Act 5:Wrath
Blood trickled down his arms as Drake treaded slowly exiting the Big Top, his legs weakened by constant running and the fall he had taken in his last fight. He felt light-headed as he swayed from side to side, his face covered in a crimson mask of blood, the warm smoke of his breathing escaped his mouth. No thoughts raced through his mind, no ideas or memories. He was a blank, leaning against a nearby trailer to regain his strength only to slide down to the ground. He shut his eyes in hopes that once he opened them again, it would all be over, that the nightmare would end. Then he saw it, the cold-burning emerald gaze of the demon. Drake's eyes burst open as he drew in a deep breath. "Jeremiah Smythe," he whispered. Wiping blood off his face, Drake grimaced as he rose to his feet.' In accordance to the laws of the theatre...I am the bad guy'. Smythe's words echoed in Drake's mind forcing a tight expression across his face. Now he knew just what kind of person he was dealing with. But things didn't seem to add up. 'What does Smythe have to do with Blake?' wondered Drake, walking back towards the town. A chilling wind blew across his face, the storm was growing in strength. Grinding his teeth against the cold, Drake saw something in the corner of his eye. Eyes wide, Drake stared at the sight of what was once a steel cage, its bars ripped to shreds. He noted small pools of blood mixed with strands of black fur. His eyes widened at the realisation of what the cage once held. He looked around uneasily, fearing that the Kodiak was somewhere around. "Great," he muttered. "Smokey's loose," he said grimly as he placed his goggles over his eyes. Turning his attention from the cage Drake noted an object lying on the ground, a thin layer of snow atop it. He bent on one knee, reaching out to it. 'A card?' wondered Drake brushing snow off the object. It was the size of a typical identification card, lacking any patterns, numbers or information of any sorts save for a strange insignia. A polygon of sorts with red and white stripes. Drake had a hunch that it had something to do with Smythe or Blake. Pocketing the card, Drake began his return trip to Casa Diablo.
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Daniel Hartmann held his shotgun tightly as the snow blew into his face, his beard feeling frozen against the numbing breeze as the Razor tore through what was left of Stonefeather. He had returned from checking Dr.Rajiv's clinic finding nothing but dead bodies and zombies. His favorite brown fur jacket was covered in their blood as they rushed him, shotgun blasts ripping them apart as they advanced towards him disregarding his weapon. Drake was out there somewhere on his own, looking to find out what had caused this disaster along with this Ada Wong character that Drake had told him about. Daniel frowned at the thought of the mysterious Ada Wong. He wasn't fond of wild cards and the supposed Federal Agent was definitely one he wouldn't bank on. Now he was out on the desolate Stonefeather streets, knee deep in snow while the winds blew more across thetown. "Look for survivors he said," mumbled Daniel to no one, thinking about his grandson. He had checked nearly all the houses of his neighbours only to find either chewed-up corpses or zombies, people he had known for years and had toiled with together in the mines. He wondered why he was spared their fate only tolive through an unfathomable nightmare. Memories of Kasserine Pass rushed through his mind, the sound of panzer fire and the chorus of death screams brought a shiverdown Daniel's spine. He thought he was done with the killing. Apparently he was wrong. A groan from behind him caused Daniel to snap out of his tangent, swinging his weapon around as he watched in horror as four or five zombies forced their way out of the snow.
