((Well, enough laziness. Time to get back to Hunkin', I reckon. I just may think he's cooler than Wesker. Anyways, we all know of Sir Hunk's endeavors during RE2, so screw that. This is after.))
The Fourth Survivor struck again. Right between the eyes, no less. And why not? He'd taken time to aim this shot. Get a steady bead between two glazed-over inky orbs. Put in the time to make this round special. It was worth the results without question, a smile crept over his features beneath the gas mask he wore on just about every mission to date. Gray matter spewed all over a local wall, and for once he could actually hear the wondrous splattering. His shot had made virtually no sound whatsoever, thanks entirely to his current firearm. A Steyr-AUG, an Austrian assault rifle currently serving as their army's standard to the best of his knowledge. A passive nightvision scope had been implemented to give him a hand in the darker corridors of the underground facility, and a silencer/flash suppressor had been attached to the barrel. He found this infinitely helpful, since as far as he was concerned zombies were attracted to noise. Gunshots included, although anybody that could properly use a firearm was typically more than a match for any pseudo-undead.
But it wasn't attracting zombies that he was concerned about, not in the least. It was spooking his target. This mission was different, this mission was special. This mission was ludicrous. The objective? He chuckled to himself just slightly, and couldn't help but note how cynical-sounding it came out.
"We want this one alive, Hunk." The director of the briefing had told him but several hours ago. "It's... Different than the rest. Even I've been told little about it, aside from that it's some sort of 'zombie plus' or something as such. Possibly a Tyrant variant. I haven't the slightest clue." To this Hunk had only glared icy daggers at the man sitting across the table. "Just get in there, and get out with the thing alive. We'll have proper containment equipment on the surface when you get there. After that, we'll send in a clean-up crew to mop up the remaining infected personnel."
Ah, the clean-up crews. Quick, typically efficient, and all on their way to either death or an aspiring career as a zombie. Hunk recalled the days when he was amongst their ranks, he remembered them quite fondly in fact. He was always the last survivor. He was always the best. But those days were gone, he worked alone now. Umbrella's most feared special agent, deployed alone on the most dangerous missions. Ever since he retrieved that G-virus sample, the superiors noted that Special Agent Hunk did better without support. "Let Mr. Death do it his way" seemed to be the unspoken Umbrella policy on the matter.
Either way, he and his bullpup-style rifle had racked up no more than four kills so far. He wasn't here to kill the infected left and right, and so he simply snuck past them to the best of his ability. His stealth skills were second only to his marksmanship, and it was a close second at that. He'd been given the schematics of the laboratory floor, and took the most efficient possible route to Lab 7. Minimal resistance was met along the way, and with this final zombie looming about the door out of the way, he could open it and either meet his maker or a new paycheck.
A single round dealt with the lock, and possibly alerted whatever may be within to his presence. He extended a gloved left hand towards the door, and decided to find out.