((You people are still reading this? I forgot it existed...Short chapter,
need to get back to Weskerisms.))

Once again, staring right into the face of death. Or would this be considered post-mortem instead? Well, no need to contemplate the minor details. Hunk pulled the trigger, and sent a single round plowing through the generic zombie's nose. Or rather, what was left of its nose. The cartilage had long since fall off, he might've even stepped on it somewhere along the line. He once again thanked the fact that his suit could be considered proper for dealing with highly infectious materials, and that the boots were thick enough so he'd never have to realize how disgusting half the things he heard squash under his feet were. As the infected collapsed into a tiny heap on the floor, Hunk stepped gingerly over it and surveyed the scene.

Well, it was a familiar one indeed. Big laboratory room, white walls, beakers and chemicals everywhere. This laboratory room however, had some very special qualities to it. Specifically, the small laptop computer resting upon an otherwise-cluttered series of desks and tables. It was sleek, black, and still in pristine condition. It also had the ability to shut the place down for good, that being the entire purpose he was here. The machine was supposed to be along the path the squad captain had taken, but apparently the creature he just slain had located it elsewhere.

Who knew why, with the infectites. Sometimes people could very well go insane with fear at what they were becoming, and did all sorts of stupid things. Did it really matter? Made his task a lot easier, that counted the most. Without hesitation, Hunk's fingers nimbly set about tapping a few keys on the tiny computer. When a gargantuan warning sign popped up on screen, he knew he had found what he needed. Not one to wait even a split second to accomplish his task, Hunk tapped 'y' and initiated the gasflow. The timer set for thirty minutes, ample time to leave the god-forsaken place and board the chopper. Speaking of which...

Hunk activated his radio, built into his helmet for convenience, and was immediately patched through to HQ. Quick service at Umbrella. "Hunk here. Send the chopper our way. I'll be waiting at the pickup point in five minutes." Curt, but the message was clear enough. Get him the hell out.

"And what about the status of your team?" Of course, they had to ask.

"Deceased. I am the sole survivor." Hunk knew this was probably true enough, as the Captain and his two men were undoubtedly low on the ammunition count and wading in diseased bodies. Diseased bodies that didn't care for staying dead.

"Understood, sending you a ride immediately." A pause, followed up by an undeniably icy remark. "Mister Death." The transmission cut off, and Hunk headed for the door. Enough of this mission, it's grown old.