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Tie the Noose Chapter 44
Daniel sighed wearily as he stared at the garish display of lights strung around the doorway leading to the holding cells. The decorations felt absurdly cheerful against the grim reality of what lay beyond them. He had been avoiding this part of the facility ever since his conversation with Wesker, putting off the inevitable while he tried to figure out exactly what he was going to say. Every time he thought he had a plan, doubt crept in and sent him back to square one.
But there was no avoiding it now.
Not anymore.
With Barry beginning to show signs of infection, time had become a luxury none of them could afford. Daniel needed his helmet back, fixed and working proper. He'd dropped it off before everything came to light, with a promise to have it back to full before the day was out. The Grafted had nearly destroyed the thing. One brutal strike had ripped it clean from its mounting, tearing out wires and shattering the display screen in the process. By all rights it should have been a total loss, little more than a pile of broken components and cracked plating. The only reason it wasn't sitting in a scrap heap was because the Survivalist had arrived when he did and managed to salvage what remained.
Easier said than done. He knew that the man wasn't trustworthy, but having it shoved in his face like it'd been had been a blow. Literally the first person he'd met in his new reality and they'd been playing him like a damn fiddle. It made him paranoid.
After learning who the man really was, and more importantly, who he worked for, it would have been foolish not to be. The revelations had left him constantly on edge, every interaction colored by the knowledge that he was dealing with someone tied directly to one of the most dangerous organizations on the planet. Trust... or at least the facsimile of it was a lot to ask for, but he needed to play the part anyway. After everything that had happened, it felt nearly impossible.
Yet Barry's condition left little room for personal grudges.
The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface whenever Daniel thought about the traitorous bastard and everything his actions had wrought. It felt hot enough to boil over, fresh as it was, but dwelling on it wouldn't help Barry, and it wouldn't solve the problems piling up around them. Right now, practicality had to come before resentment.
Wesker was pushing hard for the idea of turning the man, and on paper the argument made a certain amount of sense. A capable operative with valuable skills and insider knowledge could be a powerful asset. The logic behind it was difficult to ignore. It didn't do much to quell Daniel's doubts, though. He was a shit spy at the best of times, apparently, and this felt like he was asking too much.
He had already met two of Spencer's other favored pets. Victor Gideon was little more than a lavish lapdog, eager to throw himself at whatever task his master demanded, slavering for approval with almost embarrassing devotion. He was the one who administered the D-Virus to Daniel on Oswell's command. Why, he still didn't quite understand, but this catch and release bullshit was going to haunt him.
Then there was HUNK, a far more unsettling example. Efficient, relentless, and frighteningly competent, he was the fist to Gideon's comparatively velvet touch. He still bore the scars from their match in the Power Plant. As well as his 'gifts' for surviving. Daniel still didn't know what John's game was there, if he was creatively reinterpreting his orders because of some misplaced fondness for the man or if it had been one more misdirection.
Both men were dangerous in their own ways. Spencer himself was even worse. According to Wesker he was a delusional sociopath obsessed with eugenics. Less Mengele and more Southam, maybe, but considering it was coming from Albert of all people it was a damning indictment. Doubly so considering Daniel himself hadn't even known the man's name until just then.
He was the one behind the literal coterie of nightmares that Umbrella had created, and while John had at least seemed human, both Gideon and the Survivalist were dancing on the same thin line that he now found himself on. All of them were tainted. All of them were sick with something.
That was what bothered Daniel. Spencer had a habit of collecting people, reshaping them into tools that served his interests. Looking at Gideon and HUNK, it was hard not to wonder how much of the original person remained beneath the conditioning, loyalty, and ambition. Turning someone like the Survivalist might sound beneficial on paper, but Daniel couldn't shake the feeling that there were consequences they weren't seeing yet. Consequences that might not become apparent until it was far too late.
The Survivalist had something strange about him. He hadn't forgotten the last time he'd confronted the man. The odd pressure that he seemed to exert, when Daniel would press too hard, too far. He didn't have words to describe how that felt beyond that. Like a warning, maybe. Or something older, more primal, living in his lizard brain.
The small hand slipped into his, and he glanced down. Rebecca smiled up at him, looking worn but still beautiful, despite how rough the morning had gone. He hadn't noticed her coming up, caught up in his thoughts, but somehow they felt just a little smaller, a bit more distant, when he felt her presence.
