A/N: Okay, before I get started here, I first want to announce that I finally have a picture of Ash and Alexis up on my Ashford fan-site! I think it turned out pretty well, all things considered, and finally you can see what these two characters look like! My site is called "Ashford Crazy", and for a handy link you can visit my regular fanfic author bio and click where it says "homepage." That should take you there. I also have a few bios up in addition.

Would you look at that, a more normal-sized chapter! Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to updating on a more frequent scale soonish. Thanks to everyone who's been with me so far, words cannot express how much I appreciate your support. If this chapter seems a little slow, ( and believe me, it will ) it's because I was working more on character development, so not much action this time, though that almost certainly will change by next chapter.

This story can't go on forever, and after chapter 28 things are going to start picking up rather nicely. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 27

" What do you mean you've lost your virus! " Seth exclaimed. Soooo not the best time for this to happen! Here they were in the middle of a virus-infected, monster-infested mansion with no guns and no weapons, and now Alan's virus decided to go kaput? It all went to show you that sometimes things waited until the worst possible time to happen. All part of the universe's plan to kick you while you're down.

Alan rose slowly, as if in a trance. His now nervous, now virus-free blue-green eyes flitted around the room, taking in nothing in particular. After a brief second he finally managed to focus them on Seth, wishing he didn't have to be the one to break the bad news to the young teen who viewed him as a guardian and protector.

" I don't know." His eyes fell back down to the rancid blood-filled carcass of Kenneth, and he shook his head once more.

The truth was that he didn't know what was happening. He'd been just as surprised as his half-cousin by the sudden loss of his viral abilities. It didn't make sense, and not knowing what was going on--not being in control of the situation--only served to make him feel more helpless, more frustrated.

With a heavy stress-filled sigh, Seth stepped over the decaying bodies sprawled out at his feet on the floor and dropped into one of the hunter-green lounge chairs stationed in the tiny room-let. Alan could tell right away that he was worried; much more worried than he had been minutes ago by the sharp clap of thunder.

" Are you sure? " His younger cousin asked incredulously, " How do you lose a virus. It's in your blood for Pete's sake! "

" Shhh." Alan touched a finger to his lips and motioned to the two open corridors to either side of them. " We don't want to draw attention to ourselves," he continued in a low half-whisper that was barely audible against the howling chaos outside, " the walls have ears, and we don't want to run into any S.T.A.R.S. members if we can avoid it, especially my dad."

" Your dad? " Seth made no effort to disguise the pure horror in his voice. His brows creased and wrinkled up; his mouth drawn up slightly in one corner to give him an expression that was halfway between shock and 'oh no, not this!'

" He...he doesn't have the virus now, does he? "

Alan shook his head, frowning. " I don't think so. I wouldn't bet money on it--or my life--but I think Dad didn't get his virus until after the tyrant stabbed him through the chest. All part of an elaborate hoax to fake his own death and therefore drop off Umbrella's radar for awhile."

" Tyrant? " Seth was not thrilled with this idea. In fact, the more he learned about it, the more he was starting to hate these un-planned trips through time. Some things in the past were best left that way.

Alan's frown deepened. Of the few things he absolutely despised, tyrants definitely made the list. " Yeah. Nasty sucker too, from what I heard. If I had my virus I could easily beat him."

" But you don't," Seth was quick to point out, " and just while we're on the topic, how did this happen? You lose your virus often? "

Now Alan was pacing, worry and stress charged up to the max. " No, nothing like this has ever happened before. I'm just as surprised as you are. One moment I'm examining a body, and the next my super-senses just go out the window. My sense of smell is back to normal. My sight's back to normal. I feel almost deaf. It's like someone flicked a switch and turned all my viral abilities off."

" Don't suppose you'd have any idea how to turn them back on? " Seth tried hopefully.

Alan kicked the zombie-corpse with the toe of his boot. What a horrible trip this was shaping up to be. " None whatsoever. I don't even know what caused it, much less how to fix it. The only thing I can think of is that maybe Veronica's time-mojo hex thing somehow counteracted my virus."