"Here we go," whispered Daniel as he leveled his weapon at the first zombie that headed his way. Thunder resounded through the once-empty streets as blood and bone splattered against the white snow, the first zombie collapsing to its knees as a clean hole appeared through its chest. Daniel backed off, the other zombies running towards him with bloodied screeches and growls. He fired his shotgun again, blowing off an arm of an attacking zombie before smashing the butt of his weapon into the side of its head. Aware that he had little ammunition left, Daniel switched to close combat, handling his shotgun as an effective clubbing weapon. A devastating swing of the weapon ripped off another zombie's already loosened face but the deadman still kept coming forcing Daniel to ram the shotgun butt into its abdomen sending it crashing to the ground. The sight of more zombies heading his way tightened the already unbearable feeling in his gut. A zombie jumped out from the snow behind him with a monstrous howl, knocking Hartmann to the ground. Daniel punched the zombie in the face but to no avail as it lowered its head with ill intentions. 'Not here!' Daniel thought as he struggled to push his attacker off, every muscle in his body burning while he fought the zombie off. 'Not like this!' his mind screamed as memories of Kristoff, Kent and Drake flowed through his mind. Smashing the end of his palm under the zombie's chin the zombie released its death grip allowing Daniel to grab his shotgun and unload a shot into its head. He spun his head around to see more zombies heading towards him, panting heavily as his fingeres tightened around his weapon.
A large figure loomed behind the approaching zombies, a shadow hidden by snowfall and strong winds. Daniel squinted his eyes to make out what was coming, his heart skipping a beat as a feral roar, louder than anything he had heard before echoed throughout the streets. As though on cue, more snow blew into Daniel's face forcing him to shield his eyes with his arm, the howls of the wind nearly filtering out the sounds of limbs being torn apart and the groans of zombies. Nearly. He bent down on his knees as theblast of wind passed over, covering him in a thin layer of frost and snow. He rose to his feet, focusing his eyes to see nothing. 'What? Where'd the hell they go?' Daniel wondered. Clenching his teeth, Daniel trudged forward towards where he had sen the zombies. He looked around, seeing nothing except snow till he noticed the twitching of a dismembered arm. Daniel's eyes widened in shock as he saw what laid before him. The bodies of his attackers, mauled beyond recognition, their limbs scattered across the snow like discarded toys. Daniel forced a gulp down his dry throat. He caught the sight of a large shadow going around a corner and followed it only to stand before another desolate street. 'What was that?' Daniel wondered. No footprints could be seen, snowfall covering them as quickly as when they were made. Still even without the footprints Daniel knew whatever tore through those zombies had to be huge...and dangerous. And Drake was still out there. Daniel steeled himself as he loaded up his last four shotgun shells into his weapon before pressing on, feeling more determined than he ever had.
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"Here we go," muttered Drake, pointing his weapon at an attacking zombie. He fired two shots at what was once a woman but was now a shallow corpse, the first shot nailing it in the chest while the second grazed its neck as it stumbled forward. In the corner of his eye Drake could already see more zombies heading his way. 'Got no time for this' thought Drake loading his last clip into his .40, 'Or ammo. Need to get back to Blake's'. Drake rushed against the zombies, their slow movements unable to keep up with the lone lawman until a set of hands popped out of the snow to ensare him. 'Not again!' Drake fumed as he blasted blindly into the snow beneath him till it was stained in the crimson of blood. Freeing himself, the other zombies had already encircled him like carrion to a carcass, Drake able to make out their shadows behind the snowfall. Reaching into his pocket, Drake pulled out Ada's grenade, his finger already wrapped around the ring. A zombie pounced at him through the snow, forcing Drake to drop the explosive and whipped out his knife, slashing away at the zombie. Steel tore through flesh as the blade went clean across the zombie's chest followed by a tremendous kick to the gut. Grabbing the fallen grenade, Drake ran against the wind, slashing blindly at shadows, grunts and moans, feeling the blade cut through meat as he fought his way out of the zombies' death trap. After nearly twenty minutes of solid running, Drake slowed to a stop as the familiar gates of Blake Mansion came into view. Holding his knees while panting heavily, Drake looked up at the building with anger and disdain. The first time he was here, his search bore no fruit and was led into a trap by the mysterious Smythe. Who was to say that this time would be any different? Drake pulled out the plain card from his bloodied shirt's pocket and gave it a hard look. Wordlessly he headed for the mansion, unable to shake an uneasy feeling that seized him.
