kind of B.O.W that Umbrella had produced in its history. Who knew, maybe they were just lucky civilians who had managed to find their way down here. But since the facility was meant to be secret anyway, it still concerned him how they knew where to find this place…and if they got out, then what they would tell the outside world about Umbrella's activities. And there was a good chance they were looking for him…so they were still a threat that had to be dealt with.

---

"Look out!"

Ben threw himself out of the way just as the infected monkey soared through the air over his head, slashing at the air with its razor-sharp claws. It hit the ground and slid along for several feet, before turning back to face its prey. Its white fur was ripped in several places, exposing its muscle and sinew, and its fangs were smeared in blood and other fluids, as it screamed at him in a hateful manner.

BOOM!

Dean fired his shotgun from behind the monster, slamming it back into the nearby wall and ripping its chest open into the bargain. The monster still kipped back to its feet, seemingly ignoring the pain it must have experienced, before Ben managed to get his AK-47 out and opened fire, sending a 3-round burst into the monkey's head, bursting it apart like a ripe melon.

"Heads up!" cried Dean, cocking his shotgun for another round, and Ben twisted his body around in time to see another two monster monkeys round the corner just ahead of him, one of them with white fur, and the other one with brown fur, most of the flesh around its skull long peeled away from the bone, its face set in demented grin at seeing some live prey for a change. Both of them were covered in recent gore and chunks of ripped flesh as well.

Ben swung his AK-47 round and opened fire, peppering them with gunfire. They shrieked as the rounds made impact, but they barely slowed down. One of them launched itself into the air and bounced off of the nearby wall, coming towards him with a screeching cry. Eyes wide, he swung the rifle upwards and squeezed the trigger down, tearing straight through the monster's body and sending it flopping back to the floor, its torso shredded into bloody strips.

The second monkey with the white fur kept on bounding along the floor, before it launched into the air, going right past Ben and heading towards Dean with its clawed feet outstretched, trying to perform a flying drop-kick. But Dean already had his shotgun readied and aimed, he was just waiting for an ideal window to shoot.

BOOM!

The small primate flew backwards, its head gone, and it crashed into the steel and slid back at least 10 feet, leaving a sticky red smear as it went. The wet smack of it hitting the ground, and the metallic clanks of Ben and Dean reloading their weapons were the last sounds heard in the corridor, and then it was quiet once again. There were a few seconds as the two men caught their breath, then all of a sudden Dean walked up behind Ben and caught him by the shoulder, pulling him round so they were eye-to-eye.

"What the hell was that?!" he asked, angrily.

"What was what?" asked Ben back, clearly sounding a little prickled. "We got jumped by a load of fucked-up monkeys, that's what!"

"Well if you hadn't gone off in your little strop, then maybe you wouldn't have walked right into them!" retorted Dean, pointing into his friend's chest.

"We got them though, didn't we?"

"That's not the point Ben!" continued Dean. "You could've been killed, you know! We've come this far and it could've all been screwed up with you getting a pair of fangs through your throat! One moment is all it takes!"

"Hey, what the hell's your problem?" asked Ben, batting Dean's arm away from him.

"You're my problem!" answered Dean brutally. "If you're still pissed off about that Roy guy not coming with us, then learn to deal with things a little better!"

"This is nothing to do with him!" snapped Ben. "It's everything! We shouldn't have to go through this, no-one should!"

"And yet we're still stuck here!" replied Dean. "Believe me I don't like it much either, but I intend to stick it out to the very end…no matter where that leads." Ben just turned and walked away a short distance, before Dean noticed a nearby door and pushed it open, seeing that it was just another bare supply room.

"Ben," he called, getting his partner's attention.

"What?!" growled Ben, turning on his heel.

"In there, now," Dean said firmly, and he walked into the supply room. Ben just stood there for a few seconds, watching the open door, before he sighed deeply and walked after Dean, who was stood within the room, arms by his side, his shotgun and other weapons laid out in the far corner. His face was passive.

"Put your guns down," he said simply, and Ben just complied, apparently too impatient to ask questions right about now. He unslung his AK-47 and tossed it into the far corner on top of Dean's weaponry, and then he removed his Beretta from his holster and put it down atop of a nearby cabinet. Once that was done, he spread his arms either side of him.

"Well, what's this about?"

"A bit of therapy," replied Dean. "I can tell your frustrated Ben, its plain as day. And I'm frustrated with you as well…"

"And why's that?" asked Ben.

"Because you went storming off, like I said beforehand, and you could've got yourself killed…or both of us killed," explained Dean. "So now I want to work off some frustration before we go any further."

"And how will you do that?" asked Ben.

"Like this."

THWACK!

Dean's fist came out of nowhere and struck Ben on the left cheek, hard. Ben yelped in surprise and pain and staggered back a short distance, clutching a hand to his bruised face. He glared up at Dean, his eyes wide, who just flexed his fingers and explained what he had just done.

"See?" he asked. "I'm frustrated because you did a reckless thing, Ben. All the time I've known you as a cop, you've always been so cautious, finding out everything you can about a suspect before we went to their house to arrest them in case we got a nasty surprise. But what you did back there was something only a rank amateur would do; like you'd forgotten all of your training-"

He was cut off by Ben's fist, that came forward and cracked him right in the jaw, sending his head whipping off to the side and nearly knocking him from his feet. The force was quite significant, and he fell back against the wall, clutching at his jaw and looking up at Ben, who just stood there, glaring at him, his fists still balled.

"Jesus Christ Dean, you're frustrated because of that?" he asked, before laughing briefly. "You are so fucking narrow-minded, you know that?! We shouldn't even be here, Dean! Zombies, giant bugs, lizards with razor-sharp claws…we shouldn't even be alive! And yet here we still are, fighting through this damned place with no end in sight!" He turned away and breathed deeply for a few seconds, while Dean could feel his face starting to swell up.

"I mean…people I've know for years are dead and gone," he continued, his voice starting to break. "Marvin, Elliot, Jean, David…all dead, just like that. Why did they have to go, and not me?"

"So you think you should've died instead of them?" asked Dean.

"They had families and lives here!" retorted Ben.

"We had lives here too Ben," noted Dean, standing up and removing his hand to show his bruised jaw. "And of course I miss those guys too, but I can't let myself get bogged down thinking about all of that…or I'll lose my focus on staying alive."

"Well I'm glad you're keeping your mind on the matter at hand," replied Ben, sounding bitter. "How can you say that? Do you realise how callous you sound?"

"Callous?!" spat Dean, walking right up to Ben, in his face, the chances of him throwing another punch growing rapidly with each passing second. "Of course I miss those guys! I came here two years, a complete stranger, and they took me in, treated me like a brother! Of course I miss them," he continued, slowing down, tears stinging his eyes. Ben saw this, and his expression seemed to soften.

"Everyone said it!" continued Dean, referring to what people would always say about him. "'That Travers guy should lighten up a bit more', 'Jesus, the stick up that guy's ass must be huge!' Come on Ben, they liked you more than me, it was obvious! All through life, we've been like yin and yang: you're the joker, the likeable one…and I'm the serious, quiet one: the one everyone misunderstands." He finished by leaning back against the wall behind him and sinking to the ground.

"Dean…"

"So I'm sorry Ben, but you're the only one that's left now…if I can get at least one person out of this mess alive, then I'll die a happy man," Dean finished.

"Dean, don't talk as though your fates sealed," replied Ben quietly.

"Well I must be pretty damned lucky to get this far by myself…giant fleas, giant spiders, zombified zoo animals: I should be dead ten times over Ben, it was a damned miracle I found you when I did," continued Dean, ignoring his friend's protest. "And besides, I've already taken a precaution- I gave you my last anti-viral pill."

Ben blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I gave you my last anti-viral pill," repeated Dean, as though it needed to be. "If you get out of here in one piece, then that's fine by me. "I honestly don't know if I can keep going at this rate…me and my old friend at each other's throats…throwing punches at one another rather than focusing on the monsters around us."

"Hey, we are both going to get out of here," said Ben firmly, looking Dean in the eye. "I have not slogged through all the crap in this dammed city with you, just for you to give up at the last hurdle Dean! If I know one thing about you, it's that you never give up. Am I right?" Dean averted his gaze.

