Once again, documents taken from RE: Survivor has been marked in *.
Chapter Eight: A New Breed
Vincent stared at the main entrance of a small building, a building of gray stone and brick. Seeing that he was faced with no other option, he walked into the building. Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the bright florescent lights of the hall. On all sides were vertical metallic gray bars, and as he looked inside, something clicked.
A prison…
Before he had time to think of what to do next, he heard the low moans of two undead blocking the path in front of him, their tattered prison clothes hanging off their bodies as was pieces of moldy rotten flesh. The horrid stink of decay almost overpowered Vincent once again, but he regained his composure and fired at the two, the bullets of the Glock making their marks on the targets, creating bullet holes in the upper chest. Blood trickled in a steady course from the open wounds, but the two kept coming until they were only a few feet away. Moving back, his heart quickening, he fired round after round, catching one in the head, taking half his skull with it. He sank to the ground, immobile. The other one was almost on top of him, and suddenly he was firing with nothing.
"Of all possible times!" He yelled. Reacting quickly, he did the only thing he could do. As the zombie lunged for the vibrant life of the pilot, he gave the zombie a swift kick to the stomach, and watched in surprise as the creature split into two with a sickening sound of ripping flesh and breaking bone. The creature let out a moan of what may have been pain and he fell to the ground. To his horror, the upper half clawed his way toward him still, trailing blood everywhere. He grabbed on to the shoe, his blood stained hands trying to grasp, trying to bite through the shoe. With a cry, he broke free, and with all his power, he slammed his shoe into the weak skull of the zombie, crushing it on impact, the bone making a sick crack as it broke through, accompanied by a wet splat as the brain flattened. Vincent suddenly swooned, the fetid smell too much for him, and as his vision blurred, he grabbed onto a jail bar and vomited, wave after wave of acidic bile and digested food falling, splashing onto the demolished head of the zombie, creating chemical reactions beneath him.
When he was finished, he stood there, breathing heavily. Wiping his mouth with one sleeve of the parka, he shook his shoe, sending bits of brain, skin, bone, and blood in all directions. Taking another clip, he ejected the empty magazine and slapped this one home. Feeling better to walk, he ran down the hall, passing several cell blocks, and he that one of them was open. Vincent walked into the cell, checking for anything. The only thing he saw on the ground were a few tattered pieces of paper. Picking up the loose sheets, he deduced that it was a diary of some sort, this one from a prisoner, and by the looks of it, a young boy.
*September 5th
16 days have passed since I was abducted on a street in Congo by the men in black, and was brought here. I didn't understand what was happening at first, but I gradually became aware of the truth of this city. We seem to be confined here to serve as guinea pigs for a medical company called Umbrella Inc. All the residents of this city work for Umbrella, even the women and children are family members of employees.
The guinea pigs seem to be gathered from all over the world. The guy in the next room is from China, the one in front of my cell is from Brazil. The rest are Russian, Japanese... It's like a world trade show. It's strange that they are all around my age. The youngest is 16, and the oldest is 19 or 20.
Those guys from Umbrella sometimes take us to an arcade or to a nigh club so we can enjoy ourselves and relieve our stress, but I won't let them deceive me. I will escape from this place, no matter what it takes! I must... Anyway, the most important thing to do now is to organize and gather our comrades for what lies ahead.
September 10th
Recently, the others have been behaving strangely. It seems that they put some kind of weird drug into our meals. I sometimes lose consciousness, too. I have to be careful.
September 21st
I can't believe it! Another friend of mine, Chin, from the next room, was taken to the factory on the mountain. I don't think Chin's coming back. He will meet the same fate as Anna or Jacob who disappeared last week. I know...I know what happens to those who are taken to the factory on the mountain...
When they took me to a night club yesterday, I overheard a conversation that some factory workers were having...under orders from Vincent, the commander of the city, they cut open our brains and extract some kind of material, whatever they call it.
All I can say is that Vincent is a devil. No...not just Vincent. Even the women and children in this city don't treat us as human beings, but as guinea pigs. All the people in the city are evil. I will surely be killed if I stay here any longer. We have to hurry and execute our escape plan!
October 9th
The time has come. I have noticed the Umbrella people have been visibly disturbed for about a week or so. Rumor has it that there was a terrible accident at the Umbrella Laboratory somewhere in America. All the prison guards seem to be very busy gathering information on the accident, so security isn't as tight.
