Yet another installment in this gripping horror. Please enjoy, and be sure to review (even if you don't find it to you liking)
Chapter Seven
Leon felt cold as he entered the long hall, he felt death. Immediately he knew something was wrong with this room, though he didn't know what. It seemed somehow separated from the rest of the mansion, it was so plain. So basic. Before him a tall, narrow staircase led up and then abruptly to the right. He took one step forward and froze for a split second, a shadow passing over the right of his back.
His reaction was immediate, and he leapt away, turning in the air and landing with the magnum staring down the figure. It was a suit of armor wielding a large, mirror like shield. Smooth, Mr. Kennedy, very smooth. The knight seemed to stare down at him, even without its eyes, it glared through the array of tiny holes in the rusted metal helmet. He rolled his eyes and was about to step away when he noticed the words upon a plaque on the shield. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, and as Leon cleared them with his hand he felt the cold, coarse feeling of words engraved beneath his fingertips. As he read the words he felt a cold chill trickle down his spine and prick at his hairs. This room was definitely not right, and he knew it as he read them again:
Death is only the beginning
Leon rose his eyes to again stare at the face of the knight, who looked back at him ominously. However, despite what it read, Leon's conscience would not allow him to simply walk away. He just had to remember: bravery is ignorance to fear, that's all it is. So, he inhaled a deep breath of the impure air, and began to draw up the stairs in wariness. With each breath he could feel the dust choke at his lungs, and with every step he made, the dust itself seemed to cloud up from the floor. It was thick with dust; in fact there was no air, only dust. Leon reached the top of the stairs to find a second statue, again to his right. He glared at it, though in a more horrified sense then he had hoped. It hovered over him, nearly twice his height. However its shield was what stung at his gut and bravery the most. It was covered in nearly a dozen long blades, each a foot in length. They were dulled, nicked, and crusted with a brownish stain that Leon had already come to recognize easily. He looked just above the blades to find yet another inscription. He didn't use his fingers to wipe the dust away, definitely not. No touchy near the sharp blades. Instead he blew it away. The engraved letters spoke again, and Leon could not help but be pricked by the feeling that these were the words of a madman:
Death is the true essence of bliss
He stepped away, his boot sliding across the slick, dust covered tiles, but as he did he tripped and stumbled over something. Leon stumbled back against the wall and looked down, half expecting a pile of bones. But no, it was something that was much more solid both against the ground and in his gut as it settled uneasily. A track, hidden in the dust, a long track that wove around the bend in the hallway.
"Why do I do this?" he asked himself, as if he knew.
Regretting every footstep, every bit of energy wasted, every heartbeat, and every dust-bitten breath, Leon followed the track. Leon noticed how tight and cramped the hallway felt, and how the cobwebs seemed to dangle down almost tauntingly at him. He came to a lighter hallway, illuminated by fluorescent lights and gas lanterns along the ceiling. As Leon quietly lurked down the passage, thick coats of cobweb dangled down and brushed over his hair, face, and shoulders. He tried to brush them off, but there were too many and he soon gave up and allowed them to cling to his skin. Leon followed down the dark hallway, and it was not long before he came to a tall pedestal that stood up to his chest. It was completely rusted over save for the mirror-like finish upon the face. There was a circular indentation upon the pedestal, roughly the size of Leon's fist, as though something should sit there. But whatever it was, it was gone. Beneath the imprint was yet another inscription. Leon knew he wasn't going to like it, but he read it anyway:
May thee find peace in death
Suddenly a loud, mechanical whining noise echoed from behind Leon and made him turn and back against the pedestal. It was a sound like a screwdriver, only enhanced a hundred times louder and draped in loud snaps like gunshots. Every cobweb above Leon fluttered in a sudden gust of wind that blew against his face. Then behind him a loud clanking, ticking noise like that of gears came tromping up. Leon turned about to find another massive suit of armor rolling up to a stop just behind him, massively tall so that it's head nearly scraped the ceiling. The pedestal that once stood before him began to sink into the ground until it was no more then a tile.
Leon gulped and read the inscription on the last suit of armor, and felt his heartbeat pound along with the drilling noise that grew louder behind him. His quivering hands reached forward and brushed away the dust from the engraved words, and they read:
Death is everything
"Oh shit," he muttered as he turned back around to face the growing noise.
And then it appeared. The second suit of armor, alive, or at least moving. It drove towards him upon the track, the blades upon it's shield spinning and whining in a glinting blur. Large needle like spikes protruded from the helmet and stabbed in and out, and two axe like blades swung to and fro at the sides of the suit of armor. Leon's eyes darted to find the end of the track, and he saw they were directly at his feet. He couldn't back up, there was only the last suit of armor, he couldn't shrink away, he couldn't slink against the wall or anything. He was trapped. Closer and closer the blades came, their furious sound of mechanized roars driving towards him in a fluster of unreal anger. Suddenly Leon saw his escape, but he would have to be fast. How far were the blades away from him? Fifteen feet? Ten? It was too fast to calculate. And Leon decided that the best method was simply to screw it. He holstered the magnum in his leg pouch, turned towards the massive statue behind him, and leapt up. His fingers gripped just the edge of the shield, and Leon pressed his feet against the wall, pushed off, and grabbed the shoulder. He scrambled up, gripping the helmet itself while turning to see how close the blades were. He didn't need to look as one of the spikes drove pricked into his thigh, and Leon could only wince as he clambered up the rest of the way. He turned and leapt without hesitation, without even looking, hurling himself into the cobwebs and dust. Over the blades and suit of armor he fell, and slammed into the hard tile floor behind it.
