Notes:

I decided to use an existing supporting character and chose Marco Rose instead of other more popular ones like Steve Burnside, Piers Niven or Niel Fisher. My thought is it would be more memorable. You know what I mean. FYI, with very limited info on Marco Rose, all the characterization was made by me. I made him a little older than his other peers in BSAA to fit the story. All and all, Resident Evil belongs to CAPCOM, and I just wrote this for fun as a fan.

#Post-Resident Evil: Infinite Darkness #Not Beta Read #Very-minor Cleon

The crunching sound every time their boots stepped on the dirt sounded deafening when compared to the silence of their surrounding area. It was pitch black. The moon was shy tonight, the light was little. The tree branches blocked the ambient light making the situation worse. Even under his night vision goggles, he found it difficult to navigate the path with caution and care. The view was green monotone versus the view he had watched earlier when they lifted off from the base.

It was sunset then, a hundred kilometers away from where location Marco Rose was standing right now. Sitting at the back of the helicopter, he witnessed the most beautiful sunset he had ever seen. The black silhouette of the majestic mountain range was in contrast to the skyline which was colored with three shades of oranges. People paid to see this kinda stuff, but not him. Even though his line of work was brutal and unforgiving, he wanted to think he was lucky. Because he learned that treasuring this little thing helps him compartmentalize from the thing he does for a living.

"ONE, This is FOUR. CITADEL on sight."

The point man in front of him whispered through the radio. Marco checked his watch. His tiredness was replaced by relief when it confirmed they were on time. They have achieved their first objective. After long three hours of walking and hiking, they finally arrived at the targeted area. The helicopter that brought them in landed in the dark on the other side of the mountain range to keep their presence unnoticed.

The mountainous area provided them with limited long-range communications with the base. He had this mental image of their radio operator trying to inform the base about their fulfillment of the first objective through static and interference. James Hoffman had trouble doing so during the other earlier broadcasts, he could imagine this would be a lot worse since their location was much further into the mountain. This would be their last long-range broadcast. Afterward, they were on their own. All comms were local. With no drone and no gunship to back them if shit went sideways. And Marco was hopeful this operation would go as they planned to be.

In the dark, they all moved to their assigned position. Marco and his battle buddy shuffled toward North trying to get a better view of the front gate of the compound. Pulling the night google up, the team sharpshooter looked through his rifle scope. His head was peering down behind a big boulder. Even though it was dark, Clive Ripley instinctively moved behind the cover while doing surveillance of the compound.

Next to him was Marco observing the forest that they just come from, pulling security for his buddy. He could see his infrared laser slowly move as he screened the treeline with a chilling feeling in him. Subconsciously, knowing now it was fall season did not make it any better. Eerie thoughts crept into his mind, he was certain that he heard a wolf howling a afar. He regulated his breathing. It calmed him and kept him focused. Diligent and cautious, he looked for any movement.

"Marco."

"Yes, Sparky."

"As expected. Negative on towers. Two manning the gate."

"Switch." Marco commanded, as Ripley took his previous position and he took his behind the boulder. Both of them mirrored respective actions prior.

The air was dry and cold above this mountainous terrain. A few meters directly below was their target objective. It was a solid square three-story compound fortified with a five-meter tall concrete perimeter wall. It had four watch towers at each corner of the perimeter wall. The compound was built during World War II for holding prisoner-of-war. Its occupancy continued by the previous government to keep prisoners of their political opponents up until the civil war erupted.

It was built at the narrow and secluded plateau between the mountainous terrain with only one access main road composed of dirt and gravel. The South and West of the compound were backed by the precipice and cliff face while the East was a ravine with a twenty-meter drop to the river below. This prison clearly was built to keep the people from going out and not going in. Currently, Marco's team was tasked to do the latter.

"ONE. This is TWO."

"TWO. ONE. Go ahead."

"Negative movement at both towers. I got two pax manning the gate." Marco reported in a whisper on his radio.

His team leader responded, "Roger that. TWO, THREE. Rally at ALPHA."

Without haste, Marco and his buddy abandoned their position and fell back to the commanded position. If ALPHA was being called, this meant their mission was a go. As expected, all tower was not manned and the South side of the compound was neglected by the current occupant. No one was sure of what happened to the political prisoners that were being held here when the war started. Some say they were all executed by the prison guards before they fled across the country.

The compound was empty for a short time and then a small group of rebel militia claimed the place as their headquarters. After two months they recced the place and the information coming from the Intelligence, they could confirm some of it was true. One of them was that the four towers were usually unoccupied. And tonight was not any different.

When they arrived at ALPHA, Armando Mendoza was double-checking the rope with his mouth biting the red flashlight. His team leader, Lou Taggert was looking through his thermal monocular directly toward the South side of the compound below while Hoffman was facing the opposite direction pulling security. All three of them were already in their rappelling gears.

