((Oh, right. Forgot to do this. Well, time to remind the world that Hunk
and Wesker are godly I do believe.))

He was relatively sure that he had wasted only five rounds, and downright positive that each of them amounted to a clean kill. The other nine however, were beginning to reload whenever the chance presented itself- which was rare, since as they neared the lab the infected began flooding towards them from the most random spaces. Three piled out of a lonely broom closet as they were traversing a corridor, upon letting his teammates waste valuable metal on them he found himself wondering if the virus altered behavior as well. Why else would they be in a broom closet? Hunk took note that the other members of the team failed to comment on a crucial detail- all three were dressed in scientist's regalia. He contemplated requesting permission to search the area for anything suspicious, but decided against it. They were here for a clearing, not buried treasure and hidden passages. Still, the prospect was intriguing...

As well, he found that none of his squadmates were bright enough to try simply mashing a zombie's skull to pulp if melee combat was necessary. Had somebody told everyone but him that only bullets were effective? For chrissakes, they weren't very fast or deadly unless they got in a good chomp- he had began thinking that a baseball bat could be the most effective weapon he could get his hands on. His idle contemplations were cut off as the captain announced that they had found the elevator. "Well no shit," Hunk mumbled to himself. It was pretty obvious that this was indeed the elevator. The halls were still clean- save the newfound undead residue blotched all over them, and the large metallic elevator style doors in front of the captain seemed to verify that yes, this was indeed the lift.

A hesitant command issues by the captain followed, "Alright... Take up firing positions, there might be something in there." Hunk lifted an eyebrow slightly beneath his gas mask. That was the first intelligent thing the cap'n had done all day. He obliged at his own pace, slowly taking a few steps back, and aligning three things: His eye, the gun's sight, and the lift doors. Safety off, paranoia on, ready to rock and roll. The other members of the team did more or less the same thing, bracing themselves against the wall and taking up firing positions. The captain smacked his gloved palm against the call button, and treated himself to a hasty retreat that lead him to the back of their makeshift formation.

The air circulating was the loudest thing in the room in the three seconds it took to follow, and it's a wonder nobody was crushed to death by the tension. Hunk however, Mr. Death, seemed to have an atmosphere of calm about him. Gave one the impression that if he weren't wearing a gas mask, he'd be smoking right now. The elevator chimed through the silence with a resounding 'bing' sort of sound, and the doors slid open. What followed was a hail of gunfire signifying the true amateur status of most of the team, atleast seven members of which had unloaded half a clip each into the elevator's cold metal walls. If there was anything in there, it was dead as a doornail now. Sadly, however, there was nothing in there. The captain shook his head, Hunk chuckled at the idiocy, and seven smoking barrels cooled down.

Another command issued, "Batista, Smithson, Regares. We can't all fit in there, so you three head down to the bottom floor first. Come back up once you've cleared the lobby area, understand?" Three unanimous, albeit nervous, nods followed as a response. The three men each stepped out of their positions, and into the abused machine. One extended a gloved hand and gently pressed the only button available, labeled 'B1'. The doors slid closed, and the gentle humming of the elevator cables drowned itself out.

Thirty seconds passed, and the captain sighed.

A minute passed, and he shook his head.

A minute and a half, and he was anxiously tapping his foot, secretly jealous of the one called Mr. Death's knack for keeping calm. "Alright, we can't wait for them to clear it out any longer. Somebody hit the call button," These words promptly followed by the deed being done by the nearest clean-up crew member. Hunk took the liberty of granting himself a few spacious steps towards the rear, fully knowing what was about to happen. He suspected the captain did too, judging by the nervous few baby steps he did in the same direction.

What followed was pandemonium. The elevator doors slid open, and the first thing to emerge from them was a gaseous stench accompanied by one thing and one thing alone... Infected. There must have been atleast five, no, six of them- each anxious for a fresh meal aside from the three they just helped themselves to...The three soldier's bodies, of course, were hollow shells of their former selves. Chewed and mangled, their armor made to withstand bullets and not bites. The throng of bloodthirsty undead burst out of the first crack of open space that the spreading doors allowed, instantly making prey of the two squad members nearest them. Fueled by desperation and raw animal instinct, they made a mad dash and plowed into the two hapless men before they could crack off a shot.

The screams were bloodcurdling. Shots rang out from everywhere at once, the two being feasted upon firing madly into the ceiling in panic. The other three began spraying full-auto fire on anything in front of them that moved, not caring about the safety of the two being devoured- they were as good as dead anyways. Metal ripped through flesh in countless places, most of which were non-vital, as proven by the four zombies that waded through their own kind, and a cloud of metal flying at 3,000 feet per second, towards their assailants. Such sounds they made, like every aspect of death summed up into one horrid staccato cacophony. "Nnngggh," the tortured groans echoed through the hall as two of the firing squad members backed up to reload, and one made the mistake of not doing so. A limping infectite speedily encroached upon him, and more or less slumped forth onto the man...Dead. Hunk had taken the liberty of setting up calm aim, and planted a single round through it's skull.

The captain fired off a three-round burst at another one of the damned, reducing its heart to a few shreds of rotten muscle in a fraction of a second. The recently-assaulted soldier simply kicked and scrambled to get out from beneath the wretched ghoul upon him, while Hunk took the liberty of seeing to it that two certain bullets were placed in two certain craniums...That of the duo of lumbering zombies, of course. He was quite tempted to end the lives of his chickenhearted comrades, however, but they would do that for him undoubtedly. Still, two more remained, and having just dislodged the spinal cords of the two team members closest to the elevator, they were ready to expand their meal. One on the left began to exit its kneel, but was promptly placed back into the corner by atleast eight shots delivered by one of the men. The other was put down in a similar fashion, as much of a waste of ammunition as it was.

One of the men had finally gotten out from beneath the zombie's dead body, and the other two had finally finished reloading. They took the time to regain their bearings, and look over the chaos that had taken up the last 4.3 seconds of their lives. Hunk found only one thing shocking, that the three men hadn't fled in terror by now. He half-hoped they would've, he much preferred working alone anyways... and as pseudo-competent as the captain was, Hunk knew deep down that he was just another failure destined to perish. He ejected the metallic magazine from his submachine gun, produced a few Parabellums from one of the many zippered pockets on his suit, and popped them into the clip idly. He coolly jammed the thing back into its proper place, and without second thought, waded through the bodies and into the elevator. The glacial stare radiating out from beneath his tinted eyepieces suggested to the other three, and even the captain, that they follow or be left behind.

"...A-alright. Let's go." Even the captain was shaky in body and voice, and so he accompanied the other three men into the lift. Hunk shoved aside Smithson's body with his right foot, making room for the captain to stand. Under his mask, he grinned at the dry humor. Without waiting for an order he pressed the button, closing the doors, and dragging four other men down into the hells beneath along with him.