"Hey come on, don't you dare let me down now, you hear?" continued Ben, extending one his arms out. Dean looked at the proffered hand for a few seconds, and then finally he reached out and let himself be pulled to his feet.

"I'd never let you down," said Dean, smiling. "Sorry about your face," he then said, indicating the small welt of blood that has appeared on his friend's face. Ben just wiped a hand over his cheek, looked at the small smear of red across his fingers.

"Sorry about your jaw," he replied, pointing to Dean's bruised and swollen face. Dean just smiled a little in response.

"Hey, don't worry," he said. "You gave me a lot worse the last time we fought, remember?"

"What was that about again?" asked Ben, remembering.

"Last year of university," said Dean. "Last year, it was coming up to the leaver's prom, and we both asked Paige Jenkins if she wanted to go with us…and suffice to say we couldn't both take her."

"Of course," said Ben, grinning widely. "I remember we slugged it out on the university green in front of our history class…and who did she go with in the end?"

"Neither of us."

The two of them burst out laughing.

---

Donovan watched the video feed, his brow furrowed in confusion as the two young men ended up coming to fisticuffs, and then seemingly making up and laughing about some subject. As ever, the lack of audio made it frustrating to try and discern what they were talking about exactly. Who were these men supposed to be? He deduced that they probably weren't assassins, as their behaviour seemed too informal to be trained killers, and the fact that one of them had barely survived against the Urstrix B.O.W put more weight behind that theory.

But still, it looked as though they were seeking him out, and if so then what were they planning to do when they had found him? He guessed they at least wanted to try and find a way onto the emergency train platform, but they could only do that with his master key, so they were after that at least, but what else would they do to him? Threaten him? Beat him?

Even kill him?

"They can try," he said to himself, pulling his pistol across the desk towards him. He considered it for a few seconds, and then looked towards the case filled with the daylight samples. Perhaps they were after that too: most of Raccoon's population had been infected, so it was very likely they were after some sort of cure. Of course, only a select few Umbrella personnel were aware of the daylight's existence, but it was likely these men had come here hoping to find some sort of cure anyway.

He opened the case and retrieved the injector gun and one of the pale white vials from the case, staring intently at it. Though he may have resented Umbrella now, in view of everything that had transpired recently, he still felt some sort of responsibility to protect this one final secret he had become privy too, some sort of responsibility to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the vial and clicked it into the injector, turning it around and preparing to push it through his skin.

---

Travis was awoken by the hustle of bustle of a lot of people moving around just outside of his truck. He groaned and tried to stretch out within the front seat of his vehicle, and then wincing in pain as he remembered the pain that coursed through the bandaged injury on his head.

"Dammit…"

That pain also made him remember the events of the previous day, particularly when he walked back to the truck and saw someone standing in the shadows aiming a gun at Cameron's head. Reacting instinctively, he had tackled the mystery gunman, preventing Cameron from being shot, but taking a nasty blow to the head into the bargain. But then things had taken a rather more surprising turn when the gunman was revealed to be Corporal Greene, the one who had been openly opposed to them finding out more than normal about what was going on in the city…though he never imagined him going that far.

Fletcher and the other soldiers had closed ranks since then, and none of them had even attempted to speak to him or Cameron, which he didn't blame them for really: one of your comrades blowing their brains out in front of half the people there merited more attention that the needs of two random bystanders.

He sat up fully and peered out through the still-shattered window, from when Greene had nearly shot Cameron dead. Even in death the Corporal was proving to be a nuisance. He saw military personnel and other civilians running back and forth, the latter clutching onto what few belongings they had, but otherwise there was a lot of shouting going on. Looking to his right, he could see a pair of troops helping a number of wounded refugees get into a flatbed truck, some of them protesting openly.

"What the-?" he asked, kicking the door open and practically falling out of the truck. He stood in place for a few seconds, squeezing himself back against the truck as several people filed past, oblivious to his presence. He looked around and spied Cameron, standing about 15 feet away and in conversation with one of the sergeants. Judging by the man's wild arm movements, it wasn't a very pleasant conversation. He started to approach rapidly, in time to catch the last part of the conversation.

"I'm sorry, but I need to talk to Lieutenant Fletcher," said Cameron, as firmly as possible.

"And I said that's not possible," retorted the sergeant, his patience wearing thin. "Now get the hell out of my sight before I get really pissed off and shoot you!" With that, he turned and stormed off, muttering to himself. Cameron just stood there, in surprise, just as Travis appeared next to him, causing him to suddenly jump in surprise and turn around.

"Travis," he said, breathlessly.

"Hey, what's going on?" asked Travis, indicating the general chaos around them. "And someone else threatening to shoot you? You've been busy lately."

"Very funny, asshole," said Cameron, though there wasn't any humour in his voice. "I woke up 10 minutes ago and they were just moving stuff and people around…looks like they're moving back somewhere."

"But why?" asked Travis.

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Cameron, stepping back as a pair of troops came by, carrying a wounded patient between them. "No-one is saying anything, and frankly after that thing with Greene, I don't blame them." As he finished that statement, he glanced past Travis towards where a few people milled around a news van from one of the national news stations, loading it up with cameras and other recording equipment. "And besides, looks as though they have enough problems with all the news stations in the mid-west pestering them for a story."

"Fair enough," muttered Travis, suddenly holding a hand to his head.

"Hey, you OK?" asked Cameron with concern.

"Yeah, just a headache," groaned Travis, shaking his head a few times. "But I'll be fine, don't worry."

"Well I guess he hit you a lot harder than we thought," said Cameron with a sly grin. "Either that or your skull isn't as thick as we all thought."

"Hey!" retorted Travis, smacking his friend round the head curtly. "I've sacked guys twice my size and weight and come away with nothing but a few bruises, I'll have you know! And besides, I'm not used to being pistol-whipped into next week," he then added, muttering under his breath, sounding a little embarassed with that last statement.

The two friends turned as they could hear a nearby commotion from over near the tents that sheltered the refugees. A line of troops were trying to herd the refugees towards a nearby truck, but quite a few of them were protesting openly an loudly.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell us what the hell's going on!" yelled a young man, as he was jostled in between a few other bodies.

"Sir, we're not at liberty to say," replied one of the soldiers blankly. "Just move along and we can get all of this dealt with easily-"

"You can't herd us around like cattle!" shrieked a panic-stricken woman, tears streaming down her face, and several people around her rose up in protest, a scene being repeated at least half a dozen times all around them. It looked as though the soldiers wouldn't be able to control them for much longer.

"Oh Christ, this doesn't look good," muttered Cameron, as he looked over to the left and suddenly spotted a familiar figure appear from within his command tent, flanked by a pair of armed guards. Lieutenant Fletcher looked tired and drawn, but also still carried that air of firmness that he also seemed to have about him. He approached the main crowd, and the other troops parted, and the protests died down.

"People, I know this is all very unnerving for you-" he began.

"Wouldn't you be if you weren't told anything about what was going on?!" asked an hysterical middle-aged man, and the cries rose up again.

"-but getting yourselves worked up is not going to help anything!" the lieutenant continued, and the crowd started to calm down somewhat. "I know we can't tell you why exactly we have to pull back, believe me, its frustrating for us because we can't give you a full explanation…but for the time being we have a duty to keep you all safe, no matter what. If you want this to be over with as soon as possible, then I suggest those of you who still can to help with moving everyone and everything onto the trucks or choppers, so we can get this over with quickly."

A low muttering went up among the crowd, but the Lieutenant had said his piece, and he stalked away elsewhere, while the other troops left behind started to pick out willing and healthy volunteers to help with the movement effort.

"Maybe we should chip in too," said Travis, looking at Cameron with a slight smirk on his face. Cameron looked at him, taken by surprise by his friend's suggestion.

"What?" he said.

"Well lets face it, we don't really have anything better to do, do we?" explained Travis, indicating the human chaos around them. As if to punctuate his point, a few people rushed by, ferrying a wounded man on a stretcher, before reaching a waiting truck and helping the attending medic to load the refugee on board. Cameron looked round at the saddened faces of many of the civilians there, and felt a pang of shame go through him. They'd come hear, searching for two very specific people in mind, but many of these people had lost a hell of a lot more in the madness. The least they could do was to lend a hand in this moment of upheaval.