We've organized our comrades already. Stojkovic and Enriquez are supposed to steal the keys from the guards. Sankhon and I will act as decoys, and Yoshikawa and Fellipe are in charge of gathering weapons.
October 10th
We have decided our escape route. The plan will be carried out at 11 PM tonight. We have twenty members separated into two units: Unit A and Unit B. Unit A will go into the sewer through the ventilation slot of the confinement room, while Unit B will use a rope climb down from the surveillance tower.
We'll use the rope they used to tie us. If we fail, Vincent will surely kill us. But if we stay here, Vincent will order them to cut our brains eventually. We're dead either way, but I'd rather die trying to escape...*
No…this can't be me. I can't be responsible for this. Why? Whoever heard of doing such an inhumane thing? Imprisoning children? Extracting chemicals from their brains? What kind of madman does this? Was this really my doing? Am I really that barbaric?
Suddenly Vincent heard a loud crash. Alert, he raised his gun and headed back into the hall. In a matter of seconds, several zombies had filled the hallway ahead, blocking Vincent's path. Instinctively, they must have sensed him, for the group of seven, by Vincent's count, began to stagger toward him.
Oh, no—more of you?
He checked his gun. Trying to shoot all of them down would be suicide—he didn't have enough bullets to take them all down successfully. By the time he'd have to reload, they'd be on him. The closest ones had their arms outstretched, the pale hands reaching for the fresh life. Vincent decided to do something insane. Lowering his head like a football player, one arm shielding his head, he ran at them, full gallop, screaming. He plowed straight into the dead sea, feeling the give of soft decay. When he made it through, he looked behind him and saw they were all down; he found he had made it to the end of the hall. The path had broken off into two directions—to his left, a door that had a sign saying, "Warden," and to his right, an open doorway with a stairwell leading up. His decision would have to be made fast, for the gangrene gang was slowly rising one by one. They would be on him in a matter of seconds. His mind suddenly remembered the young boy's escape route—a rope going down a guard tower. He found the energy and bolted towards the stairwell, and slammed the door behind him.
Upon going up many, many stairs, Vincent found himself winded, to say the least. He took a seat in front of a giant glass window, a window that surrounded the entire room. Sensing no immediate danger, he decided to stay here for a few minutes to catch his breath. Sweaty and tired from that escape bit, he laid back and closed his eyes, blocking out what was all around him—the chaos, ruin, and confusion of the whole matter. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes to see what he walked into. In front of him was some radio equipment in addition to some other controls and buttons that were unfamiliar. He looked around him, and the first abnormality he saw was that one of the windows surrounding the room was broken, the pane shattered along the floor. Attached to a leg supporting the radio panel was a rope, and Vincent's eyes followed it out the window, proving the incarcerated boy's diary. There was an actual escape attempt. Below the rope was a pair of binoculars. He got out of the comfortable chair, and looked outside at the world below. In the haze and smoke from the scattered fires, he could see a myriad of creatures below—the SWAT "cleaners," some zombies staggering here and there, and some of those creatures with the brains, "lickers," they'd be called. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement, human in its motion. Intrigued, Vincent squinted to get a better look. The human was running up a street, and fading out of Vincent's view. Snatching the binoculars, he looked in the human's direction to get a better view. He had found the human, and from the look of it, the person was wearing street clothes. Judging by looks, he was male. Obviously, he was scared for his life, and while running, he looked behind for a quick second to see if any of the hideous freaks were following him.
The boy! It's him!
The boy that Vincent met, rather, the boy that ran from Vincent quickly opened a door of a building nearby, and disappeared from view. Vincent dropped the binoculars and looked out, down to the ground below. The rope hung the whole length of the guard tower, so no problem there. Vincent grabbed a section of it and pulled with all his might. It would hold him on the climb down. Placing the Glock in the holster, he grabbed onto the rope and threw his legs over the side, careful not to cut himself on the jagged edges of broken glass. Gripping hard, he slowly made his way down once again into unfamiliar land.
When he reached ground level, his shoes made a crunching sound as they landed on broken glass. At once, he turned in the direction of the building the boy escaped into. He got about, maybe, four steps in before he felt the ground shake beneath him, a quick shake.
…the fuck?