Upon reaching the front door, Drake knew something was wrong. The door was open. Usually small things like that went unnoticed especially under the present circumstances but after years of Police work including some SWAT training, Drake could already tell that something was different. Opening the door ever so slightly, Drake slipped into the main hall, weapon at the ready. Looking to the floor he noted footprints made by boots, snow melted on the floor leaving a trail that led him to the wine cellar. Drake frowned as he looked down the staircase that led to the cold and dark room. He had checked it the first time he was here and found nothing. Suspecting a trap, Drake hesitated. 'What now Hartmann?' he asked himself. With a sigh, he decided his next move, taking his first step down into the basement while the adage 'who dares wins' played in his mind. To his surprise, the wine cellar looked much different than before. Where once stood a wine rack now revealed a blue steel door. "Where'd that come from?" he wondered aloud, placing a cautious hand on the door. He noted the digital control panel to his right adorned with buttons and a vertical narrow slit. An inkling occured to him. He whipped out the card he had found in the circus and glanced at the control panel. Raising an eyebrow, he slowly inserted the card into the opening unsure of what to expect. A beeping sound alarmed him as the steel door slid open to reveal a narrow pathway, with steel pipes and tubes running along each side. The mysterious path was dimly lit making Drake wary of entering. "Nothing wagered, nothing gained," mumbled Drake, setting foot atop the metal grailing that paved his path. The sound of boots on steel echoed throughout the path as Drake tried his best to lighten his footsteps. His eyes were slightly irritated by the dim lighting of the tunnel, his eyes becoming far more accustomed to the darkness, the hisses of gas escaping the pipes putting him on edge. The path led to another door, similar to the one he encountered earlier. Only difference was he could see no openings for a keycard or anything else. Stepping forward, the door slid open automatically revealing a wider lighted hallway. The grip around his gun tightened, cold sweat rolling down his face. Drake stepped forward into the light, his eyes widened at the sight he looked upon.
Drake's gaze swept throughout the place where he stood, a sterile smell thick in the hallway similar to the smell of a hospital or a clinic made its way up his nostrils. The smell fit its surroundings, a large steely hall with two storeys, a rectangular grail catwalk aligned the walls leading to several other pathways. Drake could already make out four rooms on the floor he was on while a steel staircase awaited him in the centre of the room. Raising his eyebrow, Drake lowered his weapon, more or less certain that there was no danger present, for the time being. He strode towards the first room on his right, the automated door sliding open with a slight hiss. Venturing into the room, Drake's eyes focused on a row of four large tube-like devices lined against the end of the room. They emitted a blue hue, holding strange deformed creatures in a vicous liquid of sorts. "What the Hell are these?" whispered Drake, putting a hand on the surface of the tubes. Like pieces of floating flesh, they reminded Drake of stillborn babies floating in a womb. Or cocoons that held something. A twitch from one of the creatures forced Drake to pull his hand back cautiously. Sniffing, Drake looked around the room a little more before leaving, the blue glow of the tubes following him as he left the room. He found nothing of much value in the other rooms, mostly notes and files detailing things that Drake could not comprehend. Drake felt relief when he came across a box of 9 mm Luger rounds and a container of painkillers. He staved off the urge to take them, he needed to be alert while he was in enemy territory, but then again, the whole town had become enemy territory. He headed for the second floor, reloading his near empty weapon with a fresh clip while he pocketed the empty one for use later. Following the metal path, Drake headed towards a corridor where he could see flashes of red light. His curiosity got the better of him, urging Drake to check it out. Silently, Drake strode towards the source of the corridor which led to an open room where a large computer sat at its end, its screen flashing angry red as numbers ran across it. Walking into the room, Drake noticed more of the large glass tubes lined in rows at both sides of the room. Some were empty, other contained strange-looking items made of flesh, different to the ones Drake had seen earlier. Keeping his focus on the computer, Drake looked furiously for a communication system of sorts but the large control panel that sat before the screen was alien to Drake as his fingers hovered over its buttons. With a sigh, Drake pounded his fist onto the console with frustration.