"Fine," Cameron said finally. "It's the least we can do for them, at least." Travis only smiled in response, before he approached a pair of nearby soldiers, and Cameron hurried after him after a brief moment of hesistation.

"Hey, what can we help with?" asked Travis as Cameron ambled up beside him.

"Well we still need to get those people onto the transports," said one of the troops, pointing back towards the covered tents were several dozen people remained, taking little notice of the hubbub going on around them. Cameron could see Lenny and the other people he had left the city with, and he guessed they must've been exhausted.

"OK," said Travis, before looking at Cameron. "Come on Cam, lets get this over with."

---

The Hunter skidded around the corner ahead of them, shrieking madly, its claws and teeth covered in the gleaming blood of its most recent victim.

BOOM!

Then a near point-blank shotgun blast took its head off in one swift motion, and it fell back into the wall behind it, blood jetting off across the ceiling. Then it slumped to the side, and its blood started to pool across the grated floor instead.

"Ouch," said Ben flatly as he observed Dean's handiwork, who just stood off to the side, watching the smoke trail up from the weapon barrel, seemingly miles away. Ben moved past him and around the corner, his rifle drawn. "Its clear," he then called out, and moved on a few steps, out of Dean's sight.

Dean remained standing where he was, but then he suddenly felt faint and leaned against the wall fully, blinking a few times to clear his blurred vision. At the same time, he felt the urge to scratch that spot on his left forearm, the same spot he had been scratching at hours beforehand. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket down and looked at the sore red patch, where he'd been scratching at.

It had to be the virus, he could swear it. Ben didn't seem to be showing any discomfort, but he himself had been feeling a lot more fatigued recently. Some times he felt the bloody fool for giving up his last anti-viral pill, but also he didn't regret it one bit, after that little conversation they had back in that room. Speaking of which, he could feel the pain leaving his jaw now, but it was still somewhat swollen from Ben's fist striking him hard. But he gathered that Ben's cheek as in the same condition, so they could suffer together.

"Dean?" called Ben's voice suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Coming," he called, pushing off of the wall and following his friend's voice.

Ben stood within yet another open doorway, peering inside. Several feet away, another body in a white lab coat lay, its guts ripped out and splattered all over the walls surrounding his final resting place. But Dean paid it little interest (he had become somewhat deadened to the sight of countless human corpses during his experiences throughout this whole mess) as he came up next to Ben.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Look for yourself," said Ben, and Dean cast his eyes upward, looking past Ben into the cavernous space beyond.

"Oh my…"

The room beyond resembled some sort of warehouse, its walls and floor made from cold steel, its space filled with row upon row of huge wooden crates, a few large shipping containers, and also a couple dozen large tubes filled with bubbling fluid, a small electric generator feeding cables into the tubes bases. In the water floated numerous creatures: mainly Hunters, but Dean could also see a few shapes of misshapen flesh, and he couldn't tell what the hell they were meant to be: and frankly, he didn't want to know. The whole place was lit up by half a dozen large spotlights built into the ceiling directly, casting thick beams of light down into the dusty darkness. The two friends were currently stood on a steel catwalk high above the warehouse floor, giving them a good overview of the entire space. And at the far side of the floor was a huge corrugated shutter, a forklift abandoned just beside it.

"Is this meant to be some sort of storage warehouse?" asked Dean, after they had both taken in the spectacle for a long time.

"Looks that way," answered Ben, looking towards the glowing storage tubes with the Hunters drifting inside of them. "They keep their little 'pets' inside here, and ship them off to wherever they're needed."

"So this really is a storage facility then, just like Nick said," added Dean, shaking his head. "All well and good, but it still doesn't get us any closer to finding a cure for this damned virus…"

"Chin up," said Ben, turning away and stepping out of the doorway. "We still haven't searched the whole facility yet." Dean continued to stare out into the warehouse for a long time, alone with his thoughts.

"Suppose," he said finally, stepping out of the doorway, allowing it to slide shut behind him, taking the warehouse and its contents out of sight. He continued down the corridor for a while longer, and soon enough he nearly bumped into Ben's back, who was stood outside another shut door, examining the sign just mounted next to it.

"This is it," said Ben, pointing out the sign which read 'Transformer Room'.

"About time too," said Dean, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the hand-written diagram given to them by that technician, Roy. Luckily, it was still fairly legible. "So now we can get a bit closer to getting out of here."

"Careful, buddy," said Ben, readying his handgun. "There could be anything in there, so best if we take our time, right?"

"Yeah, sure," said Dean, readying his shotgun, ready to cover his friend when he made his move inside the transformer room. There was a shared look between the two, and then Ben pushed the door open and stepped inside, out of sight. Dean followed after him, his shotgun sweeping wide to cover all possible angles within the stuffy confines of the transformer room. A half-dozen power transformers stood in two rows of three on steel grated flooring, an incessant hum emanating from the ceiling fans designed to keep them cooled down. But despite that, Dean could still detect the somewhat stuffy nature of the enclosed space, and he could feel drops of sweat starting to form on his forehead.

"Its clear," said Ben, holstering his Beretta.

"Good to know," replied Dean, wiping the back of his hand across his brow, even as Ben started examining the front of each transformer, looking for number 5, the magic number as far as they were both concerned. After a few seconds, he found the one they needed and called out.

"Bingo!" he said, sounding a little excited, as he then proceeded to tear off the front covering panel, exposing the wire-laced innards. As Dean placed himself next to Ben, he could see the bundles of multi-coloured wires that occupied the inside of the machine, placed in a roughly circular pattern around a large pair of circuit boards. Dean looked at the diagram given to them by Roy, and started to make sense of some of the scribblings. Roy had used rough circles to mark almost a dozen wire bundles surrounding the central circuit boards (marked as two rectangles on the diagram), and then using capital letters to mark their colours: three blue, three yellow and three red; each placed directly opposite another bundle of the same colour.

"Simple enough," he said, and then he started to take note of the arrows that criss-crossed the centre of the diagram, presumably showing which wires were meant to be crossed and twisted together.

"These should do," said Ben, as he retrieved a small pair of pliers with a built-in wire stripper from the inside of the transformer.

"I think we do it this way," said Dean, as he started to note the small numbers scribbled on the arrows, likely indicating that order that they had to twist the wires in. And yet neither of them were trained technicians, so Dean was still somewhat apprehensive of the fact that they could blow themselves up.

"So first twist the top right red…to the blue on the middle left," he said, going off of Roy's diagram. "Be careful with those!" he then said, as Ben started to reach for the wires with the pliers.

"Hey, I'll be fine," Ben said confidently, as he started to unravel the bright red wire bundle, and then he used the pliers to snip through the middle. There wasn't a sudden burst of sparks or anything else ominous, and Ben quickly went about snipping through the blue wire, and then using the wire stripper to expose the copper strands inside each wire, and then finally setting the pliers aside as he set about twisting the strands together as tightly as he could manage.

They both held their breath as he finished the action, but nothing happened. Largely, Ben didn't suddenly get 20,000 volts through his body and get burnt to a crisp. There was a brief period of silence.

"OK, that looks good," said Dean with a fair amount of relief. "Good that you're not frying right now."

"So what's next?" asked Ben, trying to ignore his friend's joke.

"Eager to get your fingers jolted then?" asked Dean jokingly, but he then looked at the diagram again, looking for the number two. Ben just ignored him again, obviously trying to focus on the task before him instead.

"Shut up and tell me what the next step is."

"OK then…bottom right blue to bottom left yellow," said Dean, finally finding the small number two on the diagram.

For the next few minutes, the two friends worked in relative silence, Dean only speaking up to tell Ben which wires to join next, or when they had the occasional disagreement over what to do next, since Roy's handwriting wasn't perfect and it was hard to make some of his instructions out exactly. But then Roy was likely full of anxiety and fear when he wrote it all down, so Dean wouldn't hold it against him. By the time there were only two more wire bundles left to join, there was a criss-crossing of exposed wires that covered most of the circuit boards, and amazingly the whole thing hadn't blown up in their faces…yet.

