Don watched the soundless exchange on the camera. The feeds weren't equipped for audio - not that he'd cared at the time, no one wanted to have the sounds of the infected in their ear for long. The equipment he'd had available barely did the job as it stood. Still, Don would give his eye teeth to hear what was happening in that hallway.
That one soldier seemed to have been careful and lucky earlier to slip around Nosferatu and barricade herself inside a lab, when Beta team had been slaughtered. Nosferatu seemed to have considered digging her out on the video feed, but Don assumed it had had enough good hunting for a bit to head back to the 'pen'. The radio feeds from Gamma and the fragments of the other two teams had mentioned linking up with 'Delta' at one point. This was likely the same person.
The Gamma survivor- the other bloke was lying in a messy pile outside his rapidly dwindling 'feedstock' supply room for the creature - was being towed along behind the woman.
That last little encounter, though, with Nosferatu. That should have been a clean ambush, but the creature had been held back like a stray dog being scolded away from a burrito with a few bullets. Don remembered that the zombies had barely registered her presence earlier, when the teams were moving in from the hanger. Was HCF testing some kind of anti-BOW tech, or some sort of repellant? After Raccoon City, others might have started pushing that sort of solution through fast. War always turned into an arms race that way.
It would explain why she'd been able to run around the facility on her own- he wouldn't be the only one working with prototypes. Either way, the other soldiers hadn't had that sort of tech on them, or he would have found it by now. It certainly hadn't been in Wesker's gear.
Don coughed into a rag, wincing at the sight of the blood and thick pinkish sputum there. Shit. He'd considered luring the two soldiers back here to keep them all where he could keep an eye on them - then dismissed that notion quickly. That one lass had lingered longer in Edward's old lab, and knew things about it. Not enough, clearly, or she would have tried for the hidden lift near the back of the lab, the one that would take them into the mansion itself. But she'd known enough to abscond with a trove of little secret treasures he'd had no idea of. She might not know the architectural secrets of the place, but she clearly knew how they thought. Someone had done their homework, and gone deep into the family histories.
Besides, it would be easier to control the narrative one-on-one when the one in the tank woke up. More people would mean more complications. Best to keep them separated for a bit. Wesker could chase down his little band of survivors later.
So he let them go - to another floor, where they could assume they were marginally safer. He could find them again on the cameras at any time. Right now, they were hunting blind through the dark frozen forest of this facility. One predator had just found the central maintenance shaft and seeking new prey. Another was sedated, right where Don could keep an eye on him and control the narrative. The Ashfords were locked up snug in their mansion - rather sensible of them, given the state of the place. And here he was, the only one who could see the big picture.
Don stood, checked the timer. Wesker had been in the hibernaculum he'd scrapped together with spare parts for at least an hour now. Last he peaked inside the small window of the modified BOW box, the wound was almost closed. There had been a vicious scar across the man's chest, and another from a jagged exit wound across his back - souvenirs from a violent rebirth, if the stories of the man's death were anything to go by. This would take less time than he anticipated.
Don went to the cooler by his workstation and checked the large sample vial of blood he'd taken from the man before he'd set him in to cool off so the virus could repair him properly. He'd been able to use the time he'd been forced to wait, anyhow. The computer had run his calculations, and, with an hour in the centrifuge, that sample would be the basis of an antivenin that might actually carry him out of here on his out two feet. If he got the centrifuge from Edward's old lab going now, he'd be able to have a working antivenin within a few hours.
And he still had a cart full of bodies to move into that room. Enough to top off its appetite.
On the camera, the woman in the hood and face mask paused at the elevator, then turned to look down the hall toward the camera view. She seemed to be making some sort of gesture at the camera. It looked a little like sign language. She also certainly wasn't being all that mindful of the black shit all over the floors and walls.
Don looked back, eyes narrowing. Who else had access to the main feed? Had HCF tapped into it back in their jet, some sort of central comms thing? Was she meant to distract the family, in their mansion? She cocked her head as if aware of him - impossible, but still- and gave the camera a two-finger salute that morphed into a sharp cutting motion across her throat. Next hand that gets raised gets cut off, that gesture read to him. Despite everything, Don gave a sharp laugh. "We'll see about that, lass. Best run along before the beasties come back." He wasn't the only predator in this facility after all, and it seemed at least one other understood that the game was afoot.
Alexia's eyes narrowed, watching her aunt sign to her on the camera view, trailed by an agitated mercenary: I can manage this much. Alone will take too long. The man following he seemed almost angry at seeing her communicate with the cameras, but seemed to resign himself in favour of following his best chance at survival.
She didn't like it. Marigold had gone down there under the impression that she'd be able to move relatively safely through the facility, without much urgency. That situation had changed dramatically, and here her aunt was, collecting a stray.
Alexander - Nosferatu, now, according to Alfred, and Alexia found that the moniker was growing on her - had made an awful mess of the mercenary forces storming the BOW level. She was keeping him away for now, but it seemed that anything that moved in his - its - field of vision was fair game. Fifteen years of starvation without dying was bound to make anything rather aggressive.