"Easy on the merchandise Sheriff," said a voice from behind him.
Drake turned to see Ada Wong standing behind him calmly observing him. "Wong!" Drake exclaimed, happy to see her. "How'd you get here?" he asked suddenly.
"Noticed a big door in the cellar. Figured it lead me to Blake. Looks like you beat me to it," Ada said, walking up to the computer.
Drake shrugged. "I haven't found Blake yet. Look we've got to talk. I just came from the circus and-"
"What were you doing at the circus?" Ada asked skeptically, cutting Drake off.
"Some guy, an English guy named Smythe. Jeremiah Smythe. Called me on this fixed radio and told me to meet him over at the circus. He set me up. Was barely able to make it out of there," Drake explained.
Ada frowned. "This Smythe, what did he look like?"
"I don't know. Guy in his early forties, mid-forties or something. Silver hair, green eyes, British accent...the works," Drake said as he tried to remember how Smythe looked like. "He said he was the brains behind what's going on here. Said something about 'setting things in motion' or something like that. Whoever he is, he's been walking around town with the Razor and the zombies out there," Drake told her, looking at the screen before him. "I don't think it's Blake we're supposed to go after."
Ada gave Drake a calm look before turning to the screen. "First things first Sheriff. Since we're here, we might as well take a look at what Blake was working on," she turned to Drake who predictably looked frustrated, "Evidence," she assured him.
Drake remained silent as Ada signalled for him to move away from the console. He watched as she began punching keys and buttons, the screen reacting to her commands with ease. "Any chance we can call for outside help through this thing?" asked Drake, eyeing the screen.
"Maybe," Ada said without looking back. "Though I doubt it would do us any good. You saw how bad the storm is out there. I doubt we could get a signal through that much interference."
Drake frowned. "But you'll try right?"
Ada glanced at Drake momentarily. He had proven his use already by finding the keycard to the door, allowing her to follow his trail. He was getting restless, angry. She could see the signs and hear the frustration that edged his voice. "I will," she began in the sweetest voice she could muster, "But it's going to take some time. Why don't you check around this place a little more. Maybe Blake left a few clues or something we could use," she continued, returning her gaze to the screen. 'That will give me enough time to break Dressard's damned code without interruption' she thought silently.
Drake looked away. "Fine."
Drake stormed off, leaving Ada alone with the computer. Feeling certain that Drake was gone, Ada wiped out her communicator/PDA. Finding a connection point, Ada hooked up the device to the computer and ran a decryption programme on the files she required. Dressard had probably realized that his cover was in danger of being blown and had made his own contingencies if ever that occured. She checked the run time of her programme and raised her eyebrows. About 20 minutes. More than enough time to get out with the information she required. She thought of Drake. He was asking too many questions and Ada was unsure whether to simply kill him or to continue stringing him along with her lies. Ada gave it a long thought.