" But that wouldn't make sense..."

" Look around you," Alan interrupted, waving his hand around the room to indicate where they were and the gory mess staining the carpet, " None of this makes sense. Witches, sorceresses, time-travel, Hylens. We're not in the world of science anymore, we're in the world of magic." As if on cue, thunder exploded overhead, momentarily eclipsing all other sounds and shaking the very foundation of the Spencer Mansion.

Seth gripped the armrests of his seat very tightly, the tips of his nails piercing polyester and drawing a white cotton-y substance from below the surface. Alan continued to pace, reminding the nervous teen of a bear in a zoo.

" Magic changes everything. Since my virus has never up and quit before, the only thing I can assume is that Veronica's hex for a worst-case scenario had something to do with it."

" That would suck."

" I'm not thrilled myself," Alan grumbled dejectedly, " but when you think about it, it wouldn't make sense for Angelique to want to declaw me if she wants me to have half a chance of bringing back the Hylen piece. Veronica, on the other hand, would have every reason to want me to fail." Man, I feel as weak as a kitten. Is this...normal? Like how Chris and Seth and everybody else feels every waking moment? Odd...I'd almost forgotten what it was like. Strange to imagine a time when having all five senses decreased so much would have felt normal. I've had my virus for so long that I'm starting to forget what it was like before.

A few feet away, the picture of tense, Seth lifted a hand to his forehead, trying to figure things out. " Okay, so you've lost your Mighty Mouse abilities. We don't know whether your virus went dormant, whether it's gone for good, or if it's ever coming back."

" I certainly wouldn't object if it were to come back but...right." Alan nodded grimly, his attention divided equally between Seth and keeping an ear out for danger. If he remembered S.T.A.R.S. tales of horror right, this mansion was full of nasty little surprises. One could never be too careful.

" We have no weapons..." Seth trailed off, not meaning to finish.

Alan thought a moment, then reached down into the top of one of those long, black boots he was wearing and produced a combat knife like magic from within the folds of a hidden sheath.

" Wrong. I have Old Trusty."

Seth blinked like an owl brought out into daylight. " That's it? "

The blonde-haired S.T.A.R.S. elite fingered the blade lovingly, pleased to find the weapon razor-sharp. It wasn't a magnum but it'd do in a pinch. It'd have to do--they were running out of options here.

" Pretty much. Unless you have anything." He shrugged casually.

It was Seth's turn to frown. One glance at his present attire--the white Nike sneakers, the blue jeans, and that silly green pterodactyl poised in over-exaggerated show of wings, beak, and claws--and he knew he wasn't going to be coming up with weapons of mass destruction. It was almost embarrassing. Whereas Alan was dressed halfway like a seasoned professional in all the snappy black gear bearing secret weapons compartments, here he was in clad in his kiddie clothes as if he were on his way out to a movie with friends some Saturday night.

The less-than-proud Redfield shook his head sadly. A fine help I'm going to be in a fight. " Nadda. I don't remember where I'm from or what my life was like, but being as how I'm not equipped with machine guns and dressed in ultra-cool body armor it's a pretty safe bet I'm not Terminator."

Alan turned the blade of his knife in so that the sharp end was pointed at him and offered the handle to Seth. " Here. You should have the weapon then. I may have lost my powers, but I'm still a highly trained fighter. I can improvise."

Never one to decline an offer, Seth's fingers closed on the black-plaster handle. " Thanks." It was a genuine, heart-felt remark. Then an idea presented itself, and he pointed the knife at Kenneth's messy form. " Not to be er...disrespectful or anything, but maybe he has something you could use."

At this, Alan knelt down over his fallen comrade once again, mentally numbing himself to the gory spectacle before him. " Let's see..."

Biker-gloved fingers pried opened the unfortunate man's jacket and felt along the rough lining of his pockets, searching for anything that could be of use. For being a S.T.A.R.S. Bravo member, Kenneth had sure been ill-equipped. The gun-holster at the side of his pants was as empty as his pockets, ( probably taken by a surviving teammate in order to save his or her own life ), and the examination of his jacket compartments turned out only a crumpled memo about a S.T.A.R.S. meeting dated back in early June and a roll of some unappetizing Starburst candies.