"Moment of truth," said Ben, as he worked on stripping the wires down and exposing the copper insides.

"Lets hope this hasn't been a massive waste of time then," added Dean, as Ben prepared to twist the final wires together. He held his breath as he started to thread the copper strands between one another. He had barely finished the tying when there was a sudden burst of sparks from the wires, and Ben raised his hands in front of his face.

"Ah!"

And then the lights went out, plunging them both into darkness. Dean heard the automated fans above their heads wind down as well, and then all that could be heard was their panicked breathing.

"OK, that was very smooth," said Dean finally, breaking the silence.

"Shut up!" hissed Ben, sounding more annoyed than anything else. Then a few seconds later, there were a series of deep clunking sounds from somewhere close by, and then the lights finally flicked back on. Dean squinted as the sudden light stung his eyes somewhat.

"Looks like the emergency lights work at least," he said finally, his brow still glistening with sweat.

"But what about the doors?" Ben asked, as he looked at the transformer before him, a decent amount of pure black smoke rising up from the smouldering wires. The stench of melted copper and plastic hung in the air too.

"Only one way to find out," said Dean, looking back towards the door out of the room. From somewhere outside, they could hear the faint hydraulic 'whoosh' of doors opening on their own accord. And then there was another sound: a piercing shriek that almost went straight through Dean. And then they could hear the clicking of claws on the steel flooring.

"Well sounds like the doors are open," said Ben, reaching for his AK, "but it looks like we released a few more things as well…"

"Nothing we can't handle," said Dean, standing up and readying his shotgun, even as they heard the clicking of talons right outside the transformer room.

---

Roy Baker almost squealed in terror when the lights went out, plunging him into darkness: but then he realised that it was most likely those two cops from before managing to short the transformer out, thus overriding the doors into the maximum security area. He stood in the darkness for a few moments, and then with a low hum the emergency lights came on, and he was bathed in the warm light again.

"Oh, thank god," he whispered, his voice tinged with audible relief. "Those guys must be pretty damned lucky to still be alive!"

He glanced around again, and he could hear the quiet thuds of the automated doors in this part of the facility starting to unlock, and then the shrieks as more of those monsters were released as a result, and then the muffled bursts of gunfire as well. But he was still safe inside this room, which was locked manually with the heavy bolts from his side…so the only way something would be able to get it was if he unlocked the door himself. And he had no intention of doing so anytime soon…and if those two came back to try and talk him into coming along, he still wasn't going.

The cavalry was bound to come round this way sooner or later and get him out of there…they just had to, he reckoned. They wouldn't be as callous as to leave still-living survivors behind in this hell hole-

He heard the very low moan behind him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, feeling a tight knot form in his stomach as well. He felt the rancid breath on the back of his neck, and the sweat started to pour from his forehead as well.

No…no…no- it can't be!

He spun around as quickly as he could manage, and his heart leapt into his throat. Danny stood before him, except now there was no trace of humanity left in his appearance: his eyes a deathly pale colour, his skin almost blizzard-white. Poor Danny now ranked among the countless undead wandering Raccoon City.

How though?! He was only sliced by one of those tongue monsters!

He didn't have much more time to ponder anything else when Danny lunged forward, growling like a rabid beast, his teeth bared. Roy just stood there, frozen in fear to do anything, as Danny's teeth sank into the supple flesh of his neck, and crimson liquid burst from the wound.

He screamed.

---

Malcolm Donovan blinked in surprise when most of the small security screens showing on the work station suddenly turned into squares filled with snow, specifically the ones covering the eastern portion of his facility. He had been getting pretty restless lately, feeling his eyes starting to drop from lack of sleep.

"What?" he said aloud, his eyes frantically scanning from screen to screen, trying to work out what was going on exactly, his pulse starting to rise as his anxiety rose.

After a few more seconds, the screens came back on one-by-one, and the director could see the lights starting to flicker on within the abandoned corridors as well. It looked as though that area had been subjected to a power surge, shutting the electrics off, but luckily the auxiliary power had been activated shortly afterwards. Though he knew fine well that the power transformers used in all Umbrella facilities were top of the line, and a power surge wouldn't happen unless someone had deliberately sabotaged them-

"Those two…it had to be!" he said to himself, his voice tinged with noticeable anger. Those two intruders were the only ones still walking around in any position to mess with the power transformers, after all. "Looks like someone's intent on getting to me after all…stubborn little pests!"

He could see the various locked doors starting to swing open on their own accord now, the power surge having over-ridden the facility's lockdown system: and that meant that the main doors into the maximum security area would have been unlocked as well. They were one step closer to finding their way to him…he was running out of time.

"No, it can't end like this," he whispered, grabbing for his handgun and checking that it would fire when needed. "My life won't be ended at the hands of people like you!" He then looked off to the side, towards the huge red storage tank at the rear of the room.

And I hope that our new delivery will work as planned…

---

"Fuck this shit!" yelled Ben, as the Hunter dodged around another burst of gunfire from his AK-47. The beast screeched and launched itself at Ben, but his companion was there to deny its assault.

Dean's .357 revolver roared in his hands, punching a massive smoking crater through the middle of the frog monster's chest, throwing it backwards a fair distance and sending it crashing to the unforgiving ground. Blood continued to trail from the massive wound, and then it stopped suddenly. Ben then took the oppourtunity to catch his breath yet again.

"Jesus, that was a close one," he gasped, looking over at Dean who just continued to stare at the Hunter's corpse for a while, before he finally seized up, his face contorting in pain.

"This thing kicks like a mule!" he said finally, looking at the .357 in his hands and laughing a little. Ben didn't say anything in response, instead he just started walking past Dean, heading back the way they had came.

Sure, they had managed to override the locking system, but doing so had unlocked all of the automated doors within this part of the facility, and had also unleashed the monsters hiding behind them. So far they'd already killed a few Hunters that leapt at them from dark doorways, and also several zombies that were still clad in full body armour which had not saved them from the T-Virus. They were getting that bit closer to their ultimate goal, but now it seemed as though the facility had a mind of its own and was sending out every last monster up its sleeve to try and stop them from succeeding. Even when approaching the last hurdle, the odds seemed stacked against them.

But I've survived worse so far, thought Dean to himself. I'm not going to give up now…

They walked in silence back along the familiar corridors, both of them on edge in case anything was to try and ambush them. They peered into each new room as well, to see if they could find anything of use, but they found little; aside from a fresh can of first aid spray in a trashed dormitory and some spare ammunition for a shotgun and AK rifle off of a couple of dead security guards.

Only when they were getting close to where they had first spoken to Roy did Dean speak up and break the silence. "Maybe we should try and convince Roy to come with us."

"It'd be a waste of time," said Ben flatly. "He was too damned scared to come with us the first time, wasn't he?" he continued, as he kept walking.

"But we're a bit closer to finding our ticket out of here," reasoned Dean. "He might have reconsidered by now."

"Somehow I doubt it," said Ben, still walking.

"Oh come on, it's worth a try at least!" said Dean, his voice rising. Ben seemed to pick up on the change in his friend's tone, and finally stopped walking. His shoulders seemed to drop, and Dean heard him sigh in a drawn-out manner.

"Fine," he said eventually, picking up the pace again. "I suppose its better than just leaving him behind to rot." Dean trailed after him, and soon enough they were directly outside of the room the cowardly technician had sealed himself in when they had arrived. Ben was first there and peered in through the small glass porthole, and his face seemed to turn pale as he saw something inside.

"Actually, I don't think Roy will be able to come with us now," said Ben, moving aside so Dean could have a look. His friend peered through the glass, and his face dropped as well.

A pair of zombies in maintenance uniforms staggered around inside the room, bumping into random furniture as they groped around blindly. Dean didn't recognise one of them, but he clearly saw that the other one was Roy: his skin now a deathly pall and there were several deep wounds in his collarbone region, blood dripping down the front of his black uniform. He then turned towards the door, and as if sensing the humans standing there, lunged straight towards them. His hands slapped against the glass and Dean flinched as he reeled backwards, even as Roy continued to paw at the glass, trying to get at them.

