((Just to verify, this is where the first chapter left off.))
The two undead shambled forth at him at the speed of slow, he continued to be baffled by how everything was so gradual lately. It had occurred to him that perhaps the airborne contaminants had taken their toll, and this was some sort of side-effect of the infection. Maybe he was becoming one of them, and soon his movements would slow as well? He already seemed to possess greater strength, and, as much as he hated to admit it, things were starting to look as if he was going to be an undead soon. But why would the client set a trap for him like this? They valued his skills, he knew that much. Puzzling.
A muted sigh. All he'd ever wanted was to be something different. Better. Better than human, really. He thought of that as his foremost limitation. "Only human..." He murmured to himself under the disgruntled groaning echoing down the halls. It was depressing, really. This was what he'd worked so hard to become, and it was all he'd ever be. Unknown to the future, and unimportant to the present. Why did he always get depressed like this? Well, no matter. Finish the mission now, think later. That was the mindset of a good soldier. A good soldier... A good, conforming soldier who did nothing but take orders. Another muted sigh.
He hurled himself towards the former-researchers at top speed, deciding to do things as quickly as possible just to get it over with. He brought his arm back towards his neck, and snapped it out again with a great deal of velocity. The end result was the blade lodging itself right into the creature's brain stem, punching right through rotting bone with minimal effort. A quick twist liquefied the core of all the creature's physical activity, killing it for good. By this time the other was grabbing at Albert, who deftly countered its efforts by launching a mighty sidekick towards its face. His right foot, that which was closest to the approaching undead, rocketed out at full speed- his heel met its face, had a disagreement, and knocked the infected's entire head clean off.
Well, hardly clean. Quite messy, in fact. Albert didn't even bother to question how he managed to take it's entire skull off, he simply went with the fact and wiped the bottom of his boot off on the former enemy's clothing. This was followed by the removal of his knife from the other ex- foe, and after that the cleaning of said knife with a now-dirtied rag he kept around for just that. Sheath, stretch, continue walking.
He found it odd that the entire facility had taken a turn like this, moments ago it was lesser Tyrants bearing knives with clean halls and white walls- and now this. One doorway took him deeper underground, where the walls looked worse than the zombies and the place seemed a scene out of hell. The zombies here were far more aged than the ones upstairs, more resembling the true undead of movies he'd seen as a kid than infected former-humans. Perhaps that explained their significant increase in fragility. Seemed logical enough, after all-
His thought was cut off by some crackling in his right ear, yet his peripheral vision found nothing. Radio transmission? At a time like this? Must be some sort of mission update. "Mister Wesker," A cold, snake-like voice with the slightest hint of a reptilian lisp to it. "Are you receiving this transmission, Mister Wesker?" He paused, and adjusted the hands-free microphone slightly. "I'm here." His response, of course, icy. "What do you want." Not even a question, more along the lines of a subtle demand.
"Mister Wesker, it has become apparent to us that you've found the quarantine area of the facility. This, of course, means that you're nearing the 'safe room' we instructed you to find."
Wesker found himself curious, and, knowing his employer always had the latest information on Umbrella, asked something accordingly. "Quarantine area? This entire underground's been safely infected for quite some time, am I to assume?"
The voice on the other end paused, then responded. "That is correct. Umbrella decided to leave it be and seal the area off, as their own former research team provided quite a lot more information in death than they ever did in life. Either way, there is a reason we've contacted you, Mister Wesker. There is something down here you should not fight. Not with guns, not with knives, not with your bare hands. You simply should not fight it."
Wesker found this slightly troubling, they had been kind enough to call him AFTER whatever this thing was could very well be stalking him. For the sake of paranoia, he threw a glance behind his shoulder. Nothing. A vast emptiness, with some stony stairs leading up to the B2 floor he was previously on. "Alright. Any information you can offer me on this thing, perhaps?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
How smug of them. "Alright. I'll head to the 'safe room' and then activate the purge gasses from the floor above me. Wesker out."
With the new information, Wesker half-shrugged to himself. At the very least it would make this formerly one-sided game of survival a little bit more difficult- or at the very least he hoped it would. Speaking of survival, how was that 'Hunk' fellow doing? Wandering about the labs was about as dangerous as it got in these places, although from what he saw the man seemed pretty deadly. Well, no matter. Back to finding this so-called 'safe room'. According to the dossier he read before the mission began, it would be recognizable upon sight. Apparently that was all these people ever had the courtesy to tell him.