Alan felt his stomach flip-flop, and not just because the guy was horribly mutilated. He sent them this way. Dad knew they were going to be slaughtered and he just didn't care. To him they were all nothing but combat-data. Inconsequential. This poor sap never even stood a chance. The cold efficiency of his father's mind disturbed him. Wesker had set this all up with the sole intent of killing his entire team.

It had dang near worked, too. No wonder Chris, Jill, and Rebecca never wanted to talk about the Spencer Mansion. Experiencing it in person was much worse in reality than just hearing stories about it.

What had Kenneth's life been like? What had his dying thoughts been as the zombie ripped into his throat? Most importantly, had he ever suspected his own Captain Wesker of setting him and the others up?

Alan thought it was unlikely. Based on what he'd heard, it had taken Alpha Team awhile to figure out that Wesker was betraying them. Of course, I only have my father's version of events. Who knows what really happened?

There. His hand touched something hard and metal; the blade of a knife. Sometime during Kenneth's struggle with the zombie it had gotten lodged on the wrong side of his outfit and was now trapped almost all the way under his belly. Alan pulled it free, thinking all the while that the zombie must have taken the Bravo member awfully swiftly for him to not have the time to reach for it. The mirror-like blade was as clean as a whistle, and the word S.T.A.R.S. was inscribed in italic bold print in the small upper-corner just before blade met hilt.

" Sweet. Now we both have knives." Seth chirped with slightly falsified cheer, " Combat. Knife. The last two words in the line of weaponry. A seasoned veteran's first choice against legions of the undead. Who needs expensive bullets or fancy viruses when we can just hack our way through the opposition? " To demonstrate, he held Alan's original knife up in proud display, creating awkward exaggerated mock-slashes through the air at an imagined zombie which probably would have bitten his head off by now if it were actually there.

Alan smiled faintly, but the action was half-hearted. While it was nice to see that Seth hadn't lost his sense of humor, he couldn't help but to notice that the dreaded combat knife hadn't done the late Kenneth much good, nor had any of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members bragged of it's invaluable use in battle. They had survived almost solely through the use of firearms. Being the most elite of the two teams, it only stood to reason that the Alphas would have had better weapons than their compatriots.

Tilting the shiny surface at just the right angle, Alan blinked at his own reflection in the blade of his new weapon. Smooth peach skin, blue-green eyes, and rebellious dark-blonde bangs that refused to succumb to the mighty power of hair-gel and other various styling liquids all stared back up at him.

He grimaced slightly, thinking how those bangs always made him look so young and boyish. Perhaps it was wanting to grow up too quickly, perhaps it was his own personal dislike of the boy bands that wore their hair in a similar fashion, but the fact remained that Alan wasn't particularly fond of being mistaken for a teenager. And the scowl's genetic. Fancy that.

Unsettling.

Not for the first time in his life, it occurred to the frequent-shades-wearing blond just how much he resembled his father. They weren't even close to being identical, and a stranger in the same room with them would have no trouble telling them apart, but a lot of their facial features were strikingly similar. The biggest difference was that Alan was was more than twenty years younger than Wesker and as a result looked a lot like a younger, fresher version of his father. In addition his chin was a little more rounded and the inflection in his cheeks was a little less pronounced than it was in Wesker.

Still...I can see why Chris always jumps when I catch him off-guard. With looks like these it's hard to forget who I'm related to. His eyes blinked involuntarily, as though he were startled by his own reflection. A thought had just presented itself in a sudden illuminating flash, and it wasn't a pretty one.

Oh god, in this mansion, with nobody ever having seen me before in their lives with the exception of Enrico, and the dark clothes I'm dressed in...spur-of-the-moment in a poorly-lit room or area there was a good chance a S.T.A.R.S. member would mistake him for Wesker, especially since they wouldn't be expecting to see anyone else who looked like their soon-to-turn-traitor captain running about in such a dangerous and remote place.

