Chris rolled his shoulder, testing it out. The minor wound had stung a bit, but Sheva's quick treatment had taken away most of the discomfort. That particular injury wouldn't bother him moving forward.
They were moving on, ignoring the slavering mob of Majini howling behind them. With luck, that door would keep them out. It looked sturdy enough. Their cries echoed up the long concrete corridor towards him, however, and were somewhat annoying. He really hoped these damn parasites weren't going to become the new bioweapons norm. Zombies were a hell of a lot more convenient to deal with.
"Ugh," he said out loud as one of them let out a high, furious shriek that was irritating even through his ear protection. "At least zombies are quiet."
"Are they?" Sheva asked.
Right. She'd never been involved in a biohazard event, to his knowledge. "Mostly. There are some growlers, a few shriekers, but mostly they just hiss and rattle and groan. Annoying after a while, but not loud."
They came out in a foul-smelling open sewage trench. Adding to the reek were the corpses of what looked to be four tourists, all pale skinned in nice travelling clothing, all bloated with decomposition.
"My God," Sheva said sadly, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell.
Chris had just stepped forward. As the ripple from his boot reached the first body, he noticed it start to pulse gently, and he said quietly, "Watch out, something's hap—"
He was cut off by the hideous sound of tearing flesh as something burst out of the first man's diaphragm. Moments later another one tore out of the far body, then two more out of the last two corpses. The things launched themselves into the air, sick yellow-brown bodies flapping large, membranous wings that turned pink when catching the sunlight. They weren't graceful, and shook violently in the air, making it difficult to pick out any other details from them. This also made them tricky targets.
He pulled out his rifle, and Sheva her shotgun. He fired and missed as the first one moved with a surprisingly agile swoop, darting a few feet closer to him before taking to hovering again. It darted once more, bringing it feet away, and he fired. He'd aimed for the junction of its wings, but hit what may have been its gut. It stuttered in the air and let out a shrill wail, but remained airborne. It did drop a couple of feet, though, bringing it in range of a quick high sidekick. He sent it flying away, and it fell in the water, flapping madly and trying to get back in the air.
The other three were swooping in. When two of them lined up beside each other, Sheva fired, and they both shrieked and jerked, swooping off in two different directions. Chris got one through what looked like its head, and it burst and dropped. Sheva fired at the fourth one as it darted nearly on top of them. This was mostly a miss with just a few pellets catching its wing, and she swapped to her handgun to take quicker shots.
There was another gated sewer grate at the far end. Chris ran past to check it out, found it chained but not locked, and quickly unlooped the chains while Sheva followed after him. He yanked the door open and they both slipped in. The fliers came after them, but the door opened outward. Lacking hands, this was a hang-up for them.
Chris took a few seconds to study them, ready to duck if they tried spewing noxious goo or something through the bars. They had two wings, though the divot between the top and bottom halves made it look like four. Their bodies dangled below them, with a sort of tri-mandibled mouth at the very bottom, and several wriggling tentacles surrounding it. They were veiny and ugly and he hoped they wouldn't have to deal with many more.
As he thought this, one's lower body pulled back…and lurched forward, shooting through the bars to get to him. He jerked back and it missed, but he got a good close look at its revolting little mouth before it retracted it.
"Yuck," Sheva remarked as it slid back outside, hissing.
"Yuck," Chris agreed, and they turned to move on.
The corridor ahead of them turned dark fast. He clicked on his light and Sheva aimed her shotgun forward in case they were swarmed by more dogs. Happily, they got to the end of the tunnel, featuring a ladder up, without any problems.
They came out in another part of town. As they advanced, it became apparent that this was a real hub of life under normal circumstances – a marketplace. Sheva's eyes darted back and forth to the empty windows and stalls.
"Someone's here," she said quietly.
Amen. If Chris couldn't feel a good dozen eyes on him, he was a monkey's uncle.
They made their way around a barricade and into the main shopping square. The smell of rotting food laced the air, prompting him to breathe again through his mouth. He saw a hint of movement on the far side of the square and brought his gun up, but the figure vanished before he could get in a shot. That wasn't great. That probably meant an oncoming mob.
"Be ready," he said. Sheva nodded.
"Say," she remarked. "Didn't Reynard mention stashing that rifle and some valuables in a marketplace with a large fruit stall in the middle?"
Chris recalled that. He'd told them about a couple of weapons he had hidden around the area while they'd been stocking up at the jeeps. And as it happened, this marketplace fitted that approximate description.
He hit his radio and said, "Reynard, this is Chris. Come in."
"Chris, Reynard here. What do you want?"
"Good to hear you, too. We're at that marketplace with the fruit stand. Where did you say the rifle was?"
"In a chest under the middle stall facing the water. The chest is disguised to look like an old, used crate."
"Thanks. How's the jeep coming along?"
"It will be coming along much better when I can get back to focusing on it!"
"Duly noted. Chris out."
Sheva wiped a small smile off her face, and he rolled his eyes. Good to know someone found the man charming.
He examined the stall. There wasn't a gap he could squeeze through, and every surface was covered in squishy fruit. He swept his arm over a pyramid of some green grapefruit looking things and sent them scattering, then hopped over and slid behind the stall to see something unfortunate.
"Looks like someone already got here," he commented ruefully. A crate like Reynard had mentioned had already been dragged out of the hiding place and emptied. There was nothing there for them.
Wait, not nothing. Something in the dust just barely caught a sliver of sunlight leaking under the stall's canopy, the sudden glare making Chris blink. He reached out and picked it up. It was a large, blood-red, nicely cut stone.
He frowned, but pocketed it, and hit his radio again. "Reynard, Chris again. Looks like you were robbed. They did leave behind one of your rocks, though. Is this a ruby?"
Reynard swore. "They took my gun? Damn them, that was one of my good ones. Yes, it's a ruby, and I'll thank you to have it back when we meet up again! I nicked that off a traveling dignitary last month, and it's worth a small fortune."
HQ popped in. "Agent Fisher, did you just say you robbed a dignitary?"
Sheva tried to suppress a hearty chuckle as Reynard barked, "What? I said no such thing. Dig the wax out of your ears. I said it was a hand-me-down from my grandmother. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
The line fell silent. Chris hopped out of the stall. He'd have liked to grab that rifle for Sheva, since she'd given hers to Reynard, but oh well.
