((I'll get back to Hunk later. Until then, here's some more Weskage.))

Wesker's back remained firmly pressed to the wall; he had found himself nearing a corner when suddenly something lit it up. A gun-light or flashlight, no doubt. So his suspicions were correct. According to what his ears gathered, two rounds were discharged, and the team easily had over five members judging by the amount of footsteps he heard milling about. The light neared his location for a moment before passing away, he realized that were it not for his quick reaction one of his limbs may have been spotted.

The solitary footfall pattern caught up with the group's, which was fading away slowly. They really seemed to be taking their sweet time, this particular cleanup team. Wesker had found his way to them quite easily, they were hardly the sneakiest of people. Upon his descent to the first level he found it to be some sort of office building layout. No doubt where fiscal matters were dealt with, finances and such being a key part of Umbrella. The front company, although just a farce, was easily profitable enough to keep Umbrella's hidden motives flooded with green. Either way, he was greeted by a few faces on the floor leering up at him, each belonging to a zombie of some sort. Early ones, apparently not having been infected for too terribly long seeing as they still had most of their skin. Simply grimy, whitish shells of their former selves- still quite mobile compared to the later stages of their kind. The team however, saw to it that it didn't matter either way, by placing at least five rounds through every zombie's torso.

Except for a few key corpses here and there. Some of the former-employees, he had found, were taken out by a single shot to the forehead or somewhere close to it. Somebody on that team was conserving ammunition, preparing for the worst no doubt. As well, somebody was a very good shot. And those two things meant that somebody was a survivor. And that meant a certain somebody would be harder to silence. He decided from then on out that this team was to be tracked with more caution than he had accounted for previously.

He simply followed the trail of bodies from there on out, following his nose along the stagnant trail of spilled blood. The zombie count was surprisingly low. They all seemed to be menial office workers, Umbrella was no doubt lying to the people about the true purpose of their workstation; Wesker's guess was that good pay and benefits silenced any inquiries. Either way, most of the not-so-fresh dead were garbed in casual office clothing. White collared shirts, slacks, and stilettos that seemed to be a popular trend among the women.

And he certainly heard gunfire. Typically bursts, but every so often there would only be a single round fired and all commotion would cease. He increased his pace, judging by ear that they couldn't be far ahead. As things progressed, the bloodstained office walls and corridors reeking of rotten flesh stench began to grow dimmer. Power failure in action. He had just come across a sharp turn in one of the halls when it happened- he was halfway through passing the abrupt right turn when his peripheral vision spotted something. Rapid movement, and a flash. Too rapid to be any zombie. His left leg, being the foremost, launched him backwards quite hastily. Luckily for him, quite silently as well. Stealth was by now instinct to Albert Wesker, who would by no means accept the prospect of dying to a common cleanup crew sent by his old employer. He flattened his back to the wall that made up half the right angle corner, and waited calmly for the light that was shining upon the spot he was a half second ago to disperse. As soon as this was done, he looked down to find that his hand was placed upon his holster. Handy instinct.

After that, tracking resumed as normal. Of course, he hid out in rooms along the way, just as a precaution against random searches he expected. Duck behind a file cabinet here and there, slip into an empty room every so often, nothing too inconvenient.

His plan for disposing with the Umbrella squad accordingly was a simple one. Allow them to pave the way, and if the true creations of Umbrella didn't pick them off, he would. They would have to split up somewhere along the lines, and that's when he would stalk and strike. The beauty of it was that not a single shot would be wasted by him until absolutely necessary. This was good, as he didn't pack much ammo anyways. The mission was, after all, to secure an object and activate the purging system. Slaughtering freaks was just a fringe benefit.

Either way, in his efforts to follow the enemy, he noticed a few key details. For one, they all moved so very slowly. It was as if they were on some sort of downers, which seemed to be the most reasonable explanation. Perhaps a side-effect of some combat enhancement drugs in testing. Their pace was far below the sort of speed required for clearing out an area. Even their individual movements seemed slow; from pulling triggers to opening doors, everything was so languid. Then again, so were zombies. Rushing about carelessly was the worst strategy possible.

Their uniforms seemed to suggest the air was still ripe with the virus, as they were fully decked out in all black with body armor along their torsos. The gas masks were the dead giveaway, if they were still wearing them then there must've been good reason to do so. This lingered in his mind for quite some time, the possibility of being contaminated and gradually breaking down into another mindless, artificial ghoul. He made a note to radio his clients about that sometime when it was deemed safe to do so.

Until then, he found himself quite content watching the zombie count increase whilst the soldiers' ability to keep cool declined. They were becoming erratic, sometimes firing wild whenever one of the infected came too close. Ammunition was no doubt running low. All except for one of the ten. One of them seemed to be colder than a glacier, simply using ruthless efficiency and dead-on aim to tackle any foe. Which, so far, was nothing more then common zombies. Wesker knew however, that as they grew closer to the lab, that such things would change. He was keeping his eyes peeled not only for the squad's conditions, but ventilation shafts and the like. Can't be too careful, after all.

Mainly however, his attention was centered on that one soldier. In a brief instant, one of the gun-light's beams swept across his chest, revealing something right next to the Umbrella logo upon the right breast pocket of the armor. Print letters, some sort of nametag no doubt. All it read was "HUNK"

Yes, surely this 'Hunk' fellow would prove to be more useful to him than any of the others. With a grim smile of satisfaction enjoyed only by himself, Wesker continued to slip between shadows and track his clueless opposition.