"Poor bastard," said Ben. "His friend must've turned into a zombie and turned him into an appetiser," he then added, noting the second zombie that now started to approach the closed door.

"…didn't deserve this…" muttered Dean, shaking his head slowly. "No-one does."

"Hey come on, we still have ourselves to worry about, right?" reasoned Ben. "I know it sucks, but we can't exactly help every single person out of this mess, can we?" Dean gave him a pointed look, but seemed to agree overall.

"Yeah, sure," he said, somewhat wearily. Then he turned away from the scene, but suddenly found himself feeling faint, and nearly collapsed to the side. He put his arm out against the wall to stop himself falling, but he still slid down somewhat.

"Dean!" cried Ben, his face showing concern. "You allright?" he then asked, as Dean steadied himself, blinking a few times and shaking his head.

"Y-yeah," he answered, still sounding a little flaky. "I just feel…so damned weary. And I've got a bad feeling about what it could be because of…"

"The virus?" asked Ben, pre-empting Dean's answer, who just nodded in reply.

"And I've had this really sore spot on my left arm recently as well," Dean continued, pulling his sleeve down to show the sore red patch of skin just below his elbow. "Trust me, its taking all of my willpower not to tear my skin off and filet my flesh right now."

"Damn," said Ben. "So maybe you regret giving me that last anti-viral pill then?" he then added, flatly.

"Not a chance," said Dean with a slight smirk. "Long as I don't turn into a zombie, I'll be fine."

"Same here," said Ben, starting to smile. "I'd hate to have to waste a bullet on you if it comes to that."

"Oh, thanks!" retorted Dean in mock offence, punching his friend in the arm. "I'll keep that in mind if we happen to find a cure!"

"Looking forward to it," replied Ben, still smiling, his old character coming through again.

---

"One…two…three!"

Travis heaved the massive steel crate up onto the truck's flatbed, slamming it down on the steel with a loud clang. Then he and the soldier he had been helping clambered up and pushed it to the rear of the compartment, next to the other two dozen crates they had been loading up for the last 10 minutes.

"OK, that's the last one," said the soldier, removing his helmet and wiping a hand across his brow. "Thanks for the help."

"Sure," replied Travis, trying to catch his breath. He could feel the dampness in his armpits and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead as well. Suffice to say, helping the military to pack up and move their kit out was proving to be quite a workout, if anything else.

He dropped down out of the truck's flatbed, and looked around at the other trucks already fully loaded and awaiting the order to move out. A few squads of troops moved back and forth, herding civilian refugees to their transports. It was all hands on deck, and there was surprisingly little protest from the refugees, probably due to the Lieutenant's little speech before. To be honest, when he had first met Fletcher Travis assumed he was one of those soldiers who only lived for taking orders and carrying them out, but over time he could see that Fletcher was somewhat sympathetic towards their plight, and was willing to help somewhat, even if it went against his original orders.

He ducked low as a pair of helicopters screamed overhead, huge heavy transport vehicles, one of them dangling a humvee from a large winch below it, swaying in the wind. Another one dangled a pair of massive storage containers from its steel cables, swinging lazily in the breeze like clock pendulums. It wasn't the first set of choppers he had seen recently, having observed numerous Blackhawk patrols passing by as well, going to and from the city as well. This really was a major operation they were conducting. He then moved out of the road as a pair of trucks passed by, already overflowing with wounded refugees. Within a couple of short minutes, they had vanished into the horizon, throwing a cloud of dust up behind them.

"Hey Travis," called a voice, and he turned in time to see Cameron come running up to him, huffing for air.

"Get a good work out?" asked Travis with a slight smirk.

"Screw you," panted Cameron in response. "I'm not a high and mighty sports star like you…I don't work out every single day of the week…" Travis ignored that remark as Cameron caught enough breath to speak again. "Sounds like this is happening all across the barricades…all the military forces are pulling back."

"Must be something pretty big in that case then," concluded Travis. "You think it might be something to do with those…things we've seen?" he then asked, his mind wandering back to those twisted dogs that came after them in the woods, but only very briefly.

"Who knows," replied Cameron. "Can't find Lieutenant Fletcher anywhere and I doubt he'd be in the mood to tell us anything either."

"Guess we'll just ride the storm out for now," said Travis, looking around again, as he saw a few news crews loading their gear into their vans, ready to follow the military to their new staging point for the relief operation. Perhaps it was time for them to do the same.

"Come on, we should get ready to go as well," he then said, already searching around in his pockets for the keys to his pick-up. Cameron just nodded, already too exhausted to say much else at the moment. So the two friends started to make their way back towards the old red truck they had initially arrived in.

They passed by one of the green tents, and Travis saw Lieutenant Fletcher emerge briefly, speaking with one of his sergeants, pointing out a few things in the near distance. But the conversation ended pretty quickly as the sergeant headed off, and the Lieutenant disappeared inside the tent once more, closely followed by a pair of armed troops.

Looks like speaking to the Lieutenant will have to wait, he thought to himself, as he followed after Cameron.

---

Back in the entrance hall of Delta Storage and Research, Dean and Ben approached the great reinforced doors leading to the maximum security area, hoping that they would finally be able to gain access to this elusive part of the facility. The small console to the side of the doors was blinking some message as they drew near. It simply read, 'Access Granted'.

"Bingo," smiled Ben, even though there was hardly any emotion in his voice. After going through a rather roundabout way of getting these damned doors unlocked in the first place, the damned master key itself better be easier to find.

"Well what are we waiting for?" asked Dean, approaching the doors and grabbing a hold of the circular-shaped handle set in the middle of it. He twisted it and there was the sudden hiss of air pressure being released, and the door opened gradually. He pushed against it but it only groaned a little and didn't seem to move much. "Hey, give me a hand here will you?" he then asked.

Ben came up next to him, and both friends pushed against the door, which finally yielded and started to slowly swing open. Almost immediately the stench of rotten corpses hit them, and Ben started to reach for his sidearm. "Damn it, they're in here too?"

"Hold up," said Dean smartly, as the door creaked open further, and he spied the two corpses lying out in the middle of the floor in front of them. They were both zombies, albeit dead ones, large blood pools having formed underneath their ruptured skulls. They were both dressed in the uniform of the security forces as well, and Dean already saw the shell casings lying nearby.

"Looks like someone beat us in taking care of these freaks," said Ben, almost sadly, even as Dean stooped down and scooped up one of the shell casings, a 9mm. The brass was still warm, and he could detect the faint whiff of gunpowder as well.

"This only happened recently," he said aloud, standing back up and looking over towards the varnished wooden door that was just a few feet away from them, left wide open for anyone to just wander inside. Ben set about retrieving some extra AK-47 ammo from the corpses, stocking himself up once more.

"Looks a little out of place…" said Ben quietly when he saw Dean approach the door, somewhat surprised to see a plain wooden door down in this place, among acres and acres of cold steel walls and automated hydraulic doors. Dean hesitated for a brief moment, before he slowly took the knob in his hand and pulled the door open fully, sticking his head through, before reeling back, gagging.

"Jesus, it stinks in there!" he said loudly, and Ben caught a whiff of the same scent as he approached the door himself. Curiously, he opened the door fully and the stench slapped him in the face, but he was able to keep his composure long enough to note the source of the stench.

Another corpse lay at his feet, just inside the door. It was another of the security guards, in familiar black uniform, his face ruined beyond recognition by a series of point-blank gunshots. Blood had long pooled out beneath him, and it was already becoming sticky, indicating he had been dead for a while at least. Disturbingly though, the man's skin looked perfectly healthy, and a loaded 9mm handgun lay a few inches away from his outstretched right hand.

"Dean, looks like this guy was human when he was killed," said Ben, then noting the blood-stained ebony letter-opener lying a few inches away from the man's feet, and the bullet wound to his neck.

"Then who killed him?" asked Dean, as he entered the room, looking around to take in its appearance. It was about 15 square feet in size, the far end dominated by a massive leather chair behind a huge oak desk, practically overflowing with reports and folders and photographs. Dean recognised some of the things shown in the pictures, in particular the many-limed bug monsters they had come across a few times before. Either side of the desk was a wall of small video screens, about a dozen on each wall. As Dean glanced over them, he could see that each one showed a different location within the facility, most of them places the duo had already visited.

