-CHAPTER 7-

King felt his heart pump more rapidly when he began reading the researcher's report. It had been only several minutes since he began scouring the first hall for any clues or disks to sabotage Umbrella. He had that strong feeling the company would reemerge, whether incognito or behind the scenes. However, the sheet that he grasped firmly in his hands was already too much for his brain to absorb. He knew what the T-virus did and what other unspeakable things it was capable of doing, but whoever these people were, they were playing with hellfire.

He read the paper, which lay flat on the desk of some researcher named Ned. Apparently, something must have happened that sent the nutty scientists fleeing for their lives; the table was cluttered as if someone desperately searched the place and stalked out. An Umbrella scientist, abandoning his work? That scared him. There were also half-written memos and the such. The page he found was hand-written, making it practically useless for proof, that is unless he could track this Ned and use him. His eyes sporadically moved, skimming through the report.

The T-virus S and the LT Experiment

Nothing can be said about the ideals of the company and of Dr. Rieger. However, despite all that's happened, we managed to figure out a possible way to finalize the T-virus. Yes, a perfect T-virus with barely any flaws at all. In fact, it shall no longer be called by the title "T-virus".

How we derived this wonder started with an accident. After heavy experimentation on a "prisoner" named Paul Jennings, we actually created a version of the infamous T-virus by splicing its RNA structure with that of a rare bacteria's. This resulted in a much stronger virus, where the effects of the T-virus occurred at such an incredible rate, the current vaccine for it was made obsolete. We didn't alert our superiors about it right away. Instead, we stored it away for safe keeping. This T-virus that replicated itself at such high rates was decidedly called "T-virus Superior", or simply "T-virus S". Whenever, if ever, we mention the original one, we'll refer to it as "T-virus R" for "regular".

In leu of that, we have deducted that based on Dr. Wesker's quick thinking and studious endeavors, the parasitic sample his group acquired in Romania holds unimaginable potential. For one thing, the parasite has the highest endurance rate and survival rate of any of the parasites we've ever encountered. As Dr. Wesker proclaimed, it could be capable of making our bio weapons unstoppable. Just thinking about it makes us all jittery; instead of zombies, we get high-metabolic soldiers who feed on prey, do not rot, can survive damage to the brain and other vitals, and fight on despite neural impulses, such as pain. It's every scientists' dream here in the company. However, because of rarity and slight instability, we've been unable to exploit this wonderful specimen. Still, we've hypothesized that with proper splicing, Parasite P, and the new T-virus S, we would create the ultimate bio weapon, much greater than the others. The LT experiment, named from the initials of a former "candidate" that helped us create the Genetic Virus, will be continued despite the disposal of Jennings. This time, Smith shall be the next host, serving as the link for the supreme work of art.

Ned Levin, Head of the Microbiology Department

Jan. 4 log.

King was about to turn to Joker and show him the researcher's log until several shots echoed throughout the chilly laboratory. King's and Joker's eyes met, filled with a sense of worry for their comrades. Without any words being said, they hurried out of the third room in the hall, racing toward the end where Queen and Ace began their search; it definitely wasn't Jack, since they knew he never carried a handgun. When they reached it, Joker grabbed at the handle, but it remained. The door was locked somehow from the other side. Joker gave King a shocked look.

"It's . . . it's locked."

King took the door right next to it, the plate reading "172". Just as he entered, he heard some alarm coming from the same area he heard the gunshots.

"Damn it!" he yelled, expecting their mission basically kaput.

"We have to go around and find them!" Joker cried, holding up his handgun.

"No shit, but I don't know my way around. This was supposed to be a covert operation!"

King and Joker ignored the test tubes scattered among the scientific clutter, heading for the nearest door. They found themselves in yet another identical hall with more doors dispersed about the walls. The plates were in the 190's.

"We can't be far," King said, "they've gotta be around here somewhere." Joker nodded in agreement.

They broke out into a sprint, no longer caring that their boots were clattering loudly on the gray floors. The alarm could still be heard from afar, making King wonder what was taking the security team so long to arrive, assuming they had one. It would be eerily unusual if there was no one left in the labs.

Joker, who'd been following King, slowed down upon seeing the boss stop in his tracks. The alarm seemed to stop; perhaps he noticed, he thought.

"Hey boss, what's up?"

" . . ."

"Is it the alarm?"

"No."