They began scouting out the streets, expecting at every turn to come across the ambush. But the square remained silent as they began poking their heads in the windows of the various shops. All of them were almost completely cleaned out, only a few having anything valuable left in them. One had something interesting, though. A corpse hanging from the ceiling. On the hook beside it was a large keyring.
Chris eyed this. He saw the door was locked from the inside, so he broke the window and hopped through. There was a box of onions on one of the tables, and he picked one up and threw it hard at the keyring, hoping to knock the keys loose. He hit, but they didn't fall.
He picked up another one and threw it. Same thing. Sheva picked up an onion, sniffed it, then peeled away the outer shell and took a bite out of it like it was an apple. "Mm. Still good. Do we need those keys?"
Chris threw again. Another hit, but the keys still stayed on. He was starting to feel a little silly, but they were too high up for him to reach, and it wasn't like he was going to waste a bullet shooting them down. "You never know. When you're on a mission like this and you find keys lying around, I'd advise you always take them. It can save you a lot of pain and hassle down the road sometimes, and they don't take up much space."
She took another bite, clearly relishing the snack. He wasn't an onion man – not raw, anyways – so he'd leave those to her. "Out of interest, how many times have you passed up a key that you ended up needing later?" she asked curiously.
He thought back on a couple of incidences. Arklay. The Caucasus facility. He shook his head. "Too damn many."
Sheva shrugged. Then she grabbed a broom sitting by the door, walked over, and easily used the broom head to sweep the keys off the hook. She picked them up and handed them to him. He dropped the onion he'd been about to throw, rubbed his forehead, and said, "Thanks."
She picked up the onion and handed it back to him, pocketing one herself. "No sense in wasting food. These are good, and good for you. Anyways, if nothing else, it'll make a good projectile," she grinned.
He rolled his eyes and pocketed the onion. He'd probably end up giving it to her later, but he supposed she was right. Depending on how long this mission lasted, they might end up needing the food, and it looked like fresh food was rapidly becoming scarce in the area.
He heard the rattling of chain link fencing outside. It was followed by shouting, which came from multiple directions. Sheva turned her head, listening hard to the yells, then said, "They know we're in here."
It was at times like these that he appreciated having a partner native to the region. Her ability to understand the local lingo came in handy when their enemies were openly broadcasting their intentions and directions. "Let's get out of here before we're surrounded."
She nodded. He made for the window. A Majini appeared in the sill and started trying to climb through, but he wasn't having that. He hauled off and sent the guy flying, jumped out of the building, and sprinted down the alley for the market's center.
He flung himself across the open space and shoulder-rolled behind the fruit stalls, and not a moment too soon. A pair of crossbow bolts lodged themselves in the stand a moment later. Sheva crossed in their wake and was not fired at.
"We'll need to take the crossbowmen out if we're gonna figure out how to move forward," he said, poking his head around the corner as he switched to his rifle. They were standing nearby, atop the barricade that cut him and Sheva off from the rest of the area.
"I'll take the other side," she said. As she set off, a few more Majini came his way from the alley they'd vacated.
He heard a shot. In its wake he poked his head out, saw the crossbowmen had both turned to aim at her, and fired at one of them, taking it out. A Majini sprinted at him, hands up in front of its face to ward off a shot. Rather than shooting, Chris reached out and grabbed one of its arms, twisting it behind the thing's back, and sent it flying with a hard kick to its behind. This took the Majini by surprise; it had been psyched up for a bullet, not MMA. It crashed into its buddies and sent them sprawling, and he took a moment to line up a shot at the last crossbowman.
He fired, and the sniper-Majini's head burst. Out of it popped another of those flying monsters.
Sheva was on it. She started firing with her handgun, and nearly every shot hit. It was jerking and twisting in the air, momentarily disoriented, then began swooping towards her in short lunges.
She'd be fine dealing with that threat, now that she wasn't being shot at. He started scanning the area for a way out of there. He spotted a tall gate leading to a series of connected docks stretching past the bulwarks, and ran over to inspect it.
It was locked with a heavy padlock. He could force his way through it given enough time, but with luck, he wouldn't need to. He pulled out that keyring and tried the first key on it. It was a dud. Another Majini lunged at him, and he once again kicked it away and sent it bouncing off its friends. Second key was no good, either. Third one, though…
Click!
Sheva was a good twenty feet away. He hit his radio as he lined up yet another kick at an approaching Majini. They'd be getting used to his melee moves pretty soon, and would no doubt adapt. "Sheva, got the gate to the docks open. Let's go."
"Roger."
She fired once more at the flying leech-beast and split off as it crashed to the ground, its wings full of holes. They went through the gate just as four more Majini came around the corner, and he picked up a plank of wood and jammed it through the handles on this side, locking them out. Might not hold forever, but it would work for a minute.
They ran along the docks to the other side of the barricade. He jumped up, and was forced to roll quickly to the side with a quick shout of, "Duck!" as four crossbow bolts, all on fire, lodged themselves in a neat line beside him. While the crossbowmen were reloading, Sheva joined him, popping off a quick shot at one. She hit, but the wound was superficial.
They peeked out and saw a very bad sight. At least two dozen enemies were holed up behind various points of cover, and another half dozen were advancing on them. There were four crossbowmen spread out over the high places, all pulling back on their weapons to lock the new bolts into place.
Oddly enough, half of this group was Asian. Sheva saw this as well, and winced. "That's unfortunate."
They took cover again as another volley came at them. "Research group?" Chris guessed. "Or tourists?"
"Probably missionaries, here to do charity work in the region. Teach kids how to read and write, help build public structures, share farming tips…and spread gospel, of course. It's very common in this area," she clarified as his brows creased.
"Huh," he said. "Is missionary work common in the Asian community?"
"Yes. There's no real freedom of religion in the more authoritarian eastern countries, so when they emigrate, they're very passionate about being able to practice and spread their faith. I had a group just like that come to my village when I was a child. They helped my parents set up an irrigation system for our garden and learn a bit of basic English before they departed. I didn't understand a word they said, myself, but they were very kind."
Well, whatever these guys had been doing, they were only looking to spread one thing now. He spotted a wriggling parasite in one Majini's hand as it lunged around the corner, and he hauled off and punched the guy across the clearing before shooting the bug, blowing it, and the Majini's hand, to pieces.
The heavy thwakthwakthwak of a chopper bled in to the sounds of shouting and crossbow mechanisms. Kirk's voice came on the radio. "You two okay?"