Still fuming from Wong's cold attitude towards him, Drake treaded towards another pathway aimlessly. Typical Fed behaviour, disregarding the concerns of the local authorities to forwards their own careers. Drake had met many of the same sort throughout his stint as a Cameron City cop. Usually such things would never have bothered Drake but the pressure was starting to build up inside him. Between the threat of frostbite and being eaten alive by zombies, the last thing he needed was attitude from a Fed he wasn't sure of to begin with. Drake stopped in his tracks as something caught his eye. The floor before him was stained with a long trail of blood. Someone or something had been dragged across the floor. He thought of calling Wong for help but decided against it, whipping out his gun. He followed the blood trail further into the corridor where the lights were dim and found himself face to face with a steel door, a small round glass window revealing nothing to Drake as he peered into it. He reached for the handle, uncertain if he was doing the right thing. The handle's steel was cold to Drake's flesh, like an omen of things to come. He ignored the tightness in his gut and pushed the handle down, unlocking the door. Pushing it open, Drake winced as its hinges gave off a sharp creak as he set foot into the mysterious chamber. It was a round room of considerably height reminding Drake of the interior of a hollow lighthouse. It was dark which came to no surprise to the young lawman, the darkness being all to familiar to him since the nightmare began. A silhouette of a person sprawled atop the floor forced Drake to move forward, his heart thumping with every step. Rather than bend down on his knees to check for a pulse, Drake uncharacteristically gave the body a light kick to get a reaction out of it. He'd been in too many close shaves with the zombies, he wasn't taking any chances. The kick met with no response. Drake kicked it again just to make sure that the body was lifeless before lowering himself to examine it more closely. He turned the body around to see a bony-faced man, his eye sockets empty as his face was locked in agony. Drake noted five strange impressions on the dead man's face, each a hole from where blood flowed unchallenged. Drake turned away from the bloodied sight. A thought ran through his mind. Was this the Matthew Dressard he had read about earlier? Dressed in a simple suit with white gloves and polished black shoes, the corpse could easily have been that of a butler's. "Looks like they got you after all Matt. Whoever 'they' are," Drake whispered as he rose to his feet. Wong needed to be informed about what he had found.
Turning to the door, Drake's eyes widened when he heard a deafening bang. His jaw dropped open when he found the door sealed shut, his hands furiously searching for a handle or a knob, trying his best to pry it open. "Come on," he grumbled. An ominous feeling gripped at Drake as he heard a noise from behind him. He shut his eyes and pulled out his gun. He spun around, gun pointed into the darkness to see the corpse on its feet, silent and unmoving, tears of blood rolling out of his empty sockets. Drake winced at the sight as he considered shooting it, but the zombie made no move, no sound. His finger trembled off the trigger as cold sweat rolled down his face. What now? The corpse took its first step towards Drake prompting the sheriff to back away, gun still trained at zombie. He squinted his eyes as movement of a different sort caught his attention. The zombie's arms appeared to be throbbing, like something struggling to break out, a ripple running up from under its skin. Flesh burst open with a spray of blood as the zombie's right arm seemingly shed its skin, revealing a long mangled blackened arm where flesh and bone were united in a horrendous manner, bone over flesh, flesh over bone, all the way to its hand that had become a monstrous claw of sorts, five organic blades as large as machetes. The claws smashed against the floor digging five clean impressions into it. The zombie's mouth was open as it seemed to let out a deafening scream that echoed throughout the round chamber as its other arm burst open into a mangled weapon of blackened flesh and bone. Its eyes once empty were now were filled with crimson lights that stared at Drake with malicious intent.
A blood-curdled roar followed by a quick movement of its left arm sent Drake flying towards the right side of the chamber , three large gashes on his right arm bleeding badly. The creature swung its arm again, forcing Drake to roll out of its way while nursing his injured arm watching in horror as the claws dug into the curved wall mere inches from him. Retaliating, Drake fired three well placed shots as he ran behind it while the creature worked to free its arm . The shots nailed the zombie in its back, and both it shoulders but to little effect. Drake ducked in time as the creature's other arm swung towards him, slicing the air at lightning speed. The zombie managed to free itself, its elongated arms returning to its side while it turned to face Drake. The Sheriff grinded his teeth as he came face to face with his demonic nemesis, his fingers tightening around the grip of his firearm. The creature swung again, this time with both arms from both sides in a scissors-like manner forcing Drake to dive to the ground to avoid them. Upon hitting the floor Drake fired again, another two shots nailing the mutated zombie in the face and the other in the chest. Dressard's corpse staggered backwards as the shots made an impact. Rushing to his feet, Drake dashed towards the zombie knife in hand knowing full well he couldn't waste anymore shots. He was going to finish it old school. Just as he came mere inches from Dressard the blade above him the zombie swept him aside with another swing of its long arms sending Drake smashing against a wall with a scream of agony. He crashed to the ground with the feeling that his guts were jumbled up inside him. He spat out his own blood raising his head to see a claw swinging his way. Rolling forward to avoid the blow Drake recovered in time to fire another three shots before rising to his feet. 'Two shots left Hartmann! Think fast!' his mind screamed as he avoided an incoming blow, the claws scratching against the curved wall with sparks to illuminate its path. The three shots didn't have much effect on Dressard as it continued on its warpath swinging wildly as Drake did his best to avoid its deadly blows. Dressard sent its left claw smashing into the ground mere inches away from were Drake stood. An idea struck Hartmann as he dived for the claw nailing it to the ground with his knife. Dressard let out a roar of pain as it tried to retract its arm. Seeing opportunity Drake rushed for Dressard, avoiding its free arm as he headed straight for the creature.