King was trying to maintain his composure, but Joker could tell that this time he couldn't. It was the first time he saw a look close to fear show in his masculine features. King turned to Joker and gave him a grievously serious look.

"Get your gun ready."

Joker was left in the dark, yet, he trusted his leader well. He gave him a look of concern, his gun prepped and ready to fire. Then, he smelled it. The smell of dead bodies. All of the Hell's Angels mercenaries knew the smell from various other times. And for Joker and King, the smell of rot was unmistakable. However, King was jarred by it, not making much sense. They turned the corner, King pausing and holding his gun up. There was a scientist standing idly facing the door they needed to access. He wavered about back and forth, looking stunned. There were fresh blood stains on his jacket, enough to cause anyone to be on alert, but the boss was breathing rapidly, aiming his gun at the man's skull.

"What are you doing?" Joker whispered.

"Turn around slowly," King said aloud. There was no response from the man, although his head shifted a little. The man did as he was told eventually. His eyes were glassy, the face pale and expressionless. Joker imagined the man in the lab coat was in a state of shock, again, something most mercenaries on their team experienced. But something was wrong. And Joker realized this when he saw its intestines hanging out, the man walking nonchalantly, if not clumsily, toward them. He saw King open fire, the very first shot smacking into its forehead. It crumpled to the ground with a pitiful moan, twitching wildly as a small puddle of blood and whitish fluid spilled.

"What the hell . . ."

"Save the questions for later," King said quickly, "the others are in danger."

King seemed to know exactly what was going on at that point, so Joker followed close behind, taking one last glimpse at the broken body on the floor-

-when the door opened, more zombies shambling inside with just about the same wounds; they all seemed to have been partially eaten in various parts, indiscriminately. Joker held the urge to vomit, instead holding his gun out and firing at the walking corpses. What a balls-up operation this turned out to be, he thought to himself.

R E B E C C A

The night felt like forever, making Rebecca all the more anxious. She couldn't take the fact that they were getting away with such atrocities, and, as a result, wanted so badly to get someone, anyone there to stop them. Then again, if the President and Congress were in on it as well, who was there to call upon? She spent what seemed like hours trying to think up a plan, but not to much avail. It appeared the only thing to do was what she tried to avoid the entire time; she needed to go back.

However, this time, she would go alone. She didn't want to put the lives of Nash and Dolph on the line because of something she wanted to do. She prepped her gun, counting her bullets. She had nine left, not including her loaded Browning HP. Rebecca took one last look at her room before heading off, wondering if what she was doing was right or just completely stupid. Maybe it was both.

She stepped out quietly, trying not to wake anybody. She decided to take the same path outside only to notice the pouring rain. It wasn't too bad, she told herself. With a deep breath and a simple click of her gun's safety being taken off, she strode into the darkness. The forest was less foggier, but just as creepy. She didn't like the idea of being alone, but if anything jumped out at her, she had her gun at least. She briefly thought about the strange zombie that she had dispatched at the tunnel. It wasn't infected by a virus, but by a parasitic creature of some sort. It also seemed more intelligent, if the word even fit as a description. In its arm it held a giant weapon, something the zombies could never do; they were lucky if they got a door to open.

She shook off the thought, looking out at the door on the bridge from the cliff she'd climb down. Again, she was there, the door having the same riddle with the same password. By the time she was inside, her heart was in her throat, the cold, rocky environment making her feel like she was back at the mansion's courtyard. She just couldn't shake off the incident.

Rebecca hurried on, her wet sneakers muted in the natural ground beneath. She went down the ladder once again, wondering why there was such light security in a place such as this. She walked slowly down the torch-lit path, her breathing heavy. She ignored the rooms labeled "6" and "7", stopping when she saw the door with the inscription reading "Area 8".

"Here you are," she whispered to herself, despite her feelings.

The metallic door swung open easily, a draft hitting her face as she did so. The room was much more spacious than Area 6's. In addition, there were cells with much higher security. Heavier steel doors with a single tiny barred window on each kept the prisoners locked safely away, somehow making Rebecca feel ironically uneasy; these must have been much more dangerous subjects . . .

Continuing onward, she stopped mid-stride when she felt her shoe step on something crinkly. She took her foot off what looked like a slip of paper, lifting it and wiping off the dirt. Her spirits lifted when she figured out it was her note, the one that was stolen! All sorts of ideas began to float through her mind as to just how the paper wound up at that spot, but she figured that wasn't the time to wonder; point was, she had it. Feeling only a speck of relief, she glimpsed once more at it, her eyes pausing once more at the message left about Area 8. It said to dig. She glanced around the empty prison curiously. What could her source mean by "dig"? Yeah, the ground was made out of dirt, but the questions were where and for what?