Leon grimaced at the pain in his thigh and shoulder, but there was no time as he heard the metal screech and scrape together. Suddenly the whining died for only a second, then a matter of clunking gears sounded. And it started back up again. Coming closer again. Leon turned to see the blades in reverse, stabbing, swinging, and spinning out at him yet again. It was moving backwards, and Leon frantically stood and sprinted down the hall, the suit of armor gaining on him with every second. Closer, closer he flew towards that bend in the hall. Shit he wasn't going to make it. He slammed into the wall just to feel the hot rush of the electric gears and pumps on his back before he dove to his left. Into the air, over the stairs he flung himself. For those few seconds everything moved in the slowest of motions as Leon watched the stairs grow farther away from him as he flew. Then they began to get dramatically closer, until he smacked into them and rolled down towards the floor and into the door he came through. He was safe, and he knew it as he heard the electric, screaming engine die behind him.
The young man panted, letting his back drop against the cold wall. He looked down at his thigh first and sighed. The wound wasn't deep, he could tell from the blood, in fact it had only just pierced the skin and muscle, maybe only a half inch deep. It was nothing, mostly shock that had got him at first. His shoulder was next, and that ached. It was nearly a ten foot drop that he had fallen, and on his side. How could he have been so goddamn thick. Yes, smooth Mr. Kennedy always walks away from anything. He may be limping and crying like a little girl, but he's walking away.
Well whatever, it was time he and Joseph regrouped and they explored the mansion for the other S.T.A.R.S. members. Leon stood, limping, and stumbled out the door into the hot hallway he was previously in. He took one look at the suit of armor at the top of the stairs, and wondered with curiosity. How the hell did it know to turn back like that? To come after him no matter what until he got past the tracks? It didn't make complete sense, but Leon was given a lingering suspicion that he and the other S.T.A.R.S. members were not alone. Someone was watching them, and the more Leon thought about it, the more certain he became of it.
"Joseph!" Leon called, "Joseph! Come here, I think I've found something."
He was quiet for a moment, then he added mockingly as if to taunt whoever was watching, "Come here and dance in this hallway, it's fun!"
Bastards, whoever he, she, or they were. He hoped the cameras watching him (if they were cameras) had sound so his viewers could hear that. All right, now where was Joseph? He wasn't supposed to leave the hallway. Leon hated it when the dolt didn't follow simple orders or instructions. He was always getting himself or Leon hooked into the worst situations. Leon stumbled with exhaustion around the corner that Joseph had gone down, the sweltering heat from all the candles stinging at his eyes and skin. He rounded the right about the next corner and stopped. Joseph's shotgun lay there. Oh no. No no no, not Joseph. Not Joseph…
Leon jogged over and collapsed beside the shotgun. Joseph loved this gun, as pathetic as it was he did, and he wouldn't leave it anywhere but in his hands on a mission. Leon acknowledged the growing lump in his throat and heart as he felt the barrel. It was still hot. Why didn't he hear it? No, Leon didn't know if Joseph was dead or simply taken away. He could have got the gun knocked out of his hands and run off. He could of simply dropped it when he was chased and not realized it. Or maybe-…
Leon's rational and irrational thoughts were cut at the throat when he saw the dark crimson splatter upon the wall. Leon stood, gripping the shotgun tightly in his hands, he looked down at it. A Winchester 1300. The shoulder strap carrying six more shells. The feeling in his gut made him choke up, but he couldn't break now. He had to bottle his emotions and get out of here rationally, taking all the survivors with him. Joseph may still be alive. Leon pumped the shotgun once, and headed down a darker bend in the hallway. A shattered mirror lay propped up against a corner, trails of blood trickled down its glimmering shards.
Leon saw that the door at the far end remained open, beyond it the balcony to the dining hall that he and Joseph stood together not longer then twenty minutes ago. Leon stepped out onto the balcony and closed the door behind him, looking at the broken railing littered with blood. He stopped moving, listening to a crunching noise coming from below. It crackled out for a second, then went silent as though it knew he was listening. Leon stepped away from the edge of the balcony. It could be Joseph, it could be his killer. The thought clouded Leon's mind with anger, and without thinking he suddenly threw himself over the railing. Down past the chandeliers he fell, landing heavily upon the table. The fall immediately forced him to roll, and he landed again on his feet upon the tiled floor. He whipped the shotgun to face the fireplace. Nothing. He turned to the doors leading to the main hall. No one. He was alone, and the thought didn't entirely please him. Then he saw it, first upon the table, spilling down upon the floor on the other side. Leon walked around the large dining table, staring at the blood that lay splattered and mixed in with the white and black marble tiles. Jesus. There was a trail of blood, smeared along the floor as though Joseph had been dragged off.