Rats.

Suddenly those boyish bangs didn't seem like such a bad thing after all. They would help set him apart from Wesker, which could only work to his advantage because under these circumstances being mistaken for his father was not a good thing, especially once the team learned the truth. Barry or Enrico could decide to take a shot at him before they even realized who it was. Which would only lead to another set of questions.

From his comfy position on the lounge chair, Seth rose, making a point to keep his eyes off the gruesome scene stretched out at his feet. Lord only knew he already had enough of those grotesque images burned into his brain to last a lifetime.

He studied his companion thoughtfully, and then, as if reading his mind, asked, " So what are we going to tell the other S.T.A.R.S. if we run into them? What's the cover story? I thought about saying we got lost while playing a super-intense game of paintball, but then I thought nah--that's treading a bit too far into the unbelievable territory, especially since we don't have any of the equipment and even if we did we'd be crazier than the Ashfords to be playing paintball in the middle of the night up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere."

Alan lowered his knife. " Paintball? Nah. I'm thinking more..." he froze, a look of helpless frustration worming it's way across his features.

What were they going to say if they ran into Chris, Jill, or Rebecca? The truth was out of the question. They'd think he and Seth had perhaps stayed in a lab too long inhaling dangerous chemicals. That was, if they didn't shoot them outright just out of suspicion. So what did that leave? His brain reached for a quick explanation.

" ...we could say we were curious about the reports of the killings going on around here and came to investigate on a dare or something. They wouldn't think we were very smart, but at least that explanation's halfway believable. Kids do do very stupid things on dares. It's the whole macho image us men have to live up to."

Seth nodded, a little embarrassed that the first thing he'd been able to think up on a whim had been paintball.

He ran the scenario over in his mind: What were we doing out here Ma'am? Oh nothing much, really. Just a nice game of paintball up in the mountains during a thunderstorm. It's a real man's sport you see. The zombie-dogs make it extra challenging and we already lost the other players. This is super-paintball-extreme--where saving your life becomes as much a challenge as winning the game! Riiiiiight. Not really used to having to concoct explanations out of thin air. Or am I?

He tilted his head curiously, as if observing something his relative could not see. Troubling that he wasn't able to remember certain little facts about himself. Then another though came to mind.

Not taking his eyes off the badly corroded portrait of a landscape which happened to be the object of his stare at the moment, he asked, " How many of the S.T.A.R.S. were traitors? I know your dad was but I can't remember if there was anyone else...who's safe to run into? "

Alan took such a long time to answer that at first Seth imagined he wasn't going to. The young Wesker had a somewhat troubled, somewhat disturbed look on his face. " I know your parents are safe, obviously. Rebecca's safe...any of the Bravo Team should be too, unless there's something I don't know about. None of them really know what's going on at this point. We are going to be in some serious trouble if we run into my dad. He'll recognize me right off the bat, and I'm not going to be able to explain why I look six years older. You...you he'll probably want to use as monster-chow." He massaged his temple lightly, feeling a headache coming on, " Other than that, we don't want to run into Barry or Enrico. Barry's in cahoots with my dad because he threatened his family. He's pretty good friends with the rest of the S.T.A.R.S., especially Chris, but he's a desperate man and it's hard to predict what he'd do to a stranger at Dad's whim. Enrico knows at some point that his captain's a traitor and will be very suspicious of any new people suddenly popping into the scene. Unfortunately, I happen to resemble my father, and that's going to make things difficult, especially where the two of them are concerned. After the monsters and zombies, my biggest challenge is going to be not getting mistaken for 'Captain Wesker' in some dark place at the wrong time."

" You could say you're Wesker's little brother." Seth suggested, " That would explain your looks and give you a better reason for wanting to check this place out. You were curious what your big brother was doing. I'll be the friend who just tagged along for the ride."

" That might work, except that my dad doesn't have a younger brother. Well, he did, but he died in a fire when he was two."