She looked at the wall at the far end of the room, noticing three suspicious-looking paintings. The other prison in Area 6 never had them. One was of a couple mourning the death of a child, which was quite disturbing. The second was a picture of man dancing hysterically, a dead body next to him, which was just plain creepy to her. The last was of an older lady looking at a slightly distorted reflection of herself, only she was dead in the mirror image . . .

Rebecca glanced once more at the list of "hints", wondering what purpose they could have. She became frustrated, but something suddenly sparked inside of her when she saw yet another hint. Could it actually correlate? The hint said, "right below the funny man." Looking at the middle picture, she decided that was what they meant. It was the only hint that had anything to do with the portraits.

Rebecca crouched down and began digging, the dry dirt becoming moist as she encountered the lower layers. All forms of insects with many legs crawled around, adding to her disgust. She took a deep breath through her mouth to calm her jarred nerves, hoping, praying that nothing would come through that door. After a few minutes of endless digging, she hit something hard and metallic. She wiped it clean, simultaneously trying to figure out what the hell it was.

"A switch?"

Rebecca hated any kind of switches. Ever since the incident, switches were gateways to hell. Then again, if whoever wrote her the letter added this in, they must've known if it was dangerous or not. Going by a simple assumption, which she hardly did, she pressed it, scared to see some sort of trap set in motion. To her surprise, there was a soft shifting noise, like stone rubbing against stone. She looked up at where the sound came from and saw the paintings spin around, revealing three levers.

"Oh, no. Now levers?"

Again, something she wasn't too fond of. She stood up, absently-mindedly wiping her hands on her jeans, staring at the untouched levers. What horrors could they actually hold, she wondered. There were six cells around her, so her guess was that each one unlocked two, or something like that.

Great, now I have the chance to get pummeled by a bunch of raving psychopathic lunatics. Who would've guessed Christmas would come twice this year?

It was Jill's sarcasm ringing in her mind. Thinking about her ex-STARS comrades always soothed her when faced with stressful situations. However, this time, she was completely alone.

Rebecca's eyes lightened as she spotted a rolled up slip of paper beneath the lever in the middle. Once she grabbed hold of it, she unraveled it and read the not-so-long memo.

The Levers

Those who dare to confront any of the prisoners must know this. Three levers lie before you, but one must realize that there is an order in which you pull the levers, for which cells shall unlock fully depends on the order you pull them. From left to right, the levers are numbered one through three respectively. The cells are also numbered as well, as one can tell from the engravement on the doors. The way the levers work is simple; the first two levers you pull down get their numbers added. The last one subtracts that total, equaling a number that's on two of the six doors. However, it is becoming of me to mention that each cell contains a subject we deem extremely dangerous. Whether or not they cooperate with whatever it is you want from them is on you. And for . . .

The abridged note, torn in half, left Rebecca at that. It seemed like more of a threat than a warning. Dangerous subjects? More like they were hiding something. She didn't like the idea one bit, not even with a handgun at her disposal. She'd seen enough to know a mere gun wasn't enough to survive against Umbrella's bio weapons. Rebecca glimpsed one last time at the note, her mind trying to fight against reason. She could either trust the mystery people who obviously knew more than she was being told, or she could head back again only to do their dirty bidding at the crack of dawn.

Her eyes shifted into a stern look, filled with much hatred for Umbrella. Gathering courage, she decided she'd pull the levers.

Add the first two, then subtract the total with the last.

It seemed simple to perform, but the outcome was what worried her. She took one last troubled look at the doors, the silence within them seeming most ominous. The doors were labeled, just as the memo said. The doors to her right read 2, 0, 4, and the ones on the left read 4, 2, 0 . . .

The numbers weren't the only thing she could see. Beneath the left side's door number 2 was another engraving, this one a single word. It read "Veronica", the writing quite sloppy and seemly done in a hurry. She also took into account that the name was registered on her list of hints. Rebecca's guess was that her "benefactor" wrote in an attempt to adumbrate.