"Been better," Chris grunted as he heaved another missionary back. Sure enough, he spotted the little silver cross dangling from the guy's neck. He wasn't a man of faith himself, and honestly, the idea of going into a hellhole like this just to share one's religion baffled him, but he'd heard about how much guys like this did during the cholera outbreak a couple years back. And those fatality rates had been viciously high. These weren't just sanctimonious nuts. They were good guys.
"HQ sent me in to provide air support. It's gonna get hot down there, so watch out!"
"Roger," Sheva replied. "Thanks Kirk."
"Wow," Chris grunted as he shot a couple more Majini coming around the corner. "I didn't think HQ actually cared."
The chopper came in sight. It rumbled near them, Chris waved at the RPG guy, and when he thought he had his eye, pointed down the street towards the barricade. The chopper whirled around, got a bead on it, and a moment later—
BOOM!
The street was enveloped in smoke and fire. Chris broke from cover. "Let's go!"
"Right behind you!"
They sprinted low down the road. Another missionary came struggling out of the ashes, burned half to death and screaming in pain. It was essentially a waste of a bullet, but he put the guy down going past, anyways. Dude had been through enough.
Rest in peace, friend, he thought grimly as the pale, black-haired Majini dropped. I guess you're pretty well taken care of from here on out.
They jumped the crates the Majini had been using for cover, and began making their way through the town, keeping close to walls and staying wary of doorways. Sheva took down a few rooftop shooters, and he knocked down anyone who got within five feet of them. Kirk's RPG guy very kindly took down another large group as it surged out of a building they passed by, and after checking their HUDs for a quick directional update, they shot down a narrow alleyway leading towards the mines.
The drone of the chopper had been dipping in and out of their proximity. It had veered away to scout ahead, but now came back towards them. Chris spotted something odd about it out of the corner of his eye, and just as he looked up towards it, the radio came to life in his ears. Kirk was screaming.
"What the fuck are those!? Mathison to HQ, I'm under attack by flying B.O.W.s!"
Chris's eyes widened, and Sheva gasped as they saw at least a dozen of those huge, flying monstrosities swarming the cockpit of the chopper. The RPG guy was no longer on the ledge. A couple of the flyers flew up into the blades and were ripped apart, but not before causing them to skip a beat. The chopper dipped and swerved.
"I'm losing engine power! Shit, I'm out of control! I'M GOING DOWN! MAYDAY, MAYD—"
The chopper lost altitude and dropped behind a large building. At the same moment the transmission cut off, the far sound of screaming metal and combusting fuel met their ears.
Chris's stomach dropped, and he felt a sick swoop of miserable anger. Two more good men, gone.
When I find that little fucker, Irving, I swear to God—
"This is HQ. The helicopter has been downed. All nearby units proceed to the crash site. Repeat, all nearby units proceed to the crash site."
"Damnit," Sheva breathed. Their HUDs beeped, and he checked. The chopper's location was now outlined in orange – their new primary objective.
He stared at the plume of smoke rising above the buildings for a moment, then ran forward and jumped up onto a ledge that led in that direction. It was unlikely that Kirk and the other man in the chopper had survived the crash, but it was possible. He'd recently met a guy who'd survived a chopper crash back in the Illuminados incident. He'd been horribly scarred, but he'd survived. And HQ was sending them over there. Why divert them if not to provide aid?
They made their way up a switchback dirt road to what looked to be the tallest building in the area. Inside they met with considerable resistance, but between Sheva's shotgun and his melee follow-ups and knifework, they got through without wasting too much ammo. There was a heavy gate leading in the direction they needed to go, but it was locked from the other side, and they wouldn't be kicking it down anytime soon. That was the only exit on this story.
"Let's try upstairs," Sheva suggested. "At least we ought to be able to scout out a better route if we can find a window or balcony."
"Sounds like a plan," he said. They started up. They passed one more intact balcony, but it was not high enough to offer a good view or low enough that they could jump down to the street from it. They continued up.
The top level also had a balcony, and this one with an excellent view. The view, however, was not encouraging.
"Shit," Chris swore. "There's no way to get over to the wreckage without going through that gate. And I don't think there's a way past it in this building."
Sheva's gaze, which started on the streets below, rose to the building across from them. There was a balcony like theirs jutting out a little ways, but it was just a bit too far to jump. Also, it looked highly unstable. Much of the side of the building that faced them had been blown apart, revealing the crumbling floors within. Sheva traced these floors with her eyes, then backed away and said, "Give me a boost over."
He looked back and forth between her and the balcony a couple of times. "Are you serious? No way. We stick together, remember?"
She looked at him levelly. "Kirk may be dying as we speak. We need to get to him. The fastest way is through that gate, and I can reach it from over there. Just cover me from up here, and I'll do the rest."
Chris gritted his teeth…but her reasoning was sound. There was no time to argue. If Kirk was still alive, every second would count. So he positioned himself at the edge of the balcony, laced his fingers, and when Sheva ran and jumped into his grip, he propelled her up and onward.
She landed on the edge, but it wasn't structurally sound. It crumbled when she hit it, and she was forced to pinwheel her arms wildly in an attempt to get her center of gravity back on stable ground. A fifty foot drop onto hot, dusty stone lay beneath her.
A sour taste of panic filled Chris's mouth. She wasn't going to make it. She was an inch too far. She was going to fall.
Mind and muscles working fast, he thrust his hand into his pocket. All she needed was a little shove. This was going to hurt, but it was better than the alternative. His hand found something with a bit of heft. He snatched out the onion she'd given him earlier, pulled his hand back, and pitched.
The ripe vegetable hit home right between her shoulder blades, splattering, and such was the force with which he'd thrown that she yelped in pain and was rocked forward – just enough to get back on the balcony. She reached back and rubbed the spot of impact, which was now damp with onion juice. She brought her hand back to her face, and unless he was mistaken, took a sniff. Then she hit her radio and said, "See? I told you onions were good for one's health. Thanks!"
He snorted. "Yeah, an onion a day keeps the mortician away. You have company coming up. Watch out."
He pulled out his handgun and lined up a shot at the Majini who was rushing up the stairs towards her. He fired before it could even reach her story, sending it tumbling back down, but three more were hot on its tail.
Sheva started making her way downstairs, largely avoiding the Majini. His shots were carefully placed to open up gaps for her to dart through, and she did this expertly until she was out of sight. At this point, he sprinted back down the stairs to the balcony one floor below, and as he got there she radioed, "I need backup, there's too many of them!"