" S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't know that, would they? "

Alan shook his head. " Probably not. My dad doesn't like to talk much about his family."

" What was his name, this uncle you lost? "

" Joseph." Alan said the name with an almost total lack of emotion. Obviously, he'd never known the kid.

Seth grinned. " Voila! Now you have a new alias--Joseph Wesker! "

" It isn't going to fool my dad. But..." Alan pursed his lips in thought, " maybe it won't have to. That way, if we come into contact with some of the S.T.A.R.S. and they accidentally inform my dad that his 'brother Joseph' is here, well, he'll know I'm an imposter, but it will unnerve him that there's someone out there that knows he had a brother Joseph. Yeah." A slow smile spanned his lips, " That could work. Dad and Enrico would have to see me themselves to recognize me."

Seth stepped over the bodies to stand alongside his cousin. " That's the idea! It's perfect. I'll just be the friend." He chewed his lower lip, uncertain. " I...I don't look too much like either of my parents, do I? "

" Not really." Alan verified, eyeing his cousin over up and down, " Well...you do look a teeny bit like Chris, and I can see some of Jill in you too, but just a little. Not enough to have to do any explaining. Don't worry about it; I'm Chris's nephew and I don't look a thing like him. You'll be fine. At least you don't have to look like the guy who's going to have a whole lot of people angry at him before he night's over."

" True." Seth's gaze drifted down he hall they'd just came from. " So any idea where to start searching for this magical stick? Or the glowy red orb? I don't know about you, but I'd like to limit my time here as much as possible. Did Angelique say we had eight hours to find this before we'd be whisked back no matter what, or will we appear back as soon as we find it? "

Alan's smile slipped. " I'm not sure. I really hope it's the latter. The spell may be giving us eight hours...well, less now that we've spent at least twenty minutes in here gabbing...but the mansion sure isn't. This place is going to explode sky-high at dawn."

Seth threw up his hands. " Great! How comforting to know that we could explode even after we've found the Hylen! It'd like a really good dream, y'know? Things just keep getting better and better." He started out the way they'd came. " Well, much as I'd love to stay and chat until the bomb goes off, we'd better get moving."

Not one to argue with good sense, Alan followed close behind. " What, you're not afraid of the zombies and hunters all of a sudden? "

Seth turned his head, a playful spark of mischief dancing across those fudge-brown eyes. He offered Alan a maniacal grin. " Nah, I have the trusty combat knife, remember? " He bobbed his head up and down energetically, " Final words in weaponry. Jedi eat your heart out."

They re-entered the dining room, and, when nothing jumped out to grab them, continued on their less-than-merry way.

Neither one of them knew where they were going. Alan was following Seth, and Seth thought this was the way Alan wanted to go. Not that it mattered anyway. When you were in a scavenger hunt in unfamiliar territory it didn't really make much difference which direction you decided to go.

" Wait a sec," Seth continued, re-kindling his fire of thought and finding a familiar topic comforting, " We could be like Jedi, you know? These knives are lightsabers and the enemy did something to your midi-chlorian..."

From behind, Alan rolled his eyes but smiled in spite of himself. Kid couldn't remember the really critical stuff, yet he seemed to know plenty about Star Wars.

" I'm a more Han-Solo type guy myself," Seth declared proudly, even though it was already very obvious to his blond-haired cousin that he had about as much in common with Han-Solo as he did Emperor Palpatine, " and you," slowing his pace, he turned back a moment to catch Alan's eye, " You're like Luke Skywalker! "

Alan nodded. Oh what the hey. Can't be serious all the time. " Yep. I'm Luke. Complete with Darth Vader as my father."

Seth grinned broadly and turned his attention back to where he was going. " Hopefully you'll have better luck than Luke with your hand though."

" It balances out," Alan said wistfully, happy to have an interlude from the usual morbid topics of zombies, betrayal, and mutilation, " I may have my hand, but at least in the end Luke was able to convince his father to turn away from the dark side of the force. No such luck with my old man yet."