"Well, this must be a sure sign," she whispered aloud, the sound of something breaking the silence making her feel so much calmer. The door's number was 2, so she'd open both 2's. Rebecca pulled the lever on the left and the one on the right, leaving the middle one for last. Nothing happened. Her temporary confidence faded, until she noticed the switch on the floor she unearthed. It blinked a bluish color. She crouched down and flicked it on, getting back on her feet instantly upon hearing the loud click of a lock on her only way out. The levers flipped over again, the stone wall revealing its macabre paintings again. She turned around immediately after, watching the two doors, one at the left-middle and the other at the right-end, unlock in the exit's stead. There was no movement. No sounds, no moans, nothing. Rebecca moved in a little nearer, keeping to her right in order to view what was in the closest door, the one on the left.

The cell was barren, the wooden chain-held bench inside filthy and deserted. That was just about all that was inside. She took a quick closer look at the inside and caught at the corner of her eyes the only actual white object in the sheets on the bench; it was some papers.

She kept her eyes on the other room, afraid that if she turned around for a minute, that would ultimately be her last. The papers slid out easily from underneath the brown sheets, surprisingly cleaner than the cell itself. It must've been a log of some sort, a diary of a poor prisoner, dated back more than a month ago. She didn't want to, but she began to skim through them. The first entries listed were dated back a month in a half ago. The prisoner was a man, as he spoke often about a woman who was his lover. Apparently, he was once a member of the government since he mentioned the President's men betraying him. She wondered if the President did issue these experiments, but stopped skimming when the next entry caught her interest.

Can't imagine what they injected into me the other day. At first, I began to think it was a final lethal injection, since I overheard them saying something like "he's nothing more than another reject." I was still amazed they didn't turn me into a zombie or something.

I still can't believe the President issued my incarceration. I still don't know what I did wrong, but my instincts tell me someone else is pulling the strings. I just refused to take this pill some men in black offered me. Now, I'm here. I was hoping I could share this with my "cell mate" in the next one over, but the next thing I knew was taken away to God-knows-where. Chase must be dead.

I know it's morning, but I have no clue what day or month it is. My memory seems to be fading, everything I know becoming more like a dream. I do remember, though, the girl in the cell across and to the left, the other prisoner number 2. She was placed inside, the fiendish men saying something like "you're our savior", or something close to that. I don't want to die here. Anywhere would be better than this foul prison. I want to see light, I want to see you again, Melissa. But I'm afraid. Afraid that if they don't kill me with their sadistic experiments, I'll just forget about you. Should anyone find this, please locate Melissa Hart. She lives somewhere in New York, although I can no longer remember.

Cant find you. I miss u.

Why not here? Can hink strate, don wanna die alone.

The rest began to get more and more illegible, Rebecca's eyes stuck in a shocked position. Those monsters, they were just as horrible as Umbrella. She needed to hurry and get this information to Leon, or at least make him aware while she searched for more proof.

Rebecca turned around slowly, her eyes meeting the dark cell across the hall. The girl in the cell across and to the left. The "other prisoner number 2". The girl there was probably some turning point in their vile experimentation. She advanced cautiously, surprised when she looked inside. Besides the cell, there was a small hole near the floor. Rebecca knelt down a good four feet away, trying to figure out where it led exactly; there was nothing but pitch darkness. Her eyes shifted to the rim of the hole, the moist rocky wall obviously scraped open. She saw several chipped-off finger nails embedded into the stone, sending a shiver throughout her body.

With a strong feeling of remorse for the poor girl, even though she knew nothing about her, she was about to search around some more until she heard the sound of a distant door open from somewhere. Rebecca faltered as she stood up, contemplating what to do. She gave one last look at the escape route below her and suddenly knew she had no other choice; she was going to have to follow the girl's path.

Q U E E N

It had taken them quite some time to navigate through the deserted laboratory. Doors everywhere were locked, and they ran into nothing but half-rotting bodies slumped on the floor as if instantly killed. Both Queen and Ace could only wonder what exactly was going on. It was apparent there was a spill, that T-virus King was involved with several years back had a connection. But as far as they knew, they were fine and unaffected by any pathogen. The question was answered when they arrived at the hall with an elevator. In plain sight was another zombie swallowing chunks of flesh fervently from a scientist. It clawed ruthlessly around the woman's eye sockets, making a mess out of her face. Ace had taken out his daggers, but Queen put out her arm to stop him.

"The other bodies were bitten, too. That's probably what made them these things. Don't get near them."