He stopped in his tracks, confused. A few seconds later, he felt another thud, more powerful than the first. His heart began to pound once again, and he broke out in a run. No sooner did he begin did he see a massive figure directly ahead of him, the biggest man he'd ever see in his life. He wore a black trench coat, which by the look of him, covered his tremendous bulk. He walked in a slow cadence toward him, and Vincent could make out his bald head, a sickly white, his deep black eyes rimmed with red. The massive figure walked toward him steadily on tree-trunk sized legs, pounding the ground with its huge booted feet. Its massive meaty fists were clenched by its sides, and finally Vincent had no doubt. This was no man—it was a HUGE monster. Vincent stood there frozen, mouth agape, not wanting to believe that this was real, that there was this bulking figure almost directly on him.
No. No. Can't be happening. This isn't possible—it's all a bad dream. I'm gonna wake up. Wake up. Wake up, damn it! Wake up!
The towering figure hovered above him, and stared hard at him with those black, black eyes. It raised one of its boulder-sized fists in the air, hovering several feet above him.
Shit, Vincent—move—move—
MOVE!
The huge ball of muscle began to descend rapidly toward Vincent's skull, and suddenly Vincent found it in himself and dodged out of the way just in time, the figure's fist hitting the ground with a powerful thud. When he moved it, Vincent saw that he left a fist-shaped crater where impact had been. The towering brute turned his head slowly, his face contorted in anger—even though it had no eyebrows or anything to visibly show emotion, Vincent could feel the rage pouring off him in invisible concentric waves. Snapping out of his shock, he pulled his gun out and fired a slug into the bald head of the creature, hitting it with precision accuracy. However…
…Vincent stared in terror at the target. He had clearly hit it dead on.
It's…not…bleeding…holy…shit…
No blood. Nothing. It was if the bullet missed. No longer was the instinct to fire, but Vincent quickly turned tail and ran as fast as he possibly could away from the seemingly invincible figure. As he ran up the street, buildings went by in a blur.
What kind of creation is that?! Is it invincible? What the hell was that thing? That had to be what the boy was running from…what else could there be?
He was running so fast, his mind whirling from the encounter he just had, that he nearly missed his escape route. Realizing, he quickly took a hard right and scrambled into the door, into an all-encompassing darkness.
It was pitch black on all sides. His eyes were slowly becoming adjusted to the sudden change of light. He took a step forward, and suddenly he was hit in the back with something huge, and was launched into the air, his arms flailing at total blackness, nothing but air. He let out a scream of fear, not knowing where he was going to land. In a few seconds, he landed on his side with a loud thud, his body screeching to a halt. The wind was immediately knocked out of him as he saw red for a second. He lay there, rendered immobile from the powerful hit from the unseen enemy. He dropped the Glock by his side, clutching himself in pain, trying to breathe but not able to. The sudden shock of impact had shocked the diaphragm, locking it temporarily, restricting his breathing.
Vincent writhed on the ground, gasping for precious, life-giving air. His eyes were wide with fear and pain, and it felt like an eternity on the floor. Finally a few seconds later, his diaphragm remembered to move, and he gulped in the nourishing air by the lungful, happy to be alive.
Shit! What the fuck was that? What hit me? Who hit me?
By now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness surrounding him, and in the dimness of it all, Vincent could see that he was on a waxed dance floor. He was in a nightclub or dance hall of some sort, and near the doorway he saw his attacker.
Oh, no…not more of you…no…no!
Walking at the same slow pace towards him were not one, but two of the massive trench coated creatures he had just seen minutes before, their bald white heads almost glimmering in the dark. Panic stricken, he snatched up his gun and scrambled on all fours, slipping as he tried to get on his feet. Falling on his ass again, he stared in heart-wrenching fear as the two headed toward him in that eerie, steady pace, shaking the ground with each massive step. He managed to get himself back on his feet, and looked behind him to check for an exit. Wasting no time, he decided that staying here would be suicide, and he sprinted toward the exit—almost too fast, for he almost slammed into the door. Fumbling with the door handle for a few seconds, he managed to get one sweaty hand on the handle, and suddenly he was back on another unfamiliar street. The first thing he noticed was the building directly in front of him, a tall skyscraper, emblazoned with the ominous Umbrella logo.
This must be some sort of command facility or something like it…
Vincent walked across the street, catching his breath after the run-ins with the "Mr. X" units. His side hurt, and he knew that that punch would leave a nasty bruise. Luckily no bones were broken. As he walked closer to the double doors, his mind whirled with strange thoughts, thoughts that were familiar, but at the same time foreign.