So whoever was here was watching us…

"Some more shell casings here," said Ben, pointing to the glittering brass that lay here and there in front of the desk. "I think there was definitely a struggle in here."

"But over what?" asked Dean, just as his eyes settled on a closed book lying in the very middle of the desk, opposite the chair, clearly in the position for someone to be writing in it. Curiously, he flipped the book open, and realised that it was someone's diary. Flicking through to the front cover, he saw the name 'Malcolm Donovan' written on the inside cover. "Hey, this looks like that Donovan guy's diary."

"Donovan?" asked Ben, remembering what the late Roy Baker had told them of Donovan, the facility's head supervisor. "Oh yeah, that guy. Maybe it'll give us some clues as to what's happened in here."

"Yeah," replied Dean distantly, sitting down in the huge leather seat and turning to the first written entry. He also saw that it was a fairly new diary, the earliest entries being made in mid July. As Ben appeared over his shoulder, they started to read.

July 19th, 1998

So it seems these next two months will be a very busy time for Umbrella's Raccoon branch.

The Board of Directors has decided to reopen the old management training facility in the Arklay forest, the one previously overseen by Doctor James Marcus, one of the corporation's original founders. And as it happens, my brother has been selected to lead one of the initial teams to assess the building and its grounds, and to begin the clean-up process. They'll be transported in on the Ecliptic Express, a luxury train that's only used by the most prestigious corporation employees. What an honour for the Donovan family.

Its been a long time since I was last in that building: over 30 years ago, when I was still a niave young admin head. I was feeling somewhat nervous, but Doctor Marcus took me under his wing, taught me a lot about Umbrella's prestigious history, and the figures who have shaped its development, including the Ashford family. He always found time to meet with me, even as he laboured day and night on his own personal research. But I can't think about the past too much now.

As it seems I'll be kept busy as well. Contact with the main Arklay facility has been down for a few weeks now, and everyone is becoming anxious of what could've happened. Some rumours speak of a potential T-Virus outbreak, but that would be hard to believe. Security at that facility is beyond our own measures, itself a sector 7 security clearance for most general staff. And due to the loss of contact, we've had a recent influx of B.O.W's for research and storage purposes. Mostly the usual fare, though we did receive delivery of another Neptune B.O.W, so our existing specimen will finally have some company.

But the recent cannibal murders have been intensifying, and the news speaks of a potential future operation by the police force. Who knows which way that could go, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach still won't go away.

July 28th, 1998

Everyone in Umbrella is in uproar, and for good reason.

The Arklay facility was destroyed on the morning of the 25th, after someone had activated the self-destruct sequence. Its common knowledge that the R.P.D's elite S.T.A.R.S team had been deployed into the forest the night before, to investigate the cannibal murders, and only 5 of them returned. Its all over the papers too…their wild tales about flesh-eating zombies and other nightmarish creatures.

It looks as though my hunch was correct. There had been a T-Virus outbreak at the Arklay facility, and now everyone in my staff is terrified the same will happen in Raccoon City. In 100% of all reported T-Virus outbreaks, there has been a complete mortality rate. I've already attended three crisis talks at the downtown HQ this week, and senior management is keen that rumours are kept to a minimum. But this news means another thing is certain.

My brother is no longer among the living. His e-mails to me were regular, but they stopped abruptly suddenly, right before the traning facility was due to re-open. I found out from a contact at head office that the MTF and its surrounding facilities were also infected and destroyed by the T-Virus. I need time to grieve, but HQ has suspended all staff leave for the time being until further notice. I have just lost my brother! Do they have no compassion?!

"The Arklay facility?" asked Ben.

"The mansion in the woods," murmured Dean, remembering what Nick had told them back at the law offices. "That's where this outbreak originated from…and now its spread here."

They continued reading as a grim silence descended.

August 3rd, 1998

Every day I come to this place, it seems as though there's another newspaper story on this entire mess.

The surviving members of S.T.A.R.S have been suspended indefinitely from duty, their outlandish stories dismissed as being bought on by severe trauma bought on by some unknown event that lead to the deaths of their team mates, or hallucinations bought on by smoking blue herbs…whoever you believe or which paper you read. The corporation is certainly doing a good job in keeping the truth quiet, because if it were to somehow come out, we would all have a lot to answer for. Pretty much everyone knows that the chief of police is on Umbrella's payroll, and it was his decision that lead to their suspension: as ever, he wears his bridle well.

But my work duties still take priority. We are due a visit from the team working at the Tyrant plant on Sheena Island in the next couple weeks. Who knows what that could be?

August 15th, 1998

The team from the Sheena Island facility visited today. They were making delivery of a new B.O.W variation, and we had the honour of storing it, and also monitoring the B.O.W's vitals, for any signs of change. Security was fairly high, a small detatchment of USF soldiers keeping watch. I swear, those guys make my bones chill: they don't seem human, behind those gas masks and red lenses. When they were here, I had a conversation with the head of the team. Apparently he and the others were glad to get out of their own facility for a change.

He talked at length about their facility head, Vincent Goldman, who I have heard much about. Goldman is supposedly a cruel and vindictive character: its rumoured he murdered his predecessor in order to get a promotion, and isn't adverse to some pretty sadistic research methods on living subjects. The team leader in particular spoke of an operation performed with an anaesthetic, in order to withdraw a certain hormone from the brains of prepubescent teens. Disgusting, but fascinating indeed: we should try it out sometime.

I had the B.O.W stored within the main lab of our maximum security area, and reviewed the general details myself. A very promising specimen, I must admit.

In other news, my request for a memorial in memory of those killed in the recent outbreaks has been turned down repeatedly by HQ. Their excuse is that they 'can't risk any information regarding the bio hazardous outbreak be leaked'. Its not as though I'm asking for a public memorial, just a private function! Do they honestly take me for an idiot?

I called again today to request the function once more. And this time, one of Spencer's aides answered himself. And when he refused my request, his tone became downright hostile.

My family has served this corporation for 3 generations! My grandfather was one of the original directors on the main Board! And this is how his descendents are treated?! That bastard Spencer has forgotten the prestigious past of the company!

"This guy's got some issues beyond his station," noted Ben with a slight smirk. Dean was inclined to agree, as Donovan's final passage for that entry took on an almost manic tone. But they continued to read on, eager to see what other information the mad man would part with.

August 20th, 1998

Two more of my staff resigned and left today, without saying a word. Apparently they were terrified that the city would be destroyed by the T-Virus, much like the Arklay facility had been, and wanted to skip town, despite the stringent instructions from HQ to not flee town. But regardless of all those warnings, they had already left the city before noon.

It was hard enough to find good help in this city, but now it looks as though my job's becoming that much harder. Umbrella staff the city over are being bombarded with questions from reporters and press regarding the company's 'other activities.' I have even been accosted by a few reporters myself, but have warded them off each time with the old 'no comment' rule. Seems despite the S.T.A.R.S being suspended, some people have believed their claims and are asking around. Of course, most regular Umbrella staff, including the administrative staff that work above us, have no idea of the B.O.W research.

But this would likely still be worth a visit from the company's Intelligence section. What fun…

August 29th, 1998

Today we had a visit from the Intelligence sector, as expected. They've imposed a company-wide restriction on information flow, which means all Umbrella employees are restricted from discussing any aspect of the corporation's workings, no matter how trivial, to any friends or family outside of work.

Most of my staff are deadly opposed to this of course, but I made sure they know that they have to stick to it as tightly as possible, since the intelligence service never messes around in instances like these. I've already heard of a few other Umbrella researchers across town being taken away after wagging their tongues too much. What happens to them after that...I would rather not think about.

Personally, every time I come down here, I find the experiences more and more stressful. Someone screwed up, and now the rest of us have to pay the price. Any mention of the outbreak at the Arklay facility is strictly forbidden and feared, and everyone is on edge, paranoid that they're being watched or listened-in on. Also, I have given up trying to organise that memorial service for those lost in the outbreak. Those fools at HQ have more pressing matters to deal with, clearly. But let them run about.

