((Through the eyes of an eye-lacking idjut.))
Another job well done, the boy had rend perhaps twenty-seven of his former colleagues and caretakers into an infected compost. Normally, that much contact with the zombies would pose the threat of infection- this much, the boy knew. He wasn't terribly aware of the various specifics and mannerisms of all of Umbrella's creations, but everybody knew something about the common zombie.
Ah, but the threat of infection was only posed to those who were not already infected. Hence, he found only pride and fun in reducing this disgusting, shambling mass into a disgusting, still mass. The boy was about to celebrate with a jig, or perhaps further mutilating of the damned, when a message hit him. Apparently the Hunk fellow wished to reach the lift, then. "Eh? Elevator? What the hell for? Ain't nothing to kill in there, Sir Hunk." Such was the only reply he deemed appropriate.
He found quite quickly that the armor-clad agent was scarcely the type for lollygagging about, for he responded to the inquiry only with a glacial act of gratuitous violence. The boy chastised himself; he should've seen it coming. Literally. What unique and alien senses he had allowed the boy to see things in a slower state of motion than humans, much as the world moves slowly to a fly. And yet he still failed to avoid what was coming, for he had underestimated the speed and ferocity of the other. The composite stock of Hunk's rifle pushed the air aside effortlessly, driven by a powerful right arm pushing in the most efficient possible manner to bludgeon somebody from behind. Which, apparently, was the exact purpose of such a movement.
And so although he felt the rifle bashing into the back of his skull, the boy really could not do terribly much about it at that point. He wasn't nearly as trained in the fine arts of close-quarters combat as most, having been essentially relying on brute strength and ludicrous reflexes since the transformation. Suchly, the thought of moving his neck forth to roll with the impact failed to occur to the boy. All went white for a moment.
By the time his senses had re-activated themselves, the boy couldn't help but notice that he was on the floor. Yet at the same time, and not of his own accord, he was moving. Ah! Well, he was being dragged across the mess he had just created. Well then. That rather explained things. Undoubtedly they were going in the direction of the elevator, as he did recall the chap had mentioned something about getting there.
Well, free ride's a free ride. No sense getting to one's own feet and actually walking if a surly agent of an evil corporation intends on dragging you about, right? Right. Although the back of his head hurt, which the boy proceeded to voice. "Ow. Nice one. I, uh, didn't see it coming." A slight pause ensued. "Get it? That's a pun, Jack. I ain't got no eyes. You're supposed to laugh, or lovingly chastise me for doing such a stupid joke." An even longer pause ensued, as Hunk failed to regard or care about the idle ramblings of an idiot. "You'd suck in a buddy cop movie. You know that, right? Anyhow, ain'tcha gonna ask me all about what I am and such? Most of the scientist folks who visit the facility are curious about that one. Dig it."
And yet no reply. Damn it all, this guy was a greasy fucking iceberg. Smooth as hell and twice as cold. Ah well. At least there was a big day of being questioned by Umbrella interrogators and scientists up ahead. Or was it night? He honestly hadn't the slightest idea. Well, into the elevator. "Right-ho, ground floor please, bellboy."
Some cosmic sense told him that further pestering of this Hunk guy would warrant being shot in the head. And three or four good headshots, that would most definitely kill him. A temporary silence policy went into place.