Umbrella…
T-virus…
Sent here…
Accident…
Outbreak…
Helicopter crash…
The thoughts flew in and out of his mind too quickly for Vincent to get a latch on any one. When he walked in the doors, he was surrounded by white light, a sharp contrast to all the black Vincent had seen. The black tile floor beneath him was adorned in the Umbrella emblem, but something was amiss. Vincent noticed a trail of blood starting just a few feet in front of him, then snaking its way down toward what could have been an office and then hanging a right down a hall past the office.
Something happened here, and from the look of the blood trail, it looked like it happened very recently. Judging from the look, someone…or something was dragged across the floor.
Countertops lined both sides of him, probably used as check-in or security. Ahead of him was an elevator, the doors open. Gun raised, he crept slowly toward the open elevator, hoping he wouldn't come face-to-face with yet another of the Mr. X units.
Tic tic tic.
He stood rigid. That sound was vaguely familiar. It sounded like claws hitting the floor. It was a slow moving progression, and nearby. The tic sounds louder, and whatever it was, it was heading toward the lobby. He saw it walking out of the side hallway.
It had a huge body, reptilian in appearance, its slick dark green body covered in small, pebbled scales. It was walking hunched over, so that its disproportional long arms stretched almost to the floor. Its "hands" and feet were covered in razor-sharp claws, thick and ominous, laced with blood. Small reptilian eyes were set in its flat skull. It turned its gaze at him, dropping its hinged jaw and let out a high-pitched feral shriek, a sound unlike anything Vincent heard before. With its powerful legs, it began to race toward Vincent, its mouth agape.
This is getting annoying—one aberration after the other…
He aimed at the speeding Hunter, firing off a couple of bullets, sending pieces of reptile skin flying, but the monster kept barreling toward him.
Shit!
He had to move, dodge, something, it would be on him in seconds. Vincent sidestepped, hoping the thing would just breeze by, but to his surprise the creature showed intelligence and immediately followed suit. With one giant thrust of its muscular legs, it leaped into the air, one arm outstretched, one razor claw aimed at the scared pilot. It let out another screech as it was coming down, ready to end the pilot's life—
--when Vincent dove to the floor, firing in haste at the hulking bio-weapon. He landed on his bruised side, sending a new wave of pain throughout his body. He fired round after round into the slippery skin of the MA-121, watching the thick red blood leak from the bullet wounds. It let out another angry cry before quickly turning in his direction, the gaze from the eyes staring straight into the pilot. Struggling to get up from the pain, he aimed to fire again, and felt the click click click of an empty chamber.
"Fuck," he cursed himself as the creature began to go into another crouch. Running toward the elevator, he emptied the clip and slammed another magazine into the chamber. The Glock was alive again, fresh bullets flying out of the barrel. As it ran toward him, Vincent fired slug after slug into its flat skull, until it let out a cry of pain as a hot one flew into one its eyes, spraying blood out the back of its head. It staggered for a few seconds, wailing, until it finally began to fall to the ground. No sooner did it begin to fall when Vincent heard another screech. Barreling down the hallway was another Hunter, its muscular legs propelling it at full speed. Vincent ran into the elevator and slammed the door close button, and slowly it began to close.
Come on, damn it! Close! Close!
He could hear the creature getting closer with each lunge. It let out a screech of anger, and was heading for the trapped Vincent.
Almost…
Quickly, it leaped into the air, one powerful jump, claw outstretched. Vincent fired, the booming sounds of the pistol filling the small elevator. Coming down, down, down—until the door closed right on the outstretched arm of the Hunter, its thick claw just inches from Vincent's face, the blood dripping from its thin point. He leaned back against the wall, clutching his aching side, breathing heavily. He could hear the animal scream. Vincent pressed a button, any button to make the elevator go up. He watched and felt a wave of happiness as the Hunter's arm moved down to the floor, becoming stuck as gravity tried to take it down. Vincent could hear the sick ripping sounds of flesh, bones snapping and in a couple of seconds, the arm was pulled from the Hunter, landing on the elevator floor. It landed with a soft plop, and blood immediately began to leak from the dismembered arm, forming a small pool staining the carpeted floor. Vincent leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, not believing that he was still alive. All he heard now was the dull hum of the machinery working, the elevator going up. To whatever floor, he didn't know. All he could do was take a short breather before exploring more uncharted territory, before plunging himself back into the fray.
A/N: So now where is he gonna go? I don't know…actually I do know. I also know that this is coming off rather nicely, better than I expected. As always, feedback is welcome! Soon I will post Chapter Nine.