“Everything okay?” she asked. Her voice was tired, but her eyes were bright. The concern in her expression was impossible to miss. She squeezed his hand gently, bringing him back from his spiraling thoughts. "You were looking a little constipated there, hon."
“Just bracing myself,” he said after a moment, his eyes drifting back to the door, trying to put aside the tangle of feelings he had about the man behind it. "Lot on my mind, with everything going on. How's Barry?"
"Hanging in there. He fell asleep again, and Jill's with him. She tries not to show it but she's just as worried as the rest of us." Rebecca said as she tucked against him. Small as she was, he could practically feel her recharging as she pressed her forehead to his chest, resting her eyes. "I gave him some more antifungals. I raided your kit, sorry, but I only packed a few."
"It's fine, dear heart." Daniel said as his hand came up to slip through her hair. It had gotten shaggy in the month they'd been apart, and he kinda liked it. "Use what you need, don't worry about the rest. If it keeps him on the level for a bit longer it's kit well spent. What I have is yours. Always."
"I know, but thank you." She hummed, drifting back to look up at him, her eyes tracing the contours of his face as his brow furrowed again. Even with the seven or eight hours of sleep he'd managed to grab, he was still exhausted, and she could tell. The rest had taken the edge off, but it hadn't erased the strain of the previous days. The rings around his eyes hadn't faded, either, and she'd hoped that the pallor would fade with some rest and recuperation, but it was clear the pigment loss was deeper than just what little surface loss she saw.
But under that he was the same Danny. Still overthinking things, still hyper-focused, still catastrophizing. He got lost in his head too much, even now, and she worried about him. She knew that he still hadn't fully internalized Barry's injury, but when he did it would hit him hard. Not now, not in the field, she suspected, but after? Once things calmed down? It was gonna be bad.
She butted her head into his chest, pulling a chuckle from him when she winced, rubbing her forehead. She'd forgotten he was wearing fifty pounds of solid plating. Still, it got her feelings across, as he leaned down to share his breath with hers. To feel that closeness, as her arms wrapped around his neck, treetrunk thick as it was, now.
“You've got this. Just one step at a time, Danny." She whispered, feeling his too-hot skin against hers, as he nuzzled her gently. "I know you're weird about this guy-”
Danny snorted at that. “What an understatement.”
"But he's just a guy, Danny. Jill told me about how you punched that freaky melted person monster to death yesterday. Even she sounded impressed, despite being kind of a bitch about it." She hummed gently, her cheek to his, "So don't overthink it. Do what you need to, get your stuff, deal with whatever it is that has you hung up on him later. He's not important, you big lug. Got it?"
“Got it.” He said, after a moment as she pulled away. If only it could be that simple, Daniel thought but didn't say. The man waiting behind that door had a way of complicating everything around him, and he seemed to occupy far more space in Daniel's thoughts than he deserved. Still, she was right. Him waffling about it wasn't going to get the job done. Sighing, he made his way over, glad that Rebecca didn't follow. The last thing he wanted was the Survivalist to be interacting with his girlfriend. He barely trusted the man with himself, much less anyone he cared about. The closer he got to the cells-tuned-shop, the more his stomach tightened. Taking a steadying breath, he prepared himself for whatever waited on the other side of the door.
Walking into the room was just as strange this time as it had been the first. The space had once been three separate cells, each built with thick concrete walls and heavy iron bars. Someone had long ago smashed out the partitions between them. The result was a single cavernous chamber that felt less like a lockup and more like a bizarre armory assembled by a man with no sense of restraint. Behind the bars, rows upon rows of weapons had been stacked and arranged in a garish display of firepower.
Crates of ammunition sat open across the floor. Loose rounds glittered in scattered piles. Every corner seemed packed with explosives, spare parts, or some other form of munitions. The sheer volume of equipment made the room feel cluttered, like the man was trying to show off everything he somehow managed to haul up from god knew where. Trying to send a message, maybe, but it just felt like he was trying too hard.
The weapons themselves ranged from the familiar to the downright absurd. Daniel immediately recognized M4s, a handful of G36s, an entire row of aging G3 battle rifles, several shotguns, and more than a few bolt-action hunting rifles. An RPG rested on a rack near the back wall as casually as if it were just another decoration. Yet the farther his gaze traveled, the stranger the collection became. He spotted a crossbow hanging from a rack draped with quivers of bolts, as well as a few compound bows against a backdrop of strands of belted ammo.