Damn. They must have all been on the ground floor, and rushed up in response to the gunfire. There were at least ten crowding the stairs, with more coming up from below.
He spotted a red barrel halfway across the room she was in. "I think that's another explosive barrel behind you," he said. "Lure them over, bunch them up beside it, and I'll take them out."
"On it," she replied once she'd caught sight of said handy barrel. She skipped over to this, popped the lid on it, and took a whiff. She jerked back, waving a hand under her nose, and retreated even further, firing off a couple of small caliber rounds at the foremost advancing Majini. "Yes, that's gasoline. Tell me when you're firing so I can take cover."
He didn't reply. He'd pulled out his handgun and was busy slowing her pursuers down from twenty feet, aiming for the hips and legs as they ran. This was a difficult thing to do, and his aim was top notch. He always smacked his forehead when people asked cops, well, why don't you just shoot people in the legs? Did people really have no idea how hard that was, especially in a life-threatening situation?
Well, the distance was tough, but otherwise the targets were perfectly lined up. He got enough slowed sufficiently that the group, as a whole, was shortly clustered around the barrel, oblivious to what was about to happen. He broadcast, "Firing, take cover," and as soon as Sheva was behind a wall, he shot.
The heatwave brushed him from all the way over here, and the mob was pretty well decimated. Sheva stepped out in the aftermath, ran through the smoke, and was easily able to avoid the last handful of enemies by herself. As she dipped out of sight again, she radioed, "Thanks again."
"A barrel of gasoline a day—" he replied before dropping off at the sound of more gunfire. A few pops later, he saw her emerge again at ground level, and ran down to the gate.
Three more Majini were behind her, approaching quickly, but she was working unconcernedly on the lock, trusting him to cover her. He fired at the attackers through the bars, keeping them at bay, and after a moment, she pulled the chains off and opened the way for him.
Relieved to be reunited again – it was alarmingly easy for short bifurcations to become long-term and even permanent in chaotic arenas like these – he stepped through and they finished off the last few Majini. With the rest of the street open to them, the way forward was clear. A tall gate stood at the end of the main road, and according to his HUD (and the billowing plume of black smoke), the crash site was just beyond it.
Red barrels lined the streets here, shoved up against the bare concrete walls of the worn-down buildings to keep them out of the sun. He pointed them out.
"Yeah," Sheva said, wiping the sweat from her brow as she stepped back into some shade. "Too bad we don't have some big, scary enemy to—"
A mechanical roar ripped gratingly through the air, almost in direct reply to her words, and the noise caused Chris's thoughts to flash briefly back to another excerpt from the Kennedy Report.
Spread throughout the village, a semi-rare threat, were chainsaw Ganados. Larger and considerably sturdier than their run-of-the-mill brethren, I never took any chances on these guys. They were dangerous in the extreme. A few magnum rounds were usually enough to deal with them, though.
He looked sideways at Sheva. He didn't have a magnum. "You just had to say something, didn't you?"
Up ahead, at the gate, sparks flew as the figure on the other side of the bars brought its weapon down on lock, slicing through it in seconds. With a harsh kick, the gate flew open and their enemy stepped through.
He glanced over and Sheva and noticed that goosebumps had risen all along her arms. He wasn't holding that against her. This thing was ugly. It didn't look much larger or tougher than the average Majini, perhaps a bit darker skinned, but its entire head was wrapped up in rough burlap, and if this was formfitting, was a bit too large for its body. A single eyehole had been cut into the sack, and a bulging, red-veined blue-grey eye glared out at them through it. The chainsaw itself wasn't some old clunker – this was a large, industrial, double-bladed chainsaw, the kind you could easily dismember people with.
A set of keys dangled from the Majini's hip.
Chris glared at these. "What do you want to bet we'll need those keys?"
Before she could reply, the Majini screamed and ran at them. The speed with which it moved made Chris's heartrate jump up considerably. It wasn't a heavy opponent, but it made up for this with agility. It was fast.
It came at them quickly, and as they began firing at it – he'd switched to rifle, Sheva to her shotgun – more howls rent the air. Majini were streaming in from other buildings, and soon they had another half a dozen converging on them.
Sheva ran out and paused to reload. He staggered the chainsaw Majini with a couple shots to the knee, and they turned to put some distance between them. He swapped to his handgun and popped off at an approaching Majini. A few small tentacles burst from the holes he put in its head, but these cringed away from the light, drawing back inside the skull. Plagas were photosensitive.
The chainsaw guy had recovered, and was charging them. He heard it coming up quickly behind them, and reached over to shove Sheva out of the way as he dove aside himself. The chainsaw swung wildly as its wielder shot past them both, and the noxious smell of fumes filled the air.
He fired twice more at the thing's knee, since it was so close. It barely stumbled. Small and fast, but also sturdy. This was way worse than what Leon had described in the Illuminados Incident. Clearly, these things were a major improvement over the originals.
"Split up," he barked. "Come at it from different angles. I'll try to lead it into the barrels."
"Got it," Sheva replied, firing several more times at the thing's head. It wheeled around and flailed its weapon at her, but she skipped back and hopped through an open window, drawing a screech of frustration from her pursuer. Chris took this opportunity to dash past a barrel. He had four Majini closing on him, but he'd be able to avoid them for a few seconds.
He fired at the chainsaw guy and yelled, "Hey, over here!"
The chainsaw Majini turned towards him and started sprinting. Too easy. He fired at the barrel as his foe passed within a foot of it, and the cretin was sent reeling away.
He heard the chainsaw stall, and bared his teeth in satisfaction. Without that power tool, it wasn't apt to be much trouble. He turned his attention instead to the four other Majini that were now rushing him.
He grabbed one's wrist as it reached for him, and whirled it around into its ally. They knocked heads, and he whipped out his knife and slashed both throats in a single, well-aimed blow. The next one took eight inches of steel to the gut, and he twisted and sawed an inch or two, making use of the serration at the base of the blade before pulling out. The last one he slashed at to disorient, then delivered a hard punch to the gut. When the Majini fell to its knees, he slipped smoothly around behind it, grabbed its head, and jerked it hard – one-hundred and eighty degrees.
The vertebrae wrenched free of each other, and the Majini went instantly limp. Chris let go and shook himself out with a low breath. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing monsters with his bare hands, but he found the sound of a snapping neck oddly satisfying when he was the one doing the snapping. He'd once asked his psychologist if this was normal.