Leon held the shotgun closely as he followed the blood trail to the end of the hall, watching it go beneath the double doors. Joseph could be on the other side of those doors, dying in agony. Leon took a single step back, and slammed the heel of his boot into one of the doors, swinging it wide open with an echoing crash. He leapt in, the shotgun prodding it's nose in first to sniff about for prey. Lightning flashed and threw a white grin over every shadow in the massive hall, immediately followed by the thunder that roared from beyond the mansion.
Nothing, and the blood trail led off to the left behind the stairs, slowly diminishing against the floor. Joseph was losing blood and fast; Leon had to get to him. The trail led off into the shadows, going down a dim stairway, and then disappearing. Leon couldn't tell, he couldn't see in the flickering light. It was down there, whatever took Joseph was down there, and somehow Leon assumed it was no longer human. The rookie cop stared at the shadows that ebbed out towards him in the candles' light, breathing deeply to allow his tension to calm itself. However that act proved useless as a door at the far end of the hall opened and Leon nearly felt himself faint as he jumped and turned the shotgun.
Jill stood there. Her shoulders shrunken with fatigue, blood smeared upon her cheek. And her eyes, her eyes ringed with the redness from tears and horror. True horror. She stared at him desperately, and gradually he felt himself returning the exact same stare.
"Leon?" she said, as though it wasn't really him.
"Jill!" he exclaimed jogging towards her, "Jesus what happened to you?"
Jill could not have been more happier to see the rookie standing there, covered in sweat. He ran towards her and she tried to step but her legs couldn't allow it any longer. She'd ran so damn much, she just let herself collapse to her knees, her empty handgun dropping from her clammy fingers. Leon was by her side in seconds, checking her vital signs and to see she wasn't injured.
"Barry," she choked from her dried throat, "Barry and Wesker are dead."
She didn't have to look at him, she already knew what his face would look like. She'd seen it a hundred times before, only now it was different. Now she really knew fear, she really knew what it was like to quiver in the grime and filth as your heart beats heavily against your ribs. Only Leon didn't say anything like she had expected the rookie to do. In fact he utterly surprised her as she felt his muscular arms wrap around her shrunken shoulders. Was he comforting her? And what the hell was she doing excepting it? Oh she didn't care. She was so worried about everything she just needed someone to care for her. She just wished Chris was there.
"I found Kenneth's body. And Joseph is gone," he finally spoke, "I found his blood trail here and I was following it. There's something very wrong here, Jill."
"I know," she said gently pushing him away but letting her hands be held by his. She noticed his fingers slightly quivered in hers. She looked at him sorrowfully, knowing he and Joseph had been so close. He couldn't bare to look back in her strong eyes, he only stared away blankly.
"Jill, those murders…they weren't done by humans. I know you're not going to believe this, but I think this mansion is housing-"
"Zombies? Yea, I know," she said as he helped her to stand up, "I've run into two of them. But I know that there's someone here that is human. Someone murdered Barry and Wesker, Leon. I heard them kill them both."
Leon agreed, and he explained to her his theory about someone watching them. That was when she noticed his injuries. They were bad. Really bad. She noticed his shoulder first, "Leon! You're shoulder-"
"I know…one of those monsters. It's fine-"
"No, it needs to be checked, sit down again and I'll look at it."
She pulled him down forcibly, taking off his royal blue vest. The skin had been partially torn, and puncture wounds lay scattered on the muscle. The blood had nearly soaked the entire grey t-shirt, and she quickly applied an antibiotic spray and bandaged the wound.
"You went on?" she spoke suddenly as Leon watched her tend to his shoulder.
"What?"
"You kept going, even when you were this badly injured. Why?"
"Well, I mean I didn't have any medical supplies. And I wanted to find you…you and the other team members."
Jill paused and looked at him, gazing curiously towards his emerald eyes that darted away from hers. What did he mean by that? Well never mind it, they had to stay focused on the mission right now. But as she thought of it she somewhat blushed. Even if it was only out of friendly concern, it was nice to know that someone wanted that badly to find her and the others. Finally she finished and said, "Well, anywhere else?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Oh yea? Then why's your leg bleeding."
"Oh, small puncture wound from the trap I told you about."
She nodded and gave a gentle spray of the antibiotic into a large torn hole in his pants where the wound was.
"There's no point in bandaging it up, it's already healing anyways," she said.
"Yea," replied Leon, "What about you?"
"Oh I'm fine, just a few small scratches," she said wiping the small bit of blood away from her cheek.
He really was considerate. Leon stood and again helped Jill up. There was an awkward silence, and it wasn't because of some odd connection between the two of them. There really wasn't one. No, but it was that this was a safe place. They felt safe together here, and as Jill watched Leon put his vest back on, she knew she didn't want to go back alone.
"Leon, let's stay together," she said, "I think it'll be safer."
"Yea, I think the mission is pretty much over. Let's just try and find the others then get out of here. Do you know where Chris is?"
He didn't mean it, but his question stung her deeply. Chris…
"I-I don't know. He disappeared somewhere outside the mansion when we came in."
"Don't worry, it's fine," replied Leon, "We'll just look for him and the others as well."
"All right."
"Okay…"
Another awkward silence, they simply didn't want to go back. Who could blame them?
"Where should we start?" Jill asked.