He dived at Dressard's body at full strength, knocking the zombie down. He jammed the barrel of his weapon into the left socket of Dressard's face and unloaded a round into its crimson eye. Dressard knocked Drake off with it free arm but Drake managed to recover easily as he watched as Dressard struggled to its feet. The fear he once felt was replaced by adrenaline and determination as he watched as Dressard pull its arm free of Drake's knife, sending the blade sliding across the polished floor. Drake dashed for his father's combat knife prompting Dressard to swing his clawed arms towards Drake from both sides. The lawman leapt over the arm that came towards him from the front, timing himself perfectly as he ducked to avoid Dressard's second blow. He reached for his knife, grabbing it by the blade before sidestepping in time to avoid a thrusting manuever by Dressard. Dressard's remaining crimson eye burned with fury now as it raged on like a wounded beast, unstoppable in its quest for self-preservation. It didn't matter to Drake. It was going down. Dressard thrusted his elongated left arm towards Drake again, the claws flying towards the lawman like daggers. Drake managed to avoid the blow but was barely able to escape a second thrust from Dressard's right that seemed to come out of nowhere, grazing Drake's ribs with cuts that burned like acid. Ignoring the pain Drake ran for Dressard again, his knife poised to strike. Unable to retract its arms in time Dressard's remaining eye widened as Drake buried the blade deep into the its other socket. Twisting the blade violently, Drake shoved the barrel of his weapon into Dressard's mouth as it opened it to let out a scream. He fired his last bullet right into its mouth, the slug making an exit wound through the back of its head, silencing Dressard. The zombie fell before Drake's feet, its eye sockets once again empty as blood flowed out of it mouth and eyes. "A little overkill," Drake admitted to himself as he reloaded his weapon thinking about his last shot. 'But it got the job done'. The sound of the sealed steel door unlocking surprised Drake. He looked at the door with an irritated expression. Fate was indeed playing a cruel game with him.
Suddenly pain seized him, a familiar pain that squeezed at his heart forcing Drake to his knees. His vision blurred as he collapsed to the ground, making out a light from the door, a dark slender figure making its way towards him. Jasmine and Sandalwood. Ada Wong.
Ada stared at the fallen sheriff grimly as he spasmed violently on the ground. She glanced at the body of a mutated B.O.W next to him already recognizing it as Matthew Dressard's, Wesker's implanted agent. She pulled out her gun and pointed it at Drake. It was a miracle that Hartmann had managed to survive the virus that swept through town in the beginning, it was a miracle that he had been able to survive a fight with a mutated B.O.W. It appeared that Drake Hartmann had run out of miracles as the virus was finally making its way through his system. 'Sorry sheriff,' she thought as she began to pull back on her weapon's trigger, 'But you'd do the same if you knew what was happening to you.'
"Wong..." said Drake through clenched teeth.