A crude pipe rifle reinforced by two thick metal bars wrapped around its barrel sat nearby, wedged just underneath. There was even a spear gun that looked more suited to deep-sea hunting than anything else. Beneath that sat a larger version fitted with a wicked-looking harpoon, looking like it was supposed to be mounted to something, but the bolts had been removed. Tucked against one wall, occupying a place of honor all its own, rested an actual cannon, a neat stack of iron balls sat directly beneath it, as though someone genuinely expected to wheel the thing outside and fire it at a moment's notice.
Daniel still wasn't entirely sure what to make of any of it. The collection felt less like a stockpile and more like a museum display of ways to kill people throughout the ages. Even more confusing was the man seated behind the shoddy wooden stall positioned in the center of the room. The counter sat where the three cells met, giving the Survivalist a clear view of every entrance and every weapon around him. The man's head perked up the instant Daniel stepped through the doorway.
“Hey there, Partner. Been wondering when you'd be coming back. Heard there was a bit of a ruckus out there, but I'm glad to see everything got settled,” the man drawled. The easy greeting immediately set Daniel's teeth on edge. In that moment, he knew that even if the Survivalist hadn't heard every word exchanged outside, he had almost certainly seen the entire thing unfold.
He would have to thank Wesker later for reining him in, strange as that thought felt. He still had to force down the almost instinctive anger that clenched in his stomach, his temper apparently on a much more hair trigger than it was before. He swallowed down his first response, and his second. In the end, he settled for a simple nod.
“Did you manage to get everything fixed up?” he asked in a neutral tone, his expression carefully disinterested. It was a weak attempt at best, and the Survivalist merely chuckled as though he could see straight through the large man.
“You did a real number on it, Partner, but I did indeed manage to get your bucket beat back into shape. Everything should be connected properly now, and you shouldn't have any other issues with it unless you decide to use it for more impact training, poor thing. Try to be a little more careful in the future, all right, Partner? It's a delicate piece of equipment, don't you know? You can't just hammer out the dents and expect everything to work perfectly afterward. At least not more than once or twice.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Daniel said. He glanced briefly toward the weapon racks before returning his attention to the stall. There was still another matter he needed to address. “And the rest?”
“The rest?” the Survivalist asked, his voice twanging with exaggerated innocence. Daniel's brow immediately scrunched in suspicion. The man knew exactly what he meant. Before Daniel could press the issue, the jaundiced man raised both hands in a placating gesture.
“I'm just kidding, partner. I'm just kidding. I got you all countered up. Lot of bronze, little silver, couple gold. Nothing platinum-worthy, but you knew that." He held out a bag for Daniel to take, and he noticed immediately how much leaner it felt compared to the last time. Shooting the masked man a look, he just shrugged. "Don't be like that, Pard. Economy's tough on everyone, and this is all at a premium, even for a preferred customer like yerself."
That pulled a frown from Daniel, but he was willing to concede the point, at least to a point. Still, he had been expecting a bit more given how many of those weird coins he found. He'd been certain that they were real gold, but maybe not? As if the man could read his mind, the Survivalist cut into Daniel's thoughts like a hot knife through butter.
"That said," he started, "I admit I got a little interested in those coins you brought in. Now, I could just cash you out, but this gives me an interesting opportunity." Suddenly there was one of those coins rolling across his fingers, a pouch just out of reach that glinted a metallic yellow. "See, these're something special, a rare vintage you might say. I happen to know a collector who'd be particularly interested in getting their hands on this gold."
"Oh yeah? Daniel said, unimpressed. The Survivalist just rolled his eyes and dropped the coin back into the pouch. Daniel had to suppress a grin at the little impetuous display.
"Oh yeah, Partner. Far as I can tell, these might well be the last coins minted by the South in a last-ditch effort to keep the war goin'. That makes them valuable, son. More'n just the metal value, too, which don't get me wrong, is substantial." The man hummed ponderously. "You made a decent start of it. Got yourself thirty, forty pieces on your own. And then your boy, the blondie, dropped off another bag in yer name, so you aught thank him for that. All in all, you got about eighty coins here, give or take. It's not a bad haul, Partner. On it's own it'd rack you up a decent little payout of gold, along with a little platinum, but... If you can find me another hunnert, hunnert-twenty of the things, get a real genuine chest worth of them? Well, I know someone who'll pay a premium for that.”