"Well, I've already covered most of the west side of the mansion and that's clear. You've already covered most of the east side, and seen no one. Let's start down there," he said pointing to a doorway that led down behind the stairs which lead to the upper balcony.
Jill knew he was trying to continue his search for Joseph, but he had good reasoning behind his suggestion. Quietly she nodded, hoping to god they would find the others soon.
"Oh, here," he said reaching around to his holster, "Take this."
It was Leon's gun, the desert eagle. Barry would be beaming if Leon gave him that. Jill smiled her thanks as he handed her the last magazine that was left. The rookie then turned and began loading shells into the shotgun. Jill shoved the last clip into the handle of the gun, and cocked it. Leon pumped the gauge of the shotgun once and said, "All right. Let's go."
000
"God dammit!" the tall man was furious, "That callous son of a bitch outmaneuvered my trap!
Barry watched the madman with disgust, however he was still in relief. From what he had seen on the control panels there were only four more traps, and a very unlikely chance that his friends would run into all of them. So far everyone was safe from this sadistic bastard. Barry had watched Leon, watched him move so perfectly around those blades and statues, begging for his friend's survival. The guilt that flooded Barry's veins was immense, and it stung at his every breath. But he was glad that his actions had done no harm yet. Suddenly the man turned towards him, his wild red eyes glowing down at Barry in the blackness, his muscled body silhouetted by the monitor screens.
"You thought that to be rather enjoyable, didn't you Barry? Didn't you!"
Barry said nothing, he only sat and stared at the maniac with and expressionless face. The man leapt towards him and squatted right down into his face, "You think you're better then me. You think you've won. Allow me to refer to you, the ignorance of your assumptions! This has only just begun, and I am going to make you suffer until you realize that I am indeed better then all of you. As you can see, it has been…biologically arranged."
His muscled and veins upon his arms rippled and clenched as he said this, and Barry was repulsed. However his head was still light and throbbing from the blood loss in his arm, and he felt dazed and weak as it was.
"Yes…look at you. How diminutive and pathetic you are," the man cackled, "Suppose I am a bit of a sadist. We all are in some way. And after all, did you see how the Lisa project took Joseph? How it tortured him before stabbing him?"
"You sick bastard…when I get my hands free-"
"Ah ah ah, first it's if you get your hands free. And even then, I still have this little phone here. All I have to do is dial a number…"
Barry was quiet. Those things he said, about the soldiers and his family. He couldn't let them get involved in this, so he kept quiet.
"But you can see, Barry. There's not one creature in this mansion that doesn't enjoy a bit of sadism. I suppose we all have the infamous Marquis running through our veins…maybe just a pinch."
Barry went back to silence, but his look was reaction enough.
"Oh, surely you do, Barry. Of course you do. Look at me now, wouldn't you find pleasure in breaking every bone in my body before I die? Or driving hot, rusted knives beneath my finger nails? You think that's rough, wait and see what happens to Joseph. The Lisa Project is sure to not disappoint."
000
Chris closed the groaning door behind him. He had left Rebecca in the room which he now was quite a ways away from. She was exhausted and desperately needed sleep. So he had laid her down on the bed and left her with a note explaining where he was, and to top it all off he locked the door with the key she had given him to ensure her safety. He had to keep the mission alive, find the others, and discover the secret behind these supposed monsters. Rebecca was half crazed and delusional because of her lack of sleep, her mind could very well have over exaggerated what was seen. He sighed, clutching the last defense he had, a wimpy bowie knife. He felt helpless with it, but if that failed then he still had his muscle, and he knew that was trustworthy.
He had made his way across the mansion, into it's main hall, and had found nothing more then blood. Blood was everywhere, dried, fresh, sticky. And the smell. The smell was horrendous. Chris constantly gagged from the lukewarm, musty smell of thick filth. But he knew what it was, he'd smelt it through years of combat, it was the smell of death. And the rotten stench that now plagued his every breath was far worse then anything he had ever encountered before. But other then that and a few drastic blasts of lightning, he had not come in contact with anything of potential horror or danger. So what had scared Rebecca so badly? Monsters? He didn't know and right now, being all alone, he didn't find it necessary to know.
Chris now stood on the upper balcony in the main hall, coughing because of the growing dust in his lungs. Nearly every door he had checked was locked, and he frankly was getting sick of it. When he tried the very last door in the far northeastern corner, it was also locked with the emblem of a sword on the keyhole. Well screw that, he wanted some goddamn answers. Chris launched a heavy kick just to the side of the doorknob. The echoing noise rattled with the thunder in the large hall, and Chris tried again. The second blow knocked the door open, swinging it loose from two of its hinges. He knew he could trust his muscle.
Inside it was warm, and for that Chris was at first thankful. But it was the wrong kind of warm…the kind of warmth that is felt when one's heart races. It was a hall that turned immediately right from the door, its true features relinquished by shadow. Dark oak wanes lined the walls, and above them was a crimson wall paper with a floral like design that puffed up in large billows along the wall. The paper was, cracked and torn by what seemed ages of decay. A single lamp stood upon a dark oak table upon the right side of the hall, and upon the left side another table was lined with a white table linen and broken pieces of china.