Um. Well, it is common for soldiers to experience satisfaction while dispatching an enemy, and I suppose I can see how that sound could qualify as a satisfying sound. I don't think there's anything to worry about…
The man hadn't sounded 100% sure of his own assessment, though. Chris tried not to feel too good about himself when the Majini fell. He wasn't popping open pickle jars here. He was fighting his way through a throng of monsters. Not a good place to be, and he didn't want to start having positive associations with his warzones.
He heard the chainsaw start back up, and he sighed and pulled his rifle out again. He'd have to check out the tool's brand. He wouldn't say no to having a chainsaw that could withstand an explosion – that's quality durability. He had a big oak tree on his property, and one of the branches had been blown off in the last windstorm. He needed to chop that puppy up.
He spotted Sheva slinking behind the chainsaw Majini, towards another barrel. He fired once to hold its attention, then waited for her to position herself. Before she could, however, a throng of some eight more Majini burst out of another narrow alleyway, and she was forced to turn and run.
The swarm ran past the barrel, and he took the shot. That was too many to deal with easily, and therefore worth the explosion. Most of the swarm went flying, only one or two being relatively unaffected, and Sheva would be able to deal with tho—
"Shit," he gasped as his ankle was grabbed by one of his fallen opponents. He stumbled backwards, falling, and the chainsaw Majini howled in excitement and lurched forward, chainsaw coming up…and down.
Chris had no option. He brought his rifle up to parry, and sparks flew as the power tool began eating through the top of the barrel with a singularly wretched sound. It was sinking gradually through the weapon, the metal warping as it gave way before the brutal mechanical assault. His ankle was still trapped, preventing him from kicking out. If he rolled aside, the chainsaw's blade could easily come right down on him.
"SHEVA!" he barked, trying to yank his leg free. The saw was almost through the gun. Fuck all, that thing was powerful—
His partner appeared silently, springing up straight behind the chainsaw Majini and hooking her legs over its shoulders like a girl playing chicken at a pool party. Her knife came out, and with a soft grunt of exertion on her part, she drove it to the hilt into the Majini's head.
The thing's eye froze in its socket, then rolled up, as though trying to get a look at its attacker. The chainsaw stalled as the thing's hand went lax on the grip, and it pitched over to the side, Sheva dropping off and landing in a lithe crouch.
Chris gasped and shoved his rifle, which had the chainsaw thoroughly imbedded in it, away. "Fuck," he panted. "That was my favorite gun."
Sheva winced and helped him up. "And given that that was our last rifle, that's a bad loss. I'm sorry I couldn't jump in sooner."
He shook his head. "You saved my life. That's what matters. And anyways, if we can find Reynard's rifle, we ought to be okay. Handguns will do just fine in the meantime."
She passed him her shotgun. "In case you need something with a little more oomph," she said.
He took it and inspected it. It wasn't a bad gun. "Thanks," he said. "Now let's get moving."
They took the keys from the dead Majini and dispatched the last few stragglers as they made their way up the street and through the gate. Sure enough, another gate stood just around the corner, locked. They unlocked it with the keys and stepped through.
One thing Alyssa appreciated about going over these plans only moments before executing them was that she wasn't given time to panic. All she had time to do was picture how she would move right out the door, then she was moving. No time to conjure up the roar of gunfire, the piercing pain of bullets, the way her body would jerk and fall when she went down—
Okay, time to go. Theron was sliding the access key card, and before she could hit the floor in her mind, she was running through the double door, gun up, cutting sharply to the left and running low and silent for the row of desks. Sure enough, they made an alley that lined the room, and though there was no one immediately before her, the room was longer than it was wide, so there would be a lot more space in the alley around the corner. She made for it, feeling a deluge of relief when she got behind some cover, and used this relief to mask her terror as she shot around the corner, gun up, to find…
…nothing. It was empty.
She kept going, running crouched all the way down, and when she got to the end and turned the corner, it was to see that Theron had already cleared his side. There had been no gunfire, no calls of alarm, nothing at all.
They both stood up straight and looked around the room. There was an elevator in here, but a quick check from Theron proved it to be as dead as the other one. The scientist still stood in the middle of the room, unaffected. He'd turned slightly to keep them in sight, though it was difficult to really see him, given that the emergency lighting strips were mostly near the walls.
Theron clicked on his light, showcasing the man in the middle of the room. There was nothing but a small rolling lab cart beside him. On the cart was a metal case.
If he reaches for that, Theron will shoot him, she thought, but he made no move for it. He just stood there, blinking at them.
Theron, continuing to scan the room, approached the man. Alyssa took a moment to go over to the far door and peek through the windows on it. Nothing on the other side, it seemed.
"Okay guys, it's clear," Theron called, raising his gun and leveling it at the researcher. Alyssa expected the guy, who was tall and balding with some scruffy facial hair, to cower and cringe, like Gem had. But he didn't. He only watched, seemingly disinterested in their blustering, courageous, and unnecessary charge. He barely even showed any discomfort at having a bright light glaring in his eyes.
Everyone came in slowly, approaching the scientist. As soon as they were all in the room, the doors behind them slid abruptly closed, and a harsh beep sounded from them as they locked. Before Ruth had finished her short, piercing shriek, a loud hissing noise permeated the room, and Alyssa's hair fluttered back as a cold breeze brushed her face. After a few seconds, she noticed a sharp, bitter aroma in the air.
Theron expressed the sentiment before the words could even form in her mind.
"We're being gassed!"
She took a deep breath and held it, hoping that she hadn't already gotten a lethal dose of whatever they were pumping in. That hope didn't last long, though, as she felt a strange, warm sensation start up in her lungs and begin flooding through the rest of her body. In moments, she was sweating, her heart was starting to race, and she was forced to let the lungful of air go and take another gasping breath.
They all started gasping and panting. A few seconds later, the hissing stopped, and the doors on either side of them beeped again, unlocking.
Sarah bolted clumsily for them, but she was hardly halfway across the room before the scientist said, "I wouldn't leave yet, if I were you. You've just been infected with a vicious and fast-acting virus. If you want to survive it, you'll need to stay a moment and listen."
Theron racked his slide – again, unnecessary, but it made that chilling click, and yet another bullet fell to the ground – and the scientist turned to look at him calmly. He looked utterly unperturbed. Alyssa couldn't help but notice that he was also breathing a bit more heavily, and a red flush was spreading across his skin.
"What the fuck did you infect us with?" Theron roared. Panic was settling over Alyssa's mind, and she was willing to bet everyone else was feeling just about the same way.