In autopilot, Marco and Ripley started gearing up, without waiting for orders. Because they did not need one. They had been studying, practicing, and repeating the flow of the mission countless times. Everyone knew their parts and their responsibilities. Still, there was no hurry. Everything they did was slow and methodical. People say slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.

Mendoza already set the main rope and was ready to rappel down to the roof. The moment their team leader gave a -GO-, Mendoza fearlessly jumped out of the precipice. Ripley splayed on the ground with his rifle propped covering Mendoza who maneuvering down to land on top of the roof compound.

"FOUR here, bridge is set.", said Mendoza through the radio.

Subsequently, Marco hooked the carabiner to the cord and slid down. Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck, hanging in the air more than twenty meters away from the ground in the dark was not ideal. To say he was hanging under his body weight was an understatement. His rifle was slung horizontally on his chest, rested on the magazines that he stowed in his plate carrier and he got his assault pack on his back. With all the additional gears was weighed nearly sixty pounds.

Midway, his whole body was swinging when the crosswind hit him. If he kept descending, he would swing like a giant pendulum. So he stopped, only to start moving again when the swinging subsided. He steeled himself and continued his journey down to Mendoza. Once his boots touched the asbestos roof of the compound, he reported on the radio. Unhooked, he trod his path carefully to Mendoza and started helping him set up the rope by the two chimneys for the second rappel.

One by one his teammates landed on the roof and automatically proceeded to their assigned task. Ripley was the last to land, untying the rope and tossing it across toward the cliff. They would retrieve it later. Immediately, Ripley took position at the corner of the atrium watching over the central tower, East corridor, and the North corridor. While Taggert already situated himself opposite Ripley's position, facing the South corridor and West corridor. They both looked down over the atrium, screening clearance for Mendoza's drop.

On the other hand, equipped with a bolt cutter, Hoffman used his might to cut the metal grille attached to the atrium. This was their entryway into this fortified compound which only had three locations provided with soft covers. One of them was the fifty-meter square atrium covered with only metal grilles. One was located near the South side and the other near the North side of the compound. The Intelligence briefed them that the only logical reason it had soft cover was because of the wide gap between the atrium to the nearest internal structures such as the corridor and the central tower situated in the middle of the compound.

"THREE, what are you seeing?"

"No movements, North and East corridors. SILVER only got one spotlight beaming North."

"Confirm. Negative movements on the West and South corridors either. FOUR, you ready?

Marco heard Taggert confirming traffic with Ripley on the comms. The floor plan inside the prison compound was like a shopping mall, with single-loaded corridors and a large courtyard in the middle. These open corridors were incorporated with chest-in-height concrete barriers, the passageway to the rows of prison cells that were under the scrutiny of the central tower -code name SILVER-. This central tower played the role of the watch tower complete with an armory and spotlights facing each compass direction.

Intelligence briefed them that the electricity to the compound had been cut since the civil war. By the look of the limited lighting inside, they must have used the generator which was part of the compound facilities. Only the first floor was fully lit. The second floor relied on the light coming from below and the spotlight. The third floor was completely dark. With no occupant. Up until now, the intel that they got was correct. And Marco hoped it stayed that way till the end.

Hoffman squeezed Marco's shoulder signalling him ready to be his support. Marco tightened his grip on the safety rope when he heard Taggert's -GO- through their earpiece. Mendoza dropped into the atrium and the rope taunted under his body weight, gears, and rifle. His assault pack would be delivered later, just like in the first rappel.

Marco felt the rope jerk as Mendoza was trying to get momentum to land on the nearest corridor. So, Marco figured when you do this kind of covert special operation, the darkness and silence are your allies. Yes, they did this in the dark when their enemy combatants were resting and sleeping. But what he did not expect when joined the first-tier special force was to do some tricks that he had seen in those spy movies.

Who am I shitting now?

Mendoza was swinging twelve meters from the ground in an attempt to infiltrate the three-story fortified compound. Marco has known the guy for five years and has been on the same team for three years. His trait of being comfortable with height always astonished Marco and he was ever grateful for that. For a month, they brainstormed on the infil and exfil plans for this operation. One evening, when he and Taggert were deciding the hiking trails to their objective at the briefing room, Mendoza busted in with huffing breath and stuttering speech.

Not out of fear but excitement. With drawings and moving objects, Mendoza explained in detail his idea which was later dubbed as one of the eureka moments in his life. He got his toothy grin flashed to Marco when Taggert decided to bring the whole plan to the higher brass. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Marco could only curse under his breath.

FUCK!

Dealing with explosives was his best trait. Gave him anything and he could get creative in making something that would explode. However, his self-consciousness about heights was not his biggest strength. Heights sheared his nerves. Nothing got him excited about being at great distances above the ground. Rather than heights, the speed fascinated him more. Moving so fast that he felt he could catch the wind, flying. That was his definition of being above the ground.