His foot steps were a muted thud as they sunk into the dust-covered carpet. He moved through the dim glow of the lamps, breathing the hot air and dust. He saw a door to his right, but chose not to come near it. It was nailed shut by crudely placed two by fours, and a bloody hand print lay smeared upon the fresh wood. Chris found himself straying to the opposite side of the door, as far away from it as he could. Something was definitely amiss in this giant place, something other then killers. Had Rebecca been right? Was there some kind of monster lurking around here? No, Chris had to think clearly. Monsters exist only in hallucinations and exaggerated processing of the brain. And Chris had to keep his imagination in check.
The hallway ahead banked sharply left, and Chris pressed his back against the wall. He peered around the corner, and could see nothing but more paintings, tacky furniture, and a broken mirror. So he turned the corner and proceeded with unease, his knife held firmly in his grip. Another bend in the hallway, and still nothing. Nothing but the tattered remains of what was a horrible struggle. There were two doors upon the right side of the long wall. Chris went for the first, but saw it had no door handle, and he was beginning to wonder if the noise of smashing doors open was such a good idea. Someone may have already heard the first. The thought nearly froze him in solid fear, and Chris chose to brush it away. He was cool, contained, and had to maintain the utmost composure.
The next door had a small brass handle, and Chris listened for a moment before opening it. No one was inside, nothing but another dimly lit room. Jesus, Chris was beginning to suspect Mr. Spencer was a vampire, what with all this goddamn darkness. No no, Chris silenced his pathetic imagination. The room was a cluttered mess. Several tall book shelves stood propped up against the walls, at least a hundred paintings hung from the walls of the room. Two desks, both holding lamps which seemed to be the only light source for the room itself, stood in opposite corners of the room. Both were covered in books, folders, images, and papers. Papers were everywhere, upon the floor, tacked onto the wall, the desks, the shelves. This place had been ransacked, almost as though someone was looking for something in a hurry. Well, it didn't seem to be much, but maybe he could find something that could tell him what the hell happened here.
The first jumble of papers he stumbled upon seemed to be observation notes for an experiment of some kind. Some science project, in a mansion? It didn't make sense, but Chris browsed through them:
The discovery of the T-Virus was in fact 21 years after the administration of the progenitor virus.
The "Prototype Parasite" which we had delivered from a laboratory in France was administered to the sample specimen. The sample specimen took in the parasite without showing any signs of adverse reaction.
The lack of any reaction was an unsolved mystery. But now everything is clear to me.
The "Prototype Parasite" was incubating in the sample specimen's body for 21 years. Then from that incubating state the prototype suddenly mutated. ("Evolved" may be a more appropriate word to describe it.)
This observation gave me more insight in my research. Through further modification and testing, I was able to derive a method to create the T-virus that surpasses the performance of its previous formula.
This was the breakthrough that would change the future of the B.O.W.'s history.
I can't wait to see the look on Alexia's annoying face when I finally announce my research. But unfortunately I'll have to wait a few more years to completely verify my findings.
William Birkin
The T-Virus? B.O.W.'s and a "Prototype Parasite"? What the hell happened here? Chris quickly scrambled around the desk for another set of notes. The next was another journal, stained with dark blots of a dried liquid, the pages yellowed and partially torn.
There is now evidence that when the host loses consciousness, the body goes into a dormant state. During this time the virus becomes active and rapidly transforms and reconstructs the basic composition of the body.
The host eventually mutates into a humanoid creature. (We call them V- ACTs). Its speed and amazing muscular development are particularly noteworthy. After transformation, it becomes more agile and aggressive.
Already four of our researchers have died from trying to feed it, turning the place into an instant blood bath. (Ever since this tragic and barbaric accident, we have decided to call its kind "Crimson Heads")
That dangerous and precious prototype specimen can't be left there. We have to figure out a way to deal with it. Termination is definitely not an option. A proper confinement must be found.
Chris dropped the journal on the desk, a hot feeling of awareness burning at his face and chest. He could only think of one thing as he searched for more evidence: Monsters. Chris scrambled through the papers. Notes, reports of experimentations, random letters and numbers scribbled together to stand for something but what? It was research but for what purpose? Who was funding this? He stumbled over the papers to get around the desk towards the drawers when he tripped over something. He turned to see a small cardboard box, its contents spilled on the floor. Tapes, cassettes, a VHS tape, and torn pieces of aged paper. Chris plucked it up and read:
T-virus Summary:
After nearly fifteen years of research, the T-virus is near to perfection. Imagine, a drug that enhances the living body for extreme strength, learning, speed, senses, and tolerance for pain without any long term side effects done. A perfect formula for the perfect soldier, just a little shy of its perfect form. Even the weakest of animals would be turned into a killing machine, yet they could remain calm and capable of living an ordinary life. However the virus is not yet perfected. The right dosage of chemicals used to make the virus has not yet been discovered, thus, improper amounts of certain chemicals have induced horrible side effects. Many cases show that the virus will at first kill the subject in the most horrid of ways. The subject's flesh and body is deliberately put into the process of decomposition while the subject is still alive. Eventually, the subject will die, killing off all the body cells.