Right away, she was proven wrong. Ajay's voice rang out, calm and steady as usual. "Woah, there. Everyone calm down. He said there was a way to survive it. Let's just relax and listen to him, okay?"
She latched onto that voice, shut her eyes, and tried to will the panic away. It didn't want to go, but she was at least stopping it from getting any worse. It was a wall of white noise blanketing her thoughts, and it made it difficult to latch onto conversation. Very unpleasant, and very unhelpful.
Theron was hyperventilating, clearly more afraid of their current predicament than he'd even been when preparing for the assault of a half-dozen security teams. A group of armed guards, he could fight. But how could he fight a virus? That took medicine, which they didn't have.
Then she noticed the case on the cart beside the scientist. She walked over and looked inside. The case was full of syringes, all containing an identical fluid. She tried the clasps, expecting it to be locked, but it flipped open easily.
"Yes, those contain the cure to the virus," the scientist said as she inspected them. "They are all yours. I do not need one. As soon as you inject one – I can administer it if you aren't comfortable with needles – you will notice the effects of the illness receding."
"What's the catch?" Alyssa asked. As soon as she asked this, however, she spotted it…and her stomach twisted into knots.
There were eight of them here. Only seven syringes sat in the case.
"I think you know what the catch is," the researcher replied, voice hatefully calm.
"What is it?" Sarah asked. She'd come back, hands running up and down her arms as though in an attempt to brush off the heat racing through them. Alyssa's heart was pounding painfully fast. The fire in her veins was spreading, like a high, full-body fever.
"We need one more," she said. "There are only seven here. Where's the last one?" she asked the researcher.
"There are no more. What you have is what you get. The virus will be incurable in approximately six minutes, so I'd advise you decide quickly which of you is to succumb to it."
"No," Theron said shakily. "No way. What's the trick here? What…what the fuck are you people doing to us?"
His voice cracked, and he tapered off into silence. The rest of them did as well, thought Ruth began whimpering quietly.
The scientist replied mellowly, "An excellent question, but one that I am not qualified to answer. I have been told to tell you this much, however: You are the subjects of an experiment. The experiment is ongoing, even as we speak. This choice here is only a single aspect of it."
"An experiment?" David said faintly. "So we are just lab rats."
"Yes, but very important lab rats. So I've been told."
Theron's lips rose in a snarl. "Yeah? What else have you been told?"
The researcher rolled his shoulders. His face was now crimson, like theirs, but he wasn't showing as many signs of discomfort. "A few things. For instance, this first test is the only one that necessitates death. All the rest are traversable. Not easily traversable, and it is expected that more of you will die before you reach the exit, if you do at all; but every problem has a solution, every door a key."
"Anything else?" Alyssa prompted.
He considered, frowning. From the back, David asked, "What do our designations mean? 84-A-1, 84-B-2. What are those all about?"
"Ah, those. Those refer to your intended roles and relative levels of importance in the trial. Some of you are vital to the test. Others are so much fodder – foil subjects. It would be inappropriate of me to explain further."
"Are you infected, too?" Ajay asked.
The researcher nodded, and suddenly shuddered violently. "Yes, I…I am going to die. But that is…fine, I—ugh. I am f-fodder as well."
The researcher was now clutching the collar of his shirt, and his eyes darted towards the case of syringes. One hand reached out for them…
Then the man froze. His hand felt limply to his side. Alyssa thought she saw his pupils dilate in the glare of Theron's light, as though he'd just received a shot of some powerful drug. He relaxed, and stepped away from the case, gesturing to it. "Please, do start doling those out. You only have about four and a half more minutes."
Theron stared hard at them. Then he said, "Alright, who wants to take it first, make sure it's okay? I think it'll be safe, but—"
Kyle stepped forward, raising his hand. "I'll take it. I feel like I'm going to die anyways, so I may as well. Shoot me up, doc," he said while plucking a needle out and handing it to the researcher.
The man took it, rolled up Kyle's sleeve, and felt for a vein. Once satisfied, he slipped the needle in and depressed the plunger.
They all waited. Not a minute passed before the red flush vanished from his face, and he said, "Woah. I feel way better. I think this stuff is okay, guys."
Without hesitation, and before any of them could react, Sarah walked over, grabbed a syringe, and jabbed it into her arm. There were a couple of cries of protest from the group, but none of them could do anything. She was already pulling the empty needle out and backing away.
She tossed the spent syringe carelessly to the side, shrugged as though to shirk all the shocked, remonstrative, and downright umbral looks she was getting, and walked over to the door to lean against the wall beside it.
Alyssa stared after her, feeling slightly ill. This was a problem they all needed to work through. To just take one of the cures like that…
After a moment of silence, Kyle said hesitantly, "Okay…well, Theron and Alyssa definitely need it. They're the ones taking care of us. Anyone disagree?"
"No."
"Nuh-uh."
"Nope," David said, still glaring daggers at Sarah. Mal was just watching them all from the sidelines, eyes wide and staring. She seemed totally disconnected.
Alyssa felt a stab of pain at the idea of taking away someone else's chance at life, but she allowed the researcher to administer the shot. She couldn't have done what Sarah did, denying another's life to save her own without conference, but she didn't have the capacity to deny her own survival when it was offered to her. Not with the wretched heat building in her body. It was becoming intolerable.
"Three more, and not much time left to decide," the researcher said. "You must choose, now. Who is to die? I will administer the cures to the rest of you."
Alyssa picked up one of the syringes. "Can't we split the cure?" she asked desperately. "Just split the three doses four ways?"
"You can, and then all four of them will die. There is not enough to counteract the virus that way. I'd say you have about ninety more seconds."
She could already feel the heat dying down in her body. Kyle looked completely recovered, but like the rest of them, dismayed by the ultimatum before them. How could they possibly make a decision like this? There was no way.
"I'll do it."
They all looked at Ajay. He'd backed away from the case, and was looking at the researcher.
David's face scrunched up. "No, no, no. No way. You can't—"
"If I don't," he said calmingly, "It wouldn't be any different from putting a gun to someone's head and pulling the trigger. I can't do that. It's against everything I believe. If I take that antidote, I'm killing one of you." He stepped forward, scooped up the three remaining doses and handed them to the researcher. "Please give them to the others. I'm fine."
There was silence and stillness only for a moment in the wake of this statement. Then the man nodded. Alyssa stood by and watched, sick and helpless, as he administered the cure to Mal, then David, then lastly, Ruth.