Ace just nodded, his face pale. Queen adjusted her aim, the zombie rising as it somehow became aware of their presence. Only several feet away, it shambled over, actually faster than the other one Ace took care of. The zombie must have been fresh, its skin pale, but still relatively whole. Trying her hardest not to feel anything for the pitiful ghoul, she opened fire, the very first shot nailing it straight in the head. It exhaled raspily, sinking to the ground delicately. They both stepped over the two corpses, Queen simultaneously thinking about whether she should put a bullet through the eaten one's head, too.

They let it be for the moment, taking a closer look at the elevator. The power, luckily, was still supplied to it. However, for some inexplicable reason, several floors weren't available; it simply said "an error has occurred".

"Where are we heading?" Ace asked with a puzzled look on his face. "The others are probably still somewhere on this floor, looking for us."

"We can't get anywhere with all those damn locks, plus the radios won't work."

Queen tried to maintain her cool, despite the mission's failure in a matter of minutes. The place was still abandoned, which meant all they had to do was grab shit and get the hell out. That and find the others. However, she was most worried about the whole "virus" thing. If it was as contagious as it seemed so far, they were all in for a troubling night. She wasn't as much scared of the things as she was wary. But Ace seemed very pale, the thought of the living dying and rising back up not so uplifting.

King had mentioned that Umbrella was involved with the T-virus; had the infected been clean, it would have been a breeze. The place was a biological battle field, the lab reeking with infection and useful sabotage data. But in their current position, surviving was their main priority.

"Ace, you're right though. We should report back to King before proceeding. He needs to know what we uncovered, and if he already knows . . ." She paused briefly, her face finally distorted with true fear. ". . . well, then lets hope they're safe."

They both went back, making sure not to get any of the dead's parts on their boots once again. Queen paused, though, her heart rising to her throat at what the corner of eyes picked up. She turned around at the corpse that was getting devoured. The wounds on its face and neck were swollen, the outside "layer" drying already. The hands also appeared unnaturally bony, as if the body was still . . . trying to live.

"Hey, we need to hurry," Ace urged, not paying any mind to Queen's quick investigation. She turned around and headed off with him, walking into the same hall they were in a minute ago. Somewhere in front of them in the gray hall, a door rose up, Queen instantly raising her gun as Ace followed suit. A young man in a lab coat with dark brown hair walked through, his expression appearing quite distressed. He wasn't a zombie. Feeling awkward, she didn't know exactly how to react; he wasn't infected, but he was still the enemy. She put down her gun, afraid he'd run if he saw it pointed at him, then walked a bit closer.

"Queen!" Ace whispered, obviously not feeling cool about the idea. The man finally turned in their direction, his eyes conveying intense fear. She was about to tell him that she was human, not a zombie, until he raised a gun, a Desert Eagle she noticed. She was temporarily stunned, the thought never occurring to her, until she was shoved out of the way, Ace yelling her name in greater fear.

"Ace!" Queen cried, as the hot blood began to pour onto her arm. The scientist ran off somewhere, but she didn't give a rat's ass anymore. Ace was shot on his upper shoulder, the blast instantly knocking him unconscious. He was also bleeding at an unbearable rate.

Shit, gotta get him somewhere with medical supplies, dammit it's all my fault. Oh, Ace . . .

Queen reached into her side-pack and pulled out some gauze she carried for minor injuries. It wasn't good enough to patch up his wound, but it was all she had until she could take him someplace safe. She bit at the gauze to tear it after wrapping his arm, trying to be careful, but swift. He began to wince, a good sign considering the wound he received.

"Ace? Speak to me, Ace!"

" . . . ugh, fuck . . ."

"That's good! That's really good, Ace. Keep saying that. I'm gonna take you someplace where I can heal that arm of yours, okay?" He put his good arm near her mouth, as if to quiet her down. In a low tone, he spoke, "The room . . . the one I entered alone, at the first hall . . . was a medical bay."

Queen nodded, pleased to hear he was still at least semi-conscious and that there was a room with something better than a band-aid. She lifted him carefully, making sure the bad arm wasn't being moved much. As she carried him further, her thoughts drifted to the man who shot at them. He clearly knew they weren't zombies; in fact, she believed that was what startled him. She hated the idea, but she'd have to leave Ace behind and track down the man. He was the only scientist left alive in the lab, and he'd know where they could escape, or go at least.

"Room 176 . . ." she said to herself, reading the number plate. She knew exactly which room it was by using the nearby zombie corpse as a landmark. It would be their haven for the moment.