The virus will then take effect, reanimating the body cells to try and enhance the body and mind of the subject. However because of the decomposition the subject will only be enhanced to a much more simpler, barbaric state then any perfect soldier. In a sense the subject will be brought back to life, but only with the intention to feed upon anything that is truly living. To but it blatantly, the subject becomes a "zombie". Nevertheless, muscle capacity and aggression are greatly enhanced, therefore it is a step forward.
It is shown that the virus actually dehydrates the body, which may be part of the problem as to why it decomposes. Therefore, if water were to be added to make a solution of both the virus and H20, then perhaps we might find success. However experimentation cannot begin until the remaining scientists have been returned, and those that were executed have been replaced.
Infection Distribution
The virus can be dispersed in a number of ways, with a number of results. As example with the "Tyrant", "Lisa Trevor", and "B.O.W.'s" projects, if two full doses of the virus is injected directly into living tissue, the subject will become powerful in all ways except the mind. The subject will be fast, strong, agile, tolerant to pain, and an exquisite hunter. However their mind is greatly effected, and depleted down to nothing but an apparent rage that torments them every moment until death. This is similar only with lessened results if one full dose is injected.
If the virus is air born when it finds a host, then the description above shall take place. The subject will only become a basic living thing bent on nothing but the urge to feed.
The virus may also spread by infection from one host coming in contact with another. If there is any penetration of the flesh, then it is hypothesized that the victim will suffer the same results only to a much smaller degree.
Virus Cure
There is indeed a way to cure the potency, in a sense it is a process that rewinds and erases all the virus will do to a subject's cells. It is a formula, called V-Serum, that is the result of multiple tests and research as well as use of many chemicals. The process cannot be written as it would bring danger to this company, however what can be said is that the V-Serum and the T-virus are held in the laboratories in the basement of the estate. They cannot be removed under any circumstances.
Chris tightened his fist about the papers and let them drop to the floor. He became distant with all of this, with the mansion, the nightmarish notes, Rebecca, his team, everything. It were as though he was watching himself in a dream, looking at it all become slowly worse and he could do nothing about it. Thousands of theories raced through his mind. What if the scientists kidnapped the victims and injected them with that virus? No no, they were eaten to death, they didn't rot. Although, now that he thought of it there was some immature rotting on the corpses around the bite marks. Could it have been that some of the "subjects" escaped and were ravaging the countryside? Maybe those dogs outside were also infected somehow.
But that wasn't important. Some science program was running tests like this, illegal tests. It was biological warfare, Chris knew it from his experience in the military. Because of his rank, he had often overheard discussions of the biological enhancement given to soldiers to make them elite. A drug that would have no long term effects, it would be almost natural, and it would be flushed out with your body's waste systems. No side effects. Yea, except for the whole dying and becoming a zombie part. There were more papers, and Chris was drawn to read forth. However a coughing croak just beyond the door inspired him to freeze and stare at the second door, opposite the one he had come in through. He took a step back, rustling through the papers as he listened to slow, monotonous footsteps. As he listened he heard something strange, the steps seemed to be…soggy, as they squished down whatever hall lay upon the other side of the door.
Chris stealthily slunk towards the door, pressing his ear against it to listen. The squelching footsteps were fading, wandering away. And then, they stopped. Chris listened, listened hard. But he could only hear coarse breaths, as though someone was wounded. Chris thought of the notes and papers, turning back to stuff what he could fit into his pockets for future investigations. However, little did he know he had failed to grab the papers holding information about the virus experimentation. Quietly he went back to the door. He'd just poke his head out without making a sound, see what it was, and make a move from that point. Sophomoric? Yes, but what choice did he have with nothing but a bowie knife to defend himself. His fingers gripped the doorknob, and quietly twisted it. He felt the soft jolt as the door was opened, as though it had not been opened in a long time, and he creaked it open.
Chris peered out into a dark hallway that ran off in front of him then curved right at the end. There was a staircase leading down to his immediate left, and what looked to be a small ledge looking down upon the first floor. Along the walls beside the stairs were hundreds of pictures, some even in old black and white, all clustered together upon the tacky yellow wallpaper. Further down the hallway before him, windows lay open wide, allowing the silvery blue moonlight to flutter into the room alongside the gentle floating drapes. There was no light save for a chandelier above the staircase, which illuminated very little from its point.
That is when he heard it. A soft, moist cough. Like a short, gurgling choke that lurches forth when someone chokes upon food. It was to his right, just behind the door which stood open, blocking whatever it was. The choke grunted deeply, then transformed into a panting breath. It was like a horse's lungs, deep and fast; and sniffing. Chris ran cold and hot, his body freezing up as his muscles burned with adrenaline. His fingers, soaked in his own sweat, grasped the knife as he listened beyond the other side of the door; listening to the breathing.
Suddenly the panting became faster, deeper as it coarsely heaved behind the door. Faster and faster, but nothing else stirred. Nothing else in the entire hall moved, only the incessant breathing that grew and grew. Chris edged in his boots, frozen with fear. Horrified, he heard the floorboards beneath him creak. And the panting stopped. The breath was held and nothing, no sound could be heard.