Mendoza claimed the adrenaline got him hooked. He knew Mendoza intended to work out his interest. Alas, his detest toward heights was resolute. This was something that he never talked about with his teammate, but the corner of his heart felt that Mendoza knew. Instead of teasing him or parading it to others, Mendoza encouraged Marco to join him in doing more rock climbing and sky jumping activities. Little by little, he forged his confidence to the extent he could jump out hundreds of meters heights in the dark with guts and ballsiness. Exactly like tonight.

When Marco felt the rope distressed, he quarried through the radio.

"FOUR, status?"

"FOUR here, second bridge is set."

Marco released the safety rope and secured it by the chimney. Taggert was still glued to his thermal when Hoffman belayed Mendoza's assault pack down. Marco's turn was next. With the guide rope set by Mendoza, he rappelled down under Taggert's mark with no problems. Under his night vision goggles, he could make out Mendoza's proud grin the moment he landed. Marco gave him a friendly tap on his shoulder and moved to a position facing West. He got his suppressed HK-416 assault rifle aimed toward the darkness.

The third floor was dark and unoccupied. Glancing at the window glass, the third floor of the central tower had the same condition. The dimmed light from below only reached the second floor and the spotlight from the tower only flooded the North side of the compound. Marco and his team were in the South. He adjusted his grip on his rifle. More friendly infrared lasers joined him in the direction West indicating that all teammates safely got in. When he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, with attentive steps he started to move forward.

They moved like one entity, each person has every sector covered. Marco rotated with Mendoza and was on point this time with Ripley watching their rear. He made a halt every time he passed a cell door to provide his teammates time to clear the prison cell. If only the door was opened. If the door was closed, they secured it by tying the latch with the stainless-steel cable ties. Keeping the cell's doors closed would be the best. For a lot of reasons. And one of them kept their infiltration unknown. These solid metal doors were old and heavy. Marco guaranteed if he pulled these doors to make entry, the hinges would screech out a noise like a freight train that would definitely echo throughout the whole compound.

Their view started to get brighter indicating that they reached the middle of the West corridor. Now, they had to work double time in order to get moving to concealment from the light again. When they had to stop at the spot where it got the brightest illumination, Marco's heart was thumping hard. Sweat rolled from his forehead, he wet his lips in trepidation. Just now the darkness agitated him and now the light terrified him. He pressed his body so close to the wall, avoiding his silhouette coming into view to someone from below. He was guessing that his teammates did the same.

Although he wanted to just get them out of the light from being seen, he had to wait for his teammate to secure the doors and trusted Ripley would gun down any -sleepwalker- at the central tower. A few seconds felt like hours. Marco continued forward as soon as he got a gentle squeeze on the shoulder notifying him to move. He swiftly directed his team through the West corridor until they reached the Northwest staircase when the illumination of the light started to falter a bit. He let out a quiet relief sigh, they met no militia on the third floor. So far, it confirmed that the intel from the agency seemed promising.

Marco approached the landing of the staircase with guarded steps. He snaked his way to the left and descended again. He retained his aim downward with a couple of other lasers joining his. Just a couple steps from the bottom of the staircase, he heard a loud bang one of the prison cell's doors closing. All stopped instantaneously.

The small hair back of his neck sprung up. He relaxed his pistol grip and his index finger brushed the trigger. Making sure his body was under the cover of the shadow, he tried to focus on any following sound with his rifle aimed below him. His chest felt about to burst, drumming hard and fast in anticipation. He waited seven seconds. He thought seven was a good number.

One. Two. Three...

None. No sound. So he continued and reached the bottom of the staircase of the second floor. The infrared laser dot from his rifle was on the door of the main objective's location. His heart was in relief when he saw the metal grille door was open. That lessened the possibility of meddling with the door. He walked passed the metal grille door with his teammates who fell in behind him without fail having their own sector to cover. The illumination from the spotlight and light below was shallow. He had no choice but to peer out from the darkness covering to peek clearance of the second floor West corridor.

Not wasting any more chances, Marco crossed the hallway and quickly backed the wall of the warden's office -codename GOLD-. The rest of his teammates were in his tow, lined up behind him under the shadow. He meticulously searched around the solid wooden door for booby traps. Satisfied, he waved for Hoffman and moved further forward to allow some room for him to work the padlock with the bolt cutter.

Screening the West corridor, he wet his lips. He thought maybe he would get a chance to take a sip from his CamelBak once they had a secured entry in the warden's office. He reared back right in front of the door when he felt a squeeze on his shoulder. Ripley has taken his previous position in exchange. He tried his luck and twisted the knob. It was unlocked. Delicately, he pushed the door inward with his left arm and cocked his rifle towards the room. The door squeaked a little, he opened just enough for him and his teammates could go through. Roughly one hour before midnight, Marco and his team had reached GOLD in the lost citadel of Penamstan.