" No arguments here."

They reached the double-doors at the end of the room; the very same they'd had their backs turned to initially when they'd first appeared. Here Seth paused, uncertain. After all that had happened, it was a fair statement to say that his nerves were more than just a little on the jumpy side. They were about to trek into unfamiliar territory; what lay just beyond the Dining Room of Doom? It bothered him to think that there could very well be a zombie or other beast out there just waiting to sink it's teeth into him; enjoy that nice, warm blood, fresh entrails...What am I thinking! A quivering hand hovered just over the latch, and he realized he'd been staring at the door.

Um...on second thought...swiftly, he turned to Alan, nearly jabbing him with his knife in the process.

Alan leapt back instinctively, both surprised and dismayed at this display of carelessness. " Hey! Careful with that thing! "

Outside the window, a heavy clap of thunder followed on the tail of a blinding flash of lightning. The whole manor shook with the roar of nature, and it was a miracle the glass pane windows didn't shatter under the stress. Heavy rain pelted the roof. The storm was right on top of them.

Seth flinched uncomfortably. He'd never really gotten completely over his fear of thunderstorms. While they didn't scare him as much now as they had when he was little, they still filled him with a sense of unease, like a black omen of impending doom.

" Alan, did Wesker tell you much about...I mean, what should we expect? "

" We should expect to see more zombies and lots of hunters. Possibly this...thing...called Lisa. As far as they lay of the land goes, I have no clue. Dad never drew me any maps. I'm afraid that unless you want to hear all the gruesome details about how each of the less fortunate S.T.A.R.S. died, I really don't know much that could help." Alan butted Seth's uncertain hand aside and opened the door. There was no sense in wasting time worrying about circumstances they couldn't control anymore than the weather outside.

Not that he could blame Seth for being scared, but now that they were in this situation with no way out they were just going to have to deal. Besides, the firm voice of logic pointed out, Rebecca, Chris, Barry, Jill, and Wesker all survived this mansion--how hard can it be? There was not a moment to lose. It was long past time to get this show on the road.

They quicker they found the Hylen, the quicker they could leave.

Hopefully.

A large drawing room covered in red carpet stretched out before them. To the left was a fancy staircase that went up to the second story before splitting into two connected catwalks running the circumference of the room. To the right an overly-large polished mahogany door sat silent, waiting for guests who would never come. Dead ahead were two less-elegantly dressed doors leading to parts unknown. Gentle candlelight flickered over the room, working in part with the lighting fixtures which contained bulbs each about 75 watts too dim to be of much good on their own. Somebody trying to save money on electricity, no doubt. Like the Spencers couldn't afford proper lighting.

Decisions decisions. Alan stepped out first and crept halfway across the room, reminding his comrade of a wary mouse leaving it's den to survey new surroundings. It struck him as odd that a typewriter should be sitting all by itself on a wooden lamp-table just barely big enough to accommodate it. What was more, it was right next to the stairs. All in all probably not the best place to put a typewriter, especially when you took into account all the interruptions the typist was sure to have to endure during the course of a normal day.

" The funny places people leave typewriters." Alan shook his head, smiling faintly at the image of a zombie typing about his daily doings.

Eager to get a better look, Seth darted in, eyes sweeping the piece of paper stuck in the machine before he'd even come to a full stop.

" Hey! It's got something written on it! "

" Really? " Alan cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise. " Let me see." He joined Seth in front of the antique, and quickly saw that his friend was right--there was indeed a line of typing on the exposed sheet.

It read simply: God have mercy on those who enter this unholy place.

Seth and Alan exchanged puzzled looks.

Seth was first to speak. " Who do you think left it? "

Alan shrugged. " Probably one of the S.T.A.R.S. members. One thing's for sure, whoever left it had a point."

The wild scratching of claws against wood quickly diverted the duo's attention to the main door, which obviously led outside. It was a little hard to hear in all the wind, rain, and thunder, but whatever was doing the scratching seemed pretty intent on getting inside.