Chris didn't move, he refused to breathe. His heart drilled inside of him, shooting blood in spasms throughout his veins. It was so quiet he could feel his temples pulsating in his eardrums. There was nothing left to do. His slippery hands squeezed upon the doorknob, and pulled it back away from blocking the hall upon the other side. He closed the door behind him and gaped in horror at the complete blackness that chilled him. He could see nothing. But he could smell it. He knew it could only be one word. Rot, and it was sweltering in his mouth and nostrils. He watched himself, as though he had no control over it. His mind frozen, his body simply acted to the darkness. Reaching into his back pants pocket, he pulled out the small golden Zippo lighter.
His subtly quivering arm rose with lighter in hand, and with a clink he opened the top hatch. He felt the coarse ridges of the flint beneath his sweating thumb. For a moment he hesitated, and then he pulled the flint down. Sparks, and fire. Oh Jesus.
Glinting white eyes flared, gnarling yellow teeth, and the foul hot breath gnashed at him in the dim glow. Cold, mushy wet hands gripped him and drove him back. The lighter went out in his hand and they fell into darkness. Chris felt slime and filth smear upon his face and vest, and he violently wrenched his body around. The assailant was twisted into the air from Chris' heavy drive, and Chris grabbed his face and drove him skull first into the hard wood floor. His knee followed through, crushing the rib cage; and he drove the knife deep into the attacker's throat. Standing, he stumbled back with a quaky unease as he listened to the attacker gurgling and wheezing for life as it drowned in its own blood. He had not felt that shiver since his first fight, the feeling of an adrenaline high. His nerves were racked as he stumbled around for something to light his way again. His fingers slid over a light switch, and he desperately flicked it on.
There his eyes fell upon it. Only it wasn't a man. It wasn't even human. The bleak, dull eyes rolled back into the misshaped skull. It's jaw, twisted and snapped away from its mouth lay partially open, still moving and cracking as it tried to breathe. It's neck was bloated, it's face covered in pink blisters. The skin itself was rotted and a dull grayish blue, bubbled with pus and rotted meat. The scalp was torn open, and a red-stained skull glimmered beneath the matted hair. He wore a lab coat, beneath a tie and suit. All were torn to shatters, smeared with grime and blood. His shirt itself was ripped open, exposing his rib cage with was partially enveloped by the swollen, veined organs that pumped and squirted with sickening squishing noises beneath.
And then Chris noticed something. Noticed something that horrified him. A name tag, John Toleman, bioengineer research assistant. This thing is a person, or was. The stench finally broke him. It plagued his nostrils and throat, lurching a lump up in him as he realized what it was. Chris turned away and puked upon the floor, gagging at the awful rotting corpse. It was a zombie. A goddamn zombie. He remembered the notes he had found:
…because of the decomposition the subject will only be enhanced to a much more simpler form…with the intention to feed upon anything that is truly living.
This man had been infected whatever that virus was. He had died, that much was obvious. But, despite the signs of rot, it also looked as though he had been literally torn in pieces. Like he had been mauled. Chris shivered, but he continued to try and think it all through. There would have had to of been more of them, maybe they attacked him. To go after every living thing…that's why it attacked him like that. It wanted to eat him. If there was something that could chill Chris before, the thought of something trying to eat him certainly replaced it. That is just screwed to shit. But, why would they infect a researcher with the virus? No, not unless he did it himself because he had run out of test subjects. And maybe it got out of hand and the virus spread through him.
Chris stood, wiping his lips with his arm. Whatever it was, he had to get away from that horrible smell, and back to Rebecca. He rose and glanced at the creature before he turned towards the door he had come through, staring at the hideous corpse that lay in contortion upon the stained carpet. Chris stopped, he had noticed something that kind of burned at his temples. The fingers, the skinned fingers of the corpse were twitching. Well no, not twitching, they were moving; each finger gently curled and opened again. Chris scooped the knife on the floor and stepped back, stumbling into the railing that hung over the first floor below. He watched the fingers finally curl into a fist that began to quiver in tension, the ravaged head began to spasm, the jaw began to twist and click as the teeth chattered together.
"Jesus," Chris wanted to move but for some reason he couldn't. He was curious, and besides if he'd taken it down before what's to say he couldn't now?
Suddenly its chest lurched up, the ribs poking through the flesh and the spine cracking. The entire body began to squirm, spasms wriggling the wet muscles and spurting blood from the gaping wounds. Then it began to moan, an unearthly snarling grunt that was deep and barreled from the vocal cords. Its arms rose and began flailing around as if trying to grab something, the fingernails scraping along the walls. The head was whipping around now, its hair flailing in a wet blur. Okay, maybe it was time he left.
Chris wanted to get through the door he came in from, but between him and its handle lay the corpse and it's violent tremors. Chris turned and quickly stumbled down the stairs. He hopped down onto the second floor just as he heard a sudden roar, something straight from his nightmares. Chris scrambled down a short corridor and slammed his shoulder into a door as he heard the monster behind him scramble about. He turned the handle and went frozen with fear as it fell apart in his grip.
"Shit shit shit!" he panicked under his breath. Chris began beating into the door, but it was a heavy, solid oak. The monster clambered down upon the stairs behind him, snarling and screaming. It wasn't what it was, it was worst it was so much worse. He stepped back and beat his thick boot into the socket for the door knob, again and again. It started to come loose. The monster drew closer as it stumbled to regain full strength-
Chris spat curses at the goddamn door as he slammed his boot again and again, each time breaking it a little further.