The two undead shambled forth at him at the speed of slow, he continued to be baffled by how everything was so gradual lately. It had occurred to him that perhaps the airborne contaminants had taken their toll, and this was some sort of side-effect of the infection. Maybe he was becoming one of them, and soon his movements would slow as well? He already seemed to possess greater strength, and, as much as he hated to admit it, things were starting to look as if he was going to be an undead soon. But why would the client set a trap for him like this? They valued his skills, he knew that much. Puzzling.
A muted sigh. All he'd ever wanted was to be something different. Better. Better than human, really. He thought of that as his foremost limitation. "Only human..." He murmured to himself under the disgruntled groaning echoing down the halls. It was depressing, really. This was what he'd worked so hard to become, and it was all he'd ever be. Unknown to the future, and unimportant to the present. Why did he always get depressed like this? Well, no matter. Finish the mission now, think later. That was the mindset of a good soldier. A good soldier... A good, conforming soldier who did nothing but take orders. Another muted sigh.
He hurled himself towards the former-researchers at top speed, deciding to do things as quickly as possible just to get it over with. He brought his arm back towards his neck, and snapped it out again with a great deal of velocity. The end result was the blade lodging itself right into the creature's brain stem, punching right through rotting bone with minimal effort. A quick twist liquefied the core of all the creature's physical activity, killing it for good. By this time the other was grabbing at Albert, who deftly countered its efforts by launching a mighty sidekick towards its face. His right foot, that which was closest to the approaching undead, rocketed out at full speed- his heel met its face, had a disagreement, and knocked the infected's entire head clean off.
Well, hardly clean. Quite messy, in fact. Albert didn't even bother to question how he managed to take it's entire skull off, he simply went with the fact and wiped the bottom of his boot off on the former enemy's clothing. This was followed by the removal of his knife from the other ex- foe, and after that the cleaning of said knife with a now-dirtied rag he kept around for just that. Sheath, stretch, continue walking.
He found it odd that the entire facility had taken a turn like this, moments ago it was lesser Tyrants bearing knives with clean halls and white walls- and now this. One doorway took him deeper underground, where the walls looked worse than the zombies and the place seemed a scene out of hell. The zombies here were far more aged than the ones upstairs, more resembling the true undead of movies he'd seen as a kid than infected former-humans. Perhaps that explained their significant increase in fragility. Seemed logical enough, after all-
His thought was cut off by some crackling in his right ear, yet his peripheral vision found nothing. Radio transmission? At a time like this? Must be some sort of mission update. "Mister Wesker," A cold, snake-like voice with the slightest hint of a reptilian lisp to it. "Are you receiving this transmission, Mister Wesker?" He paused, and adjusted the hands-free microphone slightly. "I'm here." His response, of course, icy. "What do you want." Not even a question, more along the lines of a subtle demand.
"Mister Wesker, it has become apparent to us that you've found the quarantine area of the facility. This, of course, means that you're nearing the 'safe room' we instructed you to find."
Wesker found himself curious, and, knowing his employer always had the latest information on Umbrella, asked something accordingly. "Quarantine area? This entire underground's been safely infected for quite some time, am I to assume?"
The voice on the other end paused, then responded. "That is correct. Umbrella decided to leave it be and seal the area off, as their own former research team provided quite a lot more information in death than they ever did in life. Either way, there is a reason we've contacted you, Mister Wesker. There is something down here you should not fight. Not with guns, not with knives, not with your bare hands. You simply should not fight it."
Wesker found this slightly troubling, they had been kind enough to call him AFTER whatever this thing was could very well be stalking him. For the sake of paranoia, he threw a glance behind his shoulder. Nothing. A vast emptiness, with some stony stairs leading up to the B2 floor he was previously on. "Alright. Any information you can offer me on this thing, perhaps?"
"You'll know it when you see it."
How smug of them. "Alright. I'll head to the 'safe room' and then activate the purge gasses from the floor above me. Wesker out."
With the new information, Wesker half-shrugged to himself. At the very least it would make this formerly one-sided game of survival a little bit more difficult- or at the very least he hoped it would. Speaking of survival, how was that 'Hunk' fellow doing? Wandering about the labs was about as dangerous as it got in these places, although from what he saw the man seemed pretty deadly. Well, no matter. Back to finding this so-called 'safe room'. According to the dossier he read before the mission began, it would be recognizable upon sight. Apparently that was all these people ever had the courtesy to tell him.