Ada eased her finger off her trigger as she heard Drake speak her name. Uncertain of what was happening, Ada kept her distance, gun still trained at Drake's head as she watched him rise to his feet. He raised his head high enough to allow Ada to look into his eyes. She locked eyes with him, noting the pained expression and the sweat that poured down his face. He was still human. Ada bit her lower lip, considering her next move. Drake stared into the barrel of Ada's GLOCK, his hand clenching his heart. Wordlessly, Ada holstered her weapon and helped the sheriff to his feet. "Easy Sheriff," shesaid as they headed out the door. "I've got you."
"Ugh," was Drake's reply.
Ada smiled at the response. "Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor." She wondered what had she just witnessed while Drake was on the floor. Was he somehow immune to the virus? Was that how he was able to survive so long even after being so heavily wounded by zombies and B.O.Ws which guaranteed instant infection? Ada silently wondered what Wesker would do if he found out about this little wild card.
"Got... signal...yet?" Drake managed between breaths, remembering the computer that Ada was working on.
"No," Ada lied. "But I did manage to find what they were working on," she said, whipping out a diskette of sorts from her pocket. She allowed herself a small smile. It took her some time to break Dressard's code but she had managed to do so after utilizing some code-breaker programmes she had been given before her mission. Copying all relevant data into a mini-diskette, Ada erased the originals before leaving to find Drake. Now all she had to do was get out of town before Smythe or Blake discovered what she had done. "Let's get out of here Sheriff," she told Drake as they made their way out of Blake's secret facility.
Silently, Drake wondered just what Ada Wong was doing when she pointed her weapon at him.
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Smythe looked at the carcass of Matthew Dressard, noting the bloodstains on its claws. The signs of battle were apparent as claw marks marred the walls and the floor of the round chamber while empty cartridges laid at his feet. Like a Spartan, whoever had fought what was left of Dressard must have been impressive.Weasel came from behind him, agitation on his face. "Nadda boss," he began. "Ain't no meat bags around here." 'Meat bags' referring to the zombies that walked Stonefeather Lake, the primary transformation that most victims of the virus went through. Smythe had suspected that whoever dealt with Dressard could not have left unharmed and would probably fall prey to the virus shortly after. Yet no zombies were found on the premises which left Smythe to ponder who or whathe was dealing with.
"Curious," Smythe said as he bent slight to observe Dressard's claws carefully. Could it have been Hartmann? The older man that Weasel had mentioned?Or the mysterious Ada Wong? Smythe turned to the door as he heard a sharp creak announcing someone had entered the room. Blake came through the door, face as pale as a ghost, informing Smythe that whatever he had found was not pleasant.
"Mr...Smythe," he said with long pauses.
"Spit it out Wilson," Smythe demanded returning his attention to Dressard's bloodied claws.
"The...files...the codes were broken and...they were deleted and..."
"Don't you have any surveillance devices Wilson?" asked Smythe casually.
"Yes..." answered Blake uneasily.
"Then we'll have a look at them later," Smythe said as he glanced at Hammer. "Your knife if you would Hammer," Smythe said.
Blake looked confused, watching the muscular man hand Smyhte the blade. "But sir...the files stolen contain information on everything I've worked on. They're at risk of being-"
"Noted Blake," Smythe cut Blake off as he began sawing off Dressard's clawed hand, blood spurting onto his gloved hand. "We'll look into it soon. But first," Smythe tore off the hand cleanly, rising to his feet. "Run a DNA scan on the blood on these claws. I wish to test a theory."
He turned to Weasel. "It seems we've let this play out far too long. Weasel, double your efforts and find Wong. I have no doubt that either she or someone else connected to Wesker is behind this theft. Try to take her alive if you can. Kill her if you cannot."
Weasel smiled. "Got it boss," he said with avarice in his voice.
Smythe looked at the bloodied claw he had just amputated. He allowed himself a small smile. Things were getting interesting and for the first time in years leaving Smythe to wonder just how the rest of the story would play out.