The monster was at the bottom of the stairs-
Chris turned over his shoulder to see it crawling frantically toward him, watching it twinge as it came hungrily.
The door rattled loosely now. Chris stepped back, and threw his entire body weight against it. Nothing, it held. He did it again, nothing. Chris stepped back farther, and just felt the grasp of cold fingers at his leg before he launched forward into the door. It was slammed open and Chris fell upon the hard wood floor on the other side. He scrambled to his feet, turning left back towards the drug room where Rebecca was. Rebecca, he had to get to that room, it had a lock. He bashed into double doors and slammed them shut behind him. A lock, thank god! Chris fumbled for the latch and clicked it to the left, safe.
He slumped with his back against the doors, letting his breath catch up to him. Looking about him, another tight hallway that was riddled with light from outside. A sudden flash illuminated the room, and thunder crashed outside. Then he heard it behind him. Thump thump thump thump, the sound of bare feet pumping across the floor as they grew near. He turned away from the door just in time to see it rattle and be slammed into from the opposing side, the monster was up and running. Another slam and the locked door was nearly broken open. Screw this. Chris took off around a corner, past a line of windows and several more locked doors when he heard the monster come crashing in. The drumming thumps rolled down the hall after him, the raspy grunting breaths growing louder.
Chris turned just in time to see it round the corner behind him. Brilliant white eyes, a purple face flushed with blood, rippling muscles that tore through the rotted skin. Before he could move any faster, it was upon him, and a powerful slash ripped down his back followed by a thrusting shove into the far wall. His neck cracked as his skull was beat again and again into a wall, the monster's fist clenched like a snake about his hair. Chris barely managed to turn and thrust the knife into the monster's skull. It stumbled back and he saw it's long fingernails thrashing about, dripping with blood from Chris' scalp. The monster finally gripped the knife and wrenched it free, blood spewing from his skull as he stared vengefully at Chris. He's alive? Why the hell is he alive?
No more, Chris bolted swift as he could before the monster could follow. Around the corner, he slammed into the door at the end of the hall. He opened it and slammed it shut, saw the lock, and bolted it. He turned around in the black shadows and spotted a heavy dresser. Quickly he got behind it and shoved it into the door just in time to feel the monster bang into it upon the other side. The monster beat and scratched against the door, but finally he couldn't get through. Chris sighed and turned away from the door, relieved to hear the frustration of that son of a bitch. Before him was a long hall, completely black save for the dim light that crept in through the windows, the thick particles of dust floating about in it's silvery aura.
Upon the wall opposite the windows danced the shadows of the brush and leaves. Few tables and large shelves littered the walls, and at the end the hall turned right. Weaponless, Chris moved swiftly but with caution. His head throbbed, and he could feel it beginning to swell. Rebecca could patch it up, but he'd have to actually get to her first. Then he realized…the monster had scratched him. Oh jesus, was he infected by that T-virus thing? No matter what he had to get back to Rebecca. Just move, and move quickly. Softly, hardly making a sound, he trudged his way down the hall. He came to the turn, and silently peered around the corner. Nothing but the dim glow of the windows. He continued to move when he heard a tap. A gentle tap, and it could barely have been heard. But to Chris, it was like a bomb had just gone off. He froze, it had come from behind him. Another small tap, louder this time. He turned, to see nothing. But around the corner…
Chris jumped back and looked down the long hall but could see nothing. Nothing was there.
"House is too damn old," he muttered under his breath. He felt odd as he said it, as though he was trying to comfort himself.
Then he heard it again, only louder. It was a rattled thud. The windows, it had to have come from the windows. It was the sound of glass being jostled against glass. Then he saw it. The soft, black silhouette of a man against the wall, encased in the light from the window. His arms were raised, and he was dully thumping against the glass as though trying to get through. Then Chris could hear it, his soft moan that was muffled because of the glass. Another tap, and Chris turned to see more of those horrible things staring at him through the windows from outside. Their thumping became louder all as one, heavier and their wanting groans for flesh built higher.
Suddenly they were at every window, groups of them. Chris could only guess a dozen, he didn't know how many. They were all outside, peering in. And in the distance, at the far end of the hall, he could hear the scraping and screaming of the monster that had chased him down. The chanting noise growing louder and louder, a chorus of horror as they began to beat against the windows faster and harder. The berserker at the far door ranting in a bloodlust as it buried it's claws through the wood of the thick oak. They were coming in, getting in and he could do nothing. He could run to the other door but, what if they broke through as he ran past? They'd overpower him. Louder and louder they grew, their moans and beatings against the glass drumming in his ears as his heart beat.
The glass shattered. Chris had no other choice, and he ran forth into the wet, griping hands. Immediately he felt all hope become submerged in the sea of groans and arms that reached for him. One by one they seized him, their gaping mouths coming closer. He felt them grip his throat, his shirt, legs, and arms.
Ahead he could see it now, the door at the other end. It was there! Making a final leap he heaved his body towards it-
and felt the cold fingers' grip harden upon him, and he was dragged back into the lurching hoards of zombies.