September 11th, 1998

The headline of the Raccoon Press today talked of unidentified creatures being sighted in the Arklay forest, and apparently its not the first time. Such stories were common place back in May, all the way through to the end of July…when the Arklay facility was destroyed.

That unpleasant feeling in my stomach has returned. It has to the T-Virus, it just has to be. The centre of the infection may have been destroyed, but clearly the abundance of wildlife in the forest is still carrying the virus, still spreading it to anything in range, bringing it closer and closer to the city. Its only a matter of time before the entire city is infected!

But I cannot abandon my duties, my workplace. I need to discuss this development with HQ tomorrow, and then hopefully they can begin to devise a solution for this. I seriously doubt they would let the city their North American division is based be destroyed, after all.

"It started in the Arklay facility," said Dean quietly, "and then it spread its way here. This was inevitable…"

"No, if those bastards hadn't created this damned virus in the first place, then we'd all be spared a lot of misery," replied Ben, turning away. "There's no point talking about prevention after what's happened so far."

Dean lowered his head and sighed, and then turned the page, hoping to see if Donovan's ramblings held anymore clues for them.

September 15th, 1998

We received some paperwork today from HQ, regarding planned 'evacuation orders'. Apparently the company has started to withdraw its operations and staff from the city. Clearly, they have already planned for the worst case scenario, and this knowledge has only served to unnerve my staff even more. Captain Becket and most of his security force are remaining loyal, as expected, but the maintenance staff and researchers are rather more skittish it has to be said. Another 3 of them have quit since my last entry.

And the newspapers are still talking about the spate of murders that have sprung up again. Last night an entire family in the suburbs were killed brutally and apparently eaten. The similarities to the murders in the summer are uncanny, as is the fact the victims were eaten. It seems there are more and more T-Virus hosts appearing in the outskirts of town, so it is only a matter of time before they appear within the inner city itself. Despite the brave show I put on for my staff, I'm starting to feel helpless myself.

September 18th, 1998

Miller, one of my senior researchers, is dead, and two other staff members are seriously injured.

He came in this morning, looking like the reaper himself. He kept complaining that he felt hungry, and he kept on scratching at his skin as well until it was red raw. It was more than disconcerting for half of the staff, and even more so when he suddenly passed out in the canteen during lunch break. But the worst was to come.

When Paul, one of the other researchers, checked Miller's pulse and found nothing, the senior researcher had suddenly lunged up and taken a bite out of Paul's neck, blood jetting up like a geyser. It took 3 others to pull the two apart, and when they did, Miller turned and sank his teeth into a security guard's forearm and tore off a hunk of the man's flesh. After that Miller was shot dead by the other security guards, who didn't have that much choice. I didn't see the scene myself, but I was able to watch the security footage later on myself.

The other researchers did some tests on Miller's body, and confirmed what I feared. He was infected with the T-Virus, which had killed him and turned him into a zombie. Paul and the wounded guard, Trent, are in the infirmary right now as the others try to save them, but its only a matter of time. I ordered both of them to be quarantined until further notice, and similar instructions would apply to anyone showing symptoms of the virus. They objected of course, but what else can I do? If we don't quarantine them, the entire staff would be infected within hours.

When is HQ going to do something about all of this? I have heard nothing since those evacuation papers were delivered, and already one of my senior staff is dead, and two more are as good as. If this keeps up, then I will have no-one left to help me to continue the company's work.

"So they had plans to pull their staff out of the city, but no-one else?" asked Ben, to no-one in particular. "I'm sorry, but there is no damned excuse for that, whatever you say. They only cared about cutting their damned losses and protecting their own interests."

"They didn't want the truth getting out, of course," replied Dean. "So what did you expect? Even though the truth's bound to come out after this mess is over and done with…" His voice trailed off as he turned the page once more.

September 23rd,1998

There's been a lot of commotion over at the main Raccoon research lab. I heard from my contact there, Roger, that the facility's head researcher, William Birkin, was killed last night by Umbrella Special Forces. Why exactly, he didn't say (or wouldn't say, Roger has a habit of not trusting me with every little piece of info). Either way, this is a major blow for the corporation.

As for Birkin himself…he had worked for Umbrella most of his life, since he was a teenager. A great scientist, a brilliant mind: but a flawed personality. He had aspirations above his station, and quite why Spencer allowed him to lead the Tyrant project, is anyone's guess. And the fact that Birkin always used to hang around with that other guy…I forget his name, something beginning with 'W' I think…always wore dark sunglasses. That guy always creeped me out, during our time at the training facility.

And apparently Birkin had been working on another project as well, so top-secret that only the staff working directly on that same project, and a few other select officials, knew of it. My contact says he was apparently working on some new strain of virus, vastly superior to the T-Virus. To be fair, this is the first I've heard of this new virus, and don't know what to make of it. But we've only just started to realise the potential of the T-Virus, and already Spencer's approved research on a new virus? We should be concentrating on our T-Virus projects until we've exhausted all potential, not spreading our funding across more than one separate research strand.

"Another virus?" asked Ben in disbelief. "Isn't the T-Virus bad enough? What the hell are they inflicting on the world now?!"

"Well whatever it was, lets hope it isn't down here as well," replied Dean. "That's the last thing we need right now."

September 25th, 1998

Still no word from HQ on when we are vacating the town. Apparently, the word hasn't been filtered down to any other facility within the city limits either, so God knows what the hell they're thinking. And the Raccoon Times shows there's been some more deaths: this time it's the Faulker family, somewhere in the Cider District in the western part of the city. A mother, father and their two young daughters killed in their sleep…it makes my skin crawl even to think about it. To think about the monsters that did that horrific deed…

I must focus on my own responsibilities. Two more researchers have not come into work today, and trying to contact them is a fruitless affair. I fear the worst, as is the norm around here now.

The next entry was marked on the same day that the outbreak had gone nuclear within the town, the same day that Dean and Ben had seen most of their comrades been massacred at that damned barricade.

September 26th, 1998

Its happened. The moment we've all been waiting for.

It started around mid-morning. Only half of the late shift turned in tonight, petrified and ranting about zombies swarming the streets above them. Looking on the exterior cameras, we could all see they were right. Knowing I had no other choice, I ordered the main entrance to be sealed off, preventing anyone or anything from getting in or out of the facility. It meant myself and my staff would be kept safe at least.

We all watched the destruction spread. It was inevitable that something like this would happen, but what has the corporation done about this? Nothing! We heard nothing else from them since we were sent those orders regarding the evacuation, so what the hell were they thinking?! Unless they deemed my facility and its workforce too trivial to protect. But that's preposterous. My family have dedicated themselves to the servitude of the company for years, thery wouldn't dare leave a distinguished member of the Donovan clan to rot in this hell hole, would they?

"Poor guy," said Dean out aloud suddenly. "Somehow he thought he should have been saved from all this, because of who he was."

"Clearly they didn't find him important enough," replied Ben casually. "Nor the rest of his Umbrella 'friends'." Dean flicked the page over once more.

September 27th, 1998

I've been monitoring the radio for hours now, praying for some kind of message to come through from HQ, hell, even from another Umbrella facility in a similar situation to ours. But its all to no avail. The lines are totally dead, and already a few of my staff are going stir-crazy from being cooped up in a place they see enough of every day. But what choice did I have? If we tried to venture outside, then we'd all be wiped out.

But another part of me has seen an opportunity through all of this madness. I wonder if any new B.O.W species have been created through this outbreak? Either way, sitting in here twiddling our thumbs will not accomplish anything. I have decided to deploy squads of the security force out into the city, with a view to collecting combat data on any B.O.W's encountered. It's the least we can do, to find some good in all this madness.

But not everyone welcomed this news with open arms, some of them threatening to upstage a mutiny if I insisted on this course of action. And one thing I was taught at the management training facility was that if it looks as though a number of your subordinates are showing discontent, then a little fear near did any harm. And so Mike became a sacrificial lamb for the rest of his friends to consider.