Ruth stepped back when the needle came up. She was crying and sweltering. "W-w-wait. I can't…I…"
"Do it," Ajay said firmly. His skin, previously the mellow, pleasant color of a rich mug of hot cocoa, was turning ruddy from the heat ravaging his body. Still, he refrained from showing discomfort, and even managed a smile as Ruth allowed the antidote to be administered.
That was it. There was no more. Ajay was…dying.
The reality of this sunk quickly into the group. The whole, horrifying event had hardly taken little more than five minutes, and the speed with which it had happened seemed downright inappropriate. Surely such a ritual necessitated more time?
Ruth sobbed and tackled Ajay in a hug. "I'm sorry. I'm s-s-s-so sorry."
He patted her on the back. "It's okay. I'm fine. But I've got to ask, does that phone have a camera? I'd really like to record a message for my family."
Theron, whose jaw was clenched, pulled the phone out and flipped through the options. "Yeah, tell me when."
"Go ahead," Ajay said.
Theron pressed a button. The red light came on. Ajay looked to it, cleared his throat, and started speaking.
"Hey mom, hey dad, hey Sugandh," he said, waving at the camera with a bright expression on his face. The lighting was a little off, so maybe the discoloration on his skin wouldn't be so prevalent. That was probably good. "I'm recording this message to you because it looks like I'm not gonna make it out of here. I'm sorry I couldn't make it back to you. I just want to let you know that I'm okay, I'm not scared. You raised me better than that. You gave me the tools I needed to make it this far, and to help me help my friends. Hopefully they'll be the ones to deliver this to you."
Alyssa quailed at the thought of delivering this message. She didn't think she'd be able to. Maybe Theron would – if anyone was going to make it out, it would be him.
Ajay paused, taking a deep breath. "I just want to let you know that I love you guys, and I know you'll be okay without me. I know things have been harder on you than they've been on me. Please…just…go ahead and keep being happy, okay? Live well. It'll be a pretty long time before we see each other again, but you know it's not forever. I'll be around. I love you guys," he said again.
He nodded, looking past the phone to Theron, and Theron shut it off. She could see why Ajay had stopped the message there. It looked like it was getting hard for him to breathe. He looked like he was cooking alive, from the inside out.
Her own eyes were hot with tears, though the fire in her body had been quenched by the medicine. She walked over and hugged him briefly. David put a hand on his back. His face was screwed up, and he looked incapable of saying anything. Mal was standing well away from the group, looking totally out of touch.
Theron walked over and reached out a hand. Ajay took it, and they shook. "You're a good man. Braver than anyone I know," he said. "Sorry if I was critical of you before."
"Yeah," Kyle agreed quietly. "You're…I mean…you're really cool."
Ajay nodded. "Back at'cha. Hey, keep everyone safe, okay?"
"Will do," Theron said tightly.
Kyle also nodded, patting one of the stun guns on his hips.
Ajay looked around at all of them. "Listen, guys, I know…ugh…I know things seem kind of bleak, but we're all here for a reason. And I think it's a bigger reason than whatever this guy seems to think it is," he said, gesturing to the scientist. The scientist said nothing, merely continued to stand, staring blandly, as the virus ravaged his own body. There was something horribly wrong with him, that he would stand there dying and show so little reaction, but Alyssa had no interest to spare for what it was. It didn't matter now, anyways.
"Just remember that moving forward. Your lives matter. Every life matters. Don't let them trick you into thinking otherwise. Okay?"
Alyssa nodded. "Okay."
"Yeah," David said.
Ruth just nodded, unable to say anything. She was still crying.
"Of course," Kyle replied, as though what Ajay had said was so obvious that no one could fail to grasp it.
Theron nodded, but Alyssa got the sense that it was perfunctory. She didn't think he thought very highly of the life of whoever had brought them here. If he ever found out who was running this sick experiment, that guy's life would be about as fleeting as Ajay's was now. And that was clearly very fleeting.
He dropped to his knees, heaving for breath, and Alyssa made to sit beside him. But he waved her away and said, "Go on. I'll be fine here. Just…go."
"The virus will take…at least another twenty minutes…to kill us," the researcher gasped. "Not pleasant…to watch. Very painful. Organs liquifying…oh, look, the blisters are…cropping up already."
Oh, Lord. It was a good thing they'd recorded the message when they had. Deep, ugly red welts were starting to rise all across Ajay's face and neck. They looked hideous and painful, and the sight made Alyssa want to sick up. Blood blisters the size of gumballs—eggs—oranges. They were growing fast.
Ruth turned and ran away, towards the doors. David backed away as well, after touching Ajay's shoulder one more time. Kyle bolted. Mal followed him, but Alyssa couldn't move until Theron grabbed her arm and started steering her away. She could feel the tension in his fist. It was like iron, and if he squeezed any harder, he'd probably hurt her.
He didn't. He grabbed the keycard out of the side pouch on her pack, swiped it, and let them all out of the lab, only letting her go once she was through the door. There were halls branching off to either side, clearly the ways to the impassable doors they'd tried earlier, in their attempt to circumnavigate the lab. Ahead of them was a sign that said STAIRWELL ACCESS.
They started walking towards this. Before going through, however, Theron said, "I'll be right back. Stay here."
He went back to the room. They all stood around, Alyssa wondering numbly what he was doing, and cold shock doused her when a single gunshot split the air.
The virus will take at least another twenty minutes to kill us. Not pleasant to watch. Very painful…
She was pretty sure she knew what had just happened.
David did too, apparently. He went stock still, the blood draining out of his face. Then he walked stiffly over to Sarah, who barely even glanced up at him. She was leaning against the wall, inspecting her hand, picking at a hangnail. Before the doors could open again, he hauled off and punched her square in the mouth.
She screeched and flung her hands up to her face, wheeling away. Alyssa stared in shock at the sudden attack, but like the others, did nothing in response to it. The doors opened as the wailing began.
Theron came back over. When he spoke, his voice was hard and cold as ice. "What's going on?"
"That fucking faggot punched me!" Sarah spat.
"Woah. Language," Ruth said nervously.
"Uh, yeah, not cool," Alyssa said tiredly, too numb to be as upset over it as she should have been. David didn't look like he cared, though.
Theron took in the situation, then turned to David. He leveled a finger at him. "No punching people. We can't afford to have fights breaking out, and I don't want to risk any injuries."