" That's not promising." Seth understated, his gaze latched firmly on the front door. It was too much to hope for that whatever was doing it would suddenly decide to give up and go away. That kind of thing just never happened, especially not to Redfields. He stared down at the combat knife he held in his hand as if it had suddenly changed into a blunt butter-knife.

What had he called it before?

Oh yes--a lightsaber.

For some strange reason, it was sure hard to picture it as one now.

" Devil Dogs." Alan said with a cool calmness that Seth envied, " Umbrella calls them cerberuses, but I don't think that's a fair name because they don't have three heads like the mythical dog of Hades. Basically they're just dogs infected with the T-virus. Faster and therefore more dangerous than zombies, but they're not invincible."

" Neither are we. Do you think they can get in? "

" Welll..." Alan trailed off, memories of past encounters surfacing to mind. Devil Dogs, he knew, were unusually clever for T-carriers. When they couldn't get in one way, they'd run around and look for weak places until they found another way.

Once back in Canada--not long after he'd first gotten his virus, in fact--he and Wesker had been sent to a private residence on a mission to steal some important files and chemicals before leveling the place to the ground. Well, as it had turned out, the owner had had a secret hobby of collecting various T-infected creatures and confining them in cages for study. Not surprisingly, when this guy discovered two of HCF's most powerful agents were poking around his house, he'd gotten panicked and freed all of his little 'pets' to deal with them. Alan remembered that when the cerberuses learned they couldn't reach him in one room by pawing at the door, they'd run off, and at first he'd thought they'd given up and went in search of easier prey. He'd been wrong. Not to be outdone, the persistent dogs had actually found their way into the basement and came up at him through a laundry chute he hadn't even noticed was there. It appeared that the T-virus didn't affect their excellent sense of smell.

Sadly for the cerberuses, their attempt to bring down a hearty meal ended in tragedy when the T-2 enhanced Alan either shot them or smashed their skulls in under his boots. But it just went to show what extremes these sneaky creatures would go through in order to feed.

" ...maybe not that way."

" I don't like the way you said that." Seth returned, his voice a little steadier than it had been moments ago. No sense in chickening out over a bunch of zombie dogs. I should save the real freak-fit for Tyrant and the last few seconds before the bomb is about to go off. There'll be plenty of time for freaking then.

" Arrrooooooooo! " A sharp ear-murdering howl cut the stormy night air, much too close for comfort. The creature scratching at the door increased it's efforts to get in, clawing and rending the wood at a strenuous rate, as if it could somehow sense that there was tasty food just beyond the man-made barrier.

" Arooooooo! " A second cerberus joined it, and within moments at least three dogs were involved in the haunting racket.

" I don't know about you," Alan remarked, casting Seth a nervous eye, " but I like dogs much better when they're not trying to eat me."

Seth's eyes were glued on the door. He halfway expected it to splinter away at any second. " It's this thing I have about rotting flesh," he contributed, " It's not me. A hundred bucks says these knives aren't going to be of much use if the pack gets in."

" You're right." Alan agreed grimly, " We'd best get moving then. I have absolutely no idea where to go, but at least the front door is ruled out." He scanned the room once more, taking in the stairs, railing, and upper catwalk.

The Hylen could be in one of those rooms up there.

Then again, it could very well be in a toilet bowel down in a basement-level personal dormitory for all he knew. Curse those vague details. Angelique's all like, 'fetch the Hylen', and then she doesn't even tell us where the blasted thing is.

It occurred to him that perhaps the witch didn't know. No-one was perfect, and if she had known wouldn't it have made sense for her to tell them?

Seth noticed Alan's eyes roaming over the upper level. He'd been thinking about the blue door to the left, but one guess was as good as another in this madhouse.

Alan was just about to suggest they go upstairs when the sound of a door being opened up there killed the words in his throat.

Someone was coming!

Acting out of pure instinct, Seth bolted for the blue door, Alan in hot pursuit. Whoever--or whatever--was upstairs, they could hear him walking now, his footfalls heavy and coordinated.

Clunk,clunk,clunk...