Marigold had alerted her to her position only moments before. Something about her aunt made it so that infected did not register her as prey, and even the extremely aggressive creature seemed to scurry off with a bit of prodding. Was it a pheromonal response, like she herself had managed earlier? Either way, her aunt seemed to be shaken by the experience.
Alexia grimaced. Alexander had finally done something useful and thinned out the intruders, but she would get an earful when Marigold returned. Even with the good news, he'd found a new way to get on her nerves already: Noseferatu had found the central maintenance shaft, and was working his way between the floors to find new game. That meant he could pop out anywhere in the facility.
Well, Alexia had wanted to get rid of the crowds. Perhaps she ought to have been more specific about how that occurred. She watched Marigold make a threatening gesture to the camera as the elevator doors closed in front of her. Whoever had released Nosferatu onto that floor very well might also have access to the camera feed, Alexia realized with a start. She'd downplayed Grayson's concerns about McNally earlier. Now, he might actually manage to make a nuisance of himself.
Alexia hated feeling helpless to do anything up here. Yes, it was better to let the problem solve itself before diverting resources, and she had her hands full looking for a way to manage the boys and secure their exit. Marigold had taken out the camera in the small lab space she'd secured as a staging area - something that was suddenly much less annoying. Seeing the space swarming with infected as an early-warning system had been clever. It was easy to forget that her aunt was a reasonably adept hunter in her own right. Marigold had told her once that she'd learned so that "she wouldn't have to learn to golf", with a theatrical shudder.
Although…Alexia looked at the camera view for another floor. The attine ants had found accommodation inside the bodies of some of the intruders, actually mobilizing them. It was fascinating to watch. She wished she'd had a bit more time to give the phenomenon better focus. Still…
She focused, refining down to a single point in the network. Perhaps she could…
A hyphae tentacle burst out of the wall on the screen, swiping sideways at one of the bodies. It curled around the body just a bit too tight. "Ah," Alexia grimaced, watching the ants flee the mess she'd made. Her fine dexterity control needed some work, but with. a little practice, she could make it serviceable. She flexed the tentacle experimentally. This would do nicely, were things to get heated before the lot of them could make their escape.
Jill Valentine set down another box of beakers on the lab bench co-opted for the use of making mototovs. Chris glanced up, nodding in thanks. It had taken then a couple of hours to get this far, but if they could get past the ants, they might have a straight line to the hanger.
Ever since Carlos had shown them Dr. Ashford's file in Puntas Arenas, something had been quietly nagging at her. She'd pushed it aside to focus on the mission - finding Claire. Now that they'd found Chris' tardigrade-tough little sister (and her annoying little friend), she finally had a moment to think.
Chris glanced up at her. "What's up?" He asked, keeping his tone even. Jill shook her head. "Just thinking," she said slowly, "about that tip Rebecca got the day after the mansion."
Chris stared at her a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "This place wasn't included in their information." Following Jill's lead, he kept his language vague. Claire had been through enough, and the other kid seemed to be on a hair trigger against the Ashfords.
"I told you I ran into them right? By the station. Seemed to know what was about to hit."
Chris nodded. "Yeah, Barry passed that along. You don't think…" he darted his eyes to the weird black things on the walls.
"I'd rather focus on getting us the hell out of here, thanks. I don't really want to try the reception."
Claire glanced up, alerted to the hushed conversation. "It's mostly been zombies and ants here so far. Steve shot the warden when we arrived - Alfred's not going anywhere too fast. Alexia," she grimaced. "Well, those other guys, the mercenaries are probably more of a problem than we are, so long as we get out of here quick."
"Those assholes barely lasted an hour, as far as I can tell," Steve piped up. He seemed to be hyperfocused on his work, mixing chemicals while easily managing to share his piece. "The same ones hit Rockfort too, and they got maimed to shit. The only ones I seen walking around so far weren't exactly pulling a trigger."
Claire frowned. "There was that other BOW, outside."
Steve sneered a little into his work. "Fuck. Right. Almost winged me."
Chris' brow furrowed. "Scratch or bite?"
Steve snorted. "I know how that story ends." He rubbed his arm. "No, bullet. I got grazed a little when we caught Alfred outside. Chased us off." Steve looked at Claire. "Coulda been wearing goggles. It was human-shaped, and we really couldn't see."
Claire shook her head. "The eyes were weird. Kind of shiny? It left us alone as soon as we left, anyhow. Jill watched the tension growing in the set of the girl's shoulders. Steve seemed ready with a retort, but got a look at Jill's face and shut his mouth.
Chris met Jill's eyes. "Slash and burn to the hanger, then?"
She nodded. "As soon as we're ready here. Nice, clean exit for once." Whatever was going on here, they could regroup in Puntas Arenas and figure it out. Every new piece of information she heard about Claire's experience screamed turf war.
She missed Steve look up sharply at her pronouncement, mouth setting in a firm, angry line.