David sighed angrily and crossed his arms…but nodded acceptance. Then Theron turned to Sarah, who was glaring defiantly at David.
The gun came up, muzzle pointing right between Sarah's eyes, which widened in shock. Theron said, "Never do anything like that again. When we need to make a group decision, and lives are on the line, we talk about this stuff before we act. Try something like that again, and I'll put you down. Got it?"
His voice was firm, and contained an almost condescending lilt. It was the tone of a man talking to a dog, or maybe a small child. Not a person. Sarah stared at him in shock, then screeched, "You can't point that fucking thing at me! Put it away! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Theron did not put it away. "Am I going to have to shoot you right now?" he asked.
He sounded genuinely interested in how she would respond. Sarah's mouth started flopping like a fish, eyes nearly bulging in their sockets. Her face was so red in the glare of Theron's light that she might not have taken the cure at all. She was gasping for words to convey her outrage, but Alyssa watched as the fury in her eyes gave way to realization.
No one was standing up for her. No one was protesting on her behalf. And Theron was dead serious.
As that thought passed almost visibly through her eyes, she calmed down instantly. "No," she said flatly. Her look became glazed. "I'm fine. Now will you put the fucking gun away?"
He kept it where it was for another few seconds, finger tapping the side of the barrel, off the trigger.
Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy was one rule of gun safety. Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to fire was another. Theron was obviously willing to destroy Sarah…
…but it seemed he wasn't ready to fire quite yet. He lowered the gun, put it away, and stepped past her towards the doors. "Alright, next floor. Alyssa, with me. Same plan as last time. You ready to go?"
She wiped away the rest of the tears and nodded. She was ready.
Wesker sat in his chair, surveying the footage. On the screen, 84-A-1 walked up to 84-A-5, spoke to him for a moment, then stepped behind him and put a bullet in the back of his head. It didn't look like the dying subject even realized it was coming. At once, a superfluous alert popped up on his screen.
PRIMARY SUBJECT ELIMINATED – 84-A-5.
He hummed, tapping a few keys and logging the event in the Project: Subject file. He steepled his fingers, deep in thought for several minutes as he watched the group make their way up the stairs and through the first few hall of subfloor four. He noticed that the boy hadn't spared a bullet for the researcher, who was now twitching and writhing in a pool of his own steaming blood, the blisters having grown to the size of his own head before rupturing.
Wesker was thinking. Once his thoughts had been gathered, he pulled up the form.
PROJECT: SUBJECT
FINAL ASSESSMENT FORM: 84-A-5: AJAY ANAND:
This subject was selected for pacifistic and self-sacrificing nature. Such peaceful ambitions may be considered admirable for the greater purpose, but cannot be taken into account without also assessing the Self-Preservation Cornerstone.
Subject, in previous life, showed strong work ethic and willingness to sacrifice time, energy, and avenues for immediate personal advancement in order to secure familial success. Sizable contributions to community were also noted. Parents and sister both benefitted greatly from this behavior, as did the family unit as a whole. This is a desirable trait, as such builders will be necessary to reconstruct the world in the aftermath of its transformation. We cannot all look exclusively after our own self-interests, otherwise a new society will not readily coalesce.
However, the first Cornerstone, before Reproduction, Mental Fitness, Physical Fitness, and Sustainable Ethics, is Self-Preservation. Without an unbreakable desire to live, there exists a threat of complacency in the face of mortal peril. Coupling 84-A-5's lack of initiative in breaking out of confinement with an explicit willingness to die for the sake of the Foil Subjects, it is to be surmised that the Self-Preservation Cornerstone is lacking.
Moving forward, a subject of similar background and ethical capacity is to be sought out, minus the overt pacifism. While excessively violent tendencies are to be avoided, an ability to prioritize one's own life over the lives of others – not livelihood or quality of life, but LIFE in its most basic sense – is to be considered desirable. Look for instances of self-defense training, overt second-amendment/firearm rights support, etc.
Wesker read this back to himself, nodded in satisfaction, and filled out the last few sections on the form, including a brief description of the death event. That done, he saved the form, minimized it, and put it in the appropriate file. He'd have to go back over the footage of that subject later for additional information, as he'd had other feeds to focus on the last few hours, but no matter. Everything was being recorded, transmitted, and saved. Having a proximal form of surveillance was always handy, hence the addition of the C group.
Speaking of, the most important of his thralls seemed to be having a problem keeping its charge in line. He spotted the altercation out of the corner of his eye and slid the Project: Subject tab aside, bringing the Jeep #41 feed into prevalence. On it, a bug-eyed man was trying to take a break for lunch in a building en route to his destination, while his watchdog was attempting to drag him back to the car. Quite the fuss they were making.
Wesker was past being amused. This man was becoming more trouble than he was worth, especially since the run-in they'd had a few months prior. Still, if all went well, he wouldn't be a problem much longer. The only question now was, how much trouble would the roach deign to cause before its extermination? Depending on the answer…
He shook his head and stood up, stretching. Nevermind. Whatever happened, happened. If more severe measures needed to be taken, so be it. In the meantime, it was high time he enjoyed some lunch.
He walked over to one of the refrigeration units lining the walls. He had a good many of them. Some held dangerous chemical compounds and viruses. The one he opened now contained a good many trays of cool, chopped vegetables, cheeses, meats, and on the most accessible level, fish. He arranged a tray of tai, sake, maguro, and managatsuo, along with a container of vinegar rice, soy sauce and wasabi – he detested ginger – and brought it back over to his workstation. He was careful. He never spilled.
As he enjoyed his meal, his eyes slid lazily back and forth between the many screens pulled up on his desk. To the many scenarios, and people within them, crying out for his attention. So much to keep track of. So much at stake.
He plucked out a ball of rice and draped a slab of managatsuo over it, popping it in his mouth and foregoing the sauce. The smooth, rich, buttery flavor slid across his tongue, and drew a low noise of satisfaction from him. Further action was kicking off on the Kijuju #73 feed, and he quickly swiped this into prevalence as he picked another slab of snow-white flesh.
Much at stake, indeed. It was a good thing he was up to the task.
OoO
Relyt, if I was a betting woman I would lay my dollar down. Alas, I was raised to avoid gambling. As for the test subject's area, that's an original creation of mine; any resemblance it bears to in-game environments is purely coincidental.
In other news, I finished Subnautica, and HOLY COW that game was amazing. 10/10, cannot recommend strongly enough. Looking forward to Below Zero. See you all in a couple days!
Best,
The Topaz Dragon