I haven't forgotten everything you taught me, Dr Marcus…

"The crazy son of a bitch, what the hell was he thinking?" asked Ben as he read that last part over a few times.

"I don't think he was," replied Dean, reading over the same part. "Looks like this whole mess drove him off of the deep end…can't say I blame him really. And he can't have been the only one either."

Well if he lost it, then why haven't we gone bat shit crazy? Or is there still plenty of time for a nervous breakdown to kick in? He quickly shook off those thoughts as he turned the page once more, to view yesterday's entry.

September 28th, 1998

We have met great success with sending people out into the city streets. We have lost some men, of course, but there must always be casualties in the way of general progress, as Dr Marcus always said to us. Sometimes, it feels like those halcyon days were only yesterday.

According the initial reports, it looks as though most of the population has succumbed to the virus. And it seems some new B.O.W's have appeared as well: a couple of the teams dragged back a large insectoid creature that looked similar to the Chimeras developed at the Arklay facility, and the research team has already done a preliminary autopsy of the body. It seems to act as a blood-sucker, drawing blood and other vital fluids from its prey while they still live, and using its sickle-like claws to slice into soft flesh and through bone, according to accounts from the survivors.

One of the researchers had already dubbed it a 'drain deimos', and many seem to agree with the moniker. It's a promising find indeed, though I am disappointed that we couldn't acquire a live sample.

The entry for that day seemed to end there, but then Dean saw the writing on the opposite page, marked with a few stray drops of dried blood, the words more scratchy and erratic than the previous entries.

Damn it all! Captain Becket has tried to take my life, but I was able to shoot him down! The bastard deserved such a fate, after discovering the truth…the truth that I spread the virus within the facility…it was their own fault, daring to try and go over my head, leave the facility and try to escape the city that burns above us, daring to leave me behind! I had to do it: I needed to show them who held all the power down here, who holds their lives in the palm of their hands!

But it doesn't matter to them now: the power to the main elevator has been knocked out, and the others have been trapped down here, doomed to become zombies or die at the hands of the things they had worked alongside for so long! It's the best fate for them, after trying to defy me!

"Jesus Christ, this bastard totally lost it," said Ben, stating the obvious and shaking his head. "Dooming everyone else to death just because they wanted to try and leave!"

"Yeah well, don't worry," replied Dean. "I'm sure we'll get some time to give him a piece of our minds…there can't be many more places down here for him to hide." As he turned the page over, he found that it was the very last entry in the diary, and also that it was actually dated for today, showing that they hadn't missed him by much. The writing was more refined now, and more legible.

September 29th, 1998

It looks as though this will be the last entry in my diary, ever.

From what I've seen on the screens, most, if not all, of my staff are dead or zombified, doomed to wander these cold steel halls for the rest of their existence. I am the only live one left…or rather, I was the only one left.

It looks as though two people from above were able to find the way down here somehow, and now they're walking about, no doubt searching for entry into the emergency train platform…and only my master key can unlock the way through. They are certainly very talented to have survived this long: even when I tried to separate the two of them, leaving one at the mercy of the Ursinex, he was able to kill the damned thing by himself! Either they're naturally talented…or desperate.

But I suppose I'm getting desperate as well. There are no more barriers between me and them, and I have no intention of dying down here, in the confines of my own office, long abandoned by the corporation that I had dedicated so much of my life to. How ironic...discarded like a piece of trash. So I'll leave, and I'll take the Daylight samples with me, the T-Virus cure that was entrusted to me some days ago, the secret kept from the rest of my staff.

Whatever happens at the end of this day, I'll never let those fools get the better of a descendent of the Donovan family. I'll protect the master key, and the Daylight samples with my life if necessary! I'll be waiting for them to come to me...

"Daylight? A T-Virus cure?!" asked Ben aloud. "So there is a cure! And this bastard was keeping it hidden from everyone else in the facility!" Dean was silent, though he agreed wholeheartedly.

Knowing there was a definite cure for the T-Virus proved that this wasn't a worthless trip after that…that Nick and everyone else's deaths weren't in vain on their journey here. But if there was a cure, then why wasn't it universally known to all Umbrella employees? If they had been working with this deadly virus for so long, then why wasn't an outright cure created just in case? It seemed a little illogical, but having heard of most of Umbrella's dirty secrets, Dean didn't think logic factored into many Umbrella experiments.

"Well this bastard has the Daylight, and doesn't want to give it up," Dean said instead, standing up. "So I say we take the fight to him. Hate to keep him waiting, right?"

"You sure about that?" asked Ben. "I know he's just one guy, but he's one guy who likely has a gun-" he then said, indicating towards the dead body lying by the door. "-and he's a guy who's gone insane as well…so that makes him more dangerous as well."

"Come on Ben, after all we've been through lately you're worried about dealing with one crazy guy with a guy?" asked Dean, mockingly.

"Remember that last 'crazy guy with a gun'?" asked Ben, referring to that incident in the department store the other day…when that guy from the Scorpions had been inches away from blowing both of them away. If Nick hadn't shown up-

"Well we're not getting caught off guard this time, right?" said Dean firmly, sounding a little irritated. "We've come too far to be caught napping now."

"Sure, if you say so," replied Ben, not sounding wholly convinced, though Dean was too exhausted to pick up on it right now, as he started to move towards the door, carefully stepping over Captain Becket's corpse.

"Come on man, we're so near the end of this shit and I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible if you don't mind," he said instead, trying to disguise his mood. "You're with me, right?"

"Of course," retorted Ben, surprised. "Until the very end."

"Good, then let's go meet Mr Donovan, shall we?" asked Dean, starting to grin slightly.

---

Nearby, Donovan had already caught wind of their intent. He'd seen them enter his office through the security footage, seen them proing over his diary intently, in which he had spoken of his growing insanity, and then saw them exit after a few minutes. He knew he had left his diary, along with all the other reports given to him by his late staff, and the former more than implicated him in his hand in the horrors created down here.

They were coming here, and he just knew they had ill intent towards him. And even though he was outnumbered and outgunned, he still had one last ace up his sleeve: one last throw of the dice in an attempt to cheat his fate: the delivery from Sheena Island, that had so far sat at the far end.

Never tested in the field of course, but the Sheena Island staff are always known to create some high quality-products- the T-103 line has proven to be a massive success so far.

He hovered just next to the huge red cylinder now, before he reached around and popped off a side panel, exposing a number of controls. He flicked a few switches, and was rewarded with a series of green lights illuminating, bringing the experiment out of stasis and starting the process of pumping its massive body full of vital proteins and endorphins, to ensure that it would be combat-ready as soon as possible.

He then pulled down the large lever on the far side of the panel, and there was a high-pitched hissing sound as a jet of ice cold steam was blown out from the bottom of the cylinder, and the steel frame it was attached too started to adjust, lifting it up so the huge object now stood vertical in its place. Numerous green lights along the side of the cylinder blinked to life, and a small black screen reeled off a long line of confusing vital stats. All he knew was that it looked stable, and that was better than nothing.

"Vital signs stable," said a cool female voice suddenly, emanating from the speaker set into the side of the control panel. "Subject preperation underway."

"OK then," Donovan said to himself quietly, as he moved back towards the nearby workstation, seeing the intruders starting to move away from outside his office, into the main work area of the maximum security area: barely 70 yards away from where he currently was: almost on top of him.

"If you're so intent on coming for me, then come on!" he growled, picking up the handgun from the counter and checking it over, before looking over towards the main entrance.

"And I think you'll find I have the home advantage."

A/N: And done. This chapter was originally going to be a little longer than you see here, but I decided to cut it a little shorter, so it ended better, and also since the last chapter was pretty huge and there was I long wait between the chapters, I didn't want it to be forever between updates for you guys. Anyway, this chapter shows Donovan's connection with James Marcus: which might explain a few things.

The next chapter will feature a pretty big battle for our intrepid heroes. Most of you may have already guessed what it's going to be, but things will definitely be a change of pace from this chapter at least, so bring your drinks and snacks for your front row seats to the brawl! (because the catering staff will likely charge you a fortune for on-site refreshments- typical. .)

Anyway, Chapter 26 is being produced as this is going out, so until next time R+R as usual please.