“A premium?” Daniel asked, curious despite himself. “The hell does that mean?”
“Well, as you might have surmised,” the Survivalist drawled. “I cater to a certain kind of clientele. They're looking for things you can't necessarily buy with money. Rare things, weird things, one-of-a-kind things, you might say. And the last minted Confederate gold of the Civil War, stolen right from these mountains? Well, hell, the man I'm thinking of, he'd offer a pretty prize for the effort. Something you can't just buy with cash or coins. Something real nice, too.”
Daniel frowned, thinking about it. Vague as vague could be. That was the Survivalist's stock in trade. He couldn't say it didn't interest him, and Wesker, coming to mind, did mention deepening the relationship as step one in flipping the bastard. Daniel chewed on it, before nodding, and the Survivalist gave a hoot.
“That's what I like to hear, Partner!” He grinned at Daniel in that same unsettling way he did. "I promise ya won't regret it!" The large man already kinda did, but it's not like he couldn't just ignore it if it came down to it, though he had a feeling Wesker would want him to make it happen if he could.
Reaching behind him, Daniel could hear a shuffling of papers before the man produced a sheaf of tightly wrapped documents tied with a leather string. Pulling it, he unraveled the coil, the blue parchment strange, with an almost waxy feel when he touched it, stiff, but not made of any kind of material he was familiar with. It was almost leathery, but why the hell would anyone make paper out of leather?
Stamped on it, in big bold letters, were the words Order of Consignment: The holder of this contract is hereby offered on consignment. Collect 200 or more Confederate gold coins and return to the consigner of this ticket in exchange for stock and trade.
Daniel glanced at the Survivalist after glancing over the document, a bit perturbed. “Well, this seems oddly official.”
The Survivalist just chuckled. “That's just how these things work, Partner. Got to keep things professional-like. It's for the paper pushers, don't you know?”
No, Daniel didn't, but he also didn't have the bandwidth to consider just what the man meant by that either. With a sigh he just took the note and shoved it into a pocket, before pulling some more coins from his bag. If Wesker did contribute something he would have to thank the man later, since it seemed like everything was at a premium, and he did have things to buy.
Mostly ammo, more supplies, a lot of replacement antifungals to keep Barry together while they were gone, and explosives. Always more explosives. He didn't have the time or desire to go looking for anything fancy, though he did shill out for better masks and steel mesh undersuits for Chris and Jill. It wasn't a perfect defense against getting cut up, but he hoped it would be enough to stave off claws or teeth long enough to keep them from growing a new hole or five.
A lot of what he grabbed was extra, topping off what he and the others brought, between the spare ammo, armor kits and herb supplies, they should be fine on their foray into the Research Center, but a little extra never hurt nobody. He'd had the good sense to ask the others if they needed anything specific, to which Chris had asked if he could get more grenades for the grenade launcher he'd commandeered from Barry, and he'd bought two bandoleers of hi-ex and flame shells for the hefty weapon.
Combined with two cases of handheld frag and flash to round out everyone's arsenal, he wasn't taking any chances. None of them were, even if it emptied out most of what he'd managed to gain. Easy come, easy go, as the old saying went, but better poor and alive, than rich and dead.
“Pleasure doing business with you, partner,” the Survivalist said, that same smarmy half-smile on his lips that always annoyed Daniel. “And remember, you bring me them coins, I got somethin' real nice for ya. Take my word on that as gospel.” Daniel just nodded as he left the little shop.
Not as bad as he'd been expecting, but still it left a bad taste in his mouth all the same. He knew the old bastard was making out like a bandit comparatively, and he had a feeling the slim returns were as much about the scarcity as it was to send a message that trinkets weren't the real prize here.
Stepping out of the room with his repaired helmet hanging from one hand and the four crates tucked under another arm, he made his way back to the car. A bit of juggling let him get the door open, and he set his purchases on the bed, laying them out. He was already half-kitted out from his aborted confrontation with the withered shopkeep, but having the rest of his kit was a strange comfort to him. The feeling of armor on his body had become more natural than the feeling without, and he chuckled a bit, thinking about that old meme.
"Slip into something comfortable, heh." He grinned lightly. He didn't often think about his old life, not that there was much to think about to begin with, and shook his head, focusing on the hear and now. He almost missed it when Chris walked up behind him, but the sound of his footsteps, heavy and sure, were hard to miss otherwise.
“Carter.”
He nodded to Daniel. The greeting was simple, but there was something hesitant underneath it that hadn't been there before. Daniel turned to glance at him, already bracing himself for where the conversation might go. Neither of them looked particularly comfortable, given the last few days and the simmering hostility Chris had been holding onto, that wasn't surprising.
“Redfield,” Daniel grunted back, warily. Looking at Chris, he noticed the man wasn't angry for once, but seemed more... apprehensive. Daniel set down the magazine he'd been loading and gave the man his full attention.
The two just stood there for a moment, staring at one another. The silence stretched longer than either of them seemed to want, weighed down by old frustrations, hard feelings, and everything that had happened since. Daniel could practically see Chris trying to figure out how to start, and almost felt some kind of sympathy for the man, if only just. Finally, Chris sighed and rubbed the back of his head. The gesture looked awkwardly familiar, one that made Daniel feel like he was staring into a mirror.
“Look, I don't know how to say it, so I'm just gonna go ahead. I didn't mean to keep going off on you, especially not after what you went through. You made it hard for me to trust you, and I'm not gonna lie and say that those feelings still aren't there, but... sitting here, pretending like... this is anything but personal would be hypocritical of me." Chris sighed, deflating. "I don't like that you lied to me, and to be completely frank, I'm a little bit pissed off that you managed to kick my ass. My ego didn't like that one at all, but taking it out on you? That's not gonna help anyone.”
Daniel watched him, silent for a moment, before acknowledging the effort. The apology wasn't perfect, but he hadn't expected it to be. Chris wasn't trying to excuse himself, and that mattered more than polished words ever could. There was still irritation in his voice, still distrust, but there was honesty too. Daniel found that he respected that more than anything.
“Yeah, that's fair,” he said after a moment of watching the man squirm uncomfortably. “I'm not the easiest person to deal with, especially not when it comes to this. There's no compromising on it, not even a little bit. I hope you understand that, but... Whatever issues we had, I'm willing to let them go.”
The admission wasn't easy for him either. He knew exactly how stubborn he could be when it came right down to it, and he could nurse a grudge with the best of them. Looking back, he couldn't really blame Chris for reacting the way he had, even if he hadn't appreciated it at the time. They had both dug their heels in and refused to budge. But he was right, at some point, continuing to hold onto that resentment had stopped accomplishing anything useful.
Daniel held out his hand, and after a moment, Chris took it. There was a brief hesitation before their hands met, as though both men were making a final decision. They shook once, firm and uncomplicated. And that was that, Daniel resolved to move on so long as Chris did. As a peace offering, he motioned over to the crates of ammo and explosives.
“I picked up a few things,” he said as he cracked open the first of the boxes, showing rows of baseball-sized grenades nestled in the wood shavings, nearly two dozen in neat little cubes. Chris picked one up, seeing the markings on the side.
Chris perked up. “M-67s? New too.” He rolled the explosive in his hand, getting a feel for it. He hadn't used them since his days in the Air Force, no, even as far back as Basic. He still remembered the feel though, and how to use them.
“Yeah,” Daniel said, motioning to the others, "Along with M-84s, a load of grenades for the launcher and a bunch of ammo and medical supplies. I wanted to be ready for anything that might be waiting for us out there."
The shift in conversation came as a relief. The tension hadn't vanished completely, but it had eased enough that neither of them felt trapped inside it anymore. Daniel found himself relaxing slightly. Chris looked relieved too, even if he would never admit it out loud.
“Seems your friend had a decent selection.” Chris hummed. “The guy wouldn't talk to me or Jill. Hell, I don't even know how Wesker managed to get through to him. The guy was a brick wall to us.”
That caught Daniel by surprise. Not the bit about Wesker, that he knew. The rest of it was unexpected though. He had assumed the Survivalist simply hadn't bothered interacting with them. Apparently that hadn't been the case.
“You two spoke to him? Or tried, at least, from the way you described it.” Daniel pondered as Chris broke open the next crate, sliding out the 40mm shells and lining them up on the belt that came with them.
“Yeah,” Chris grunted. “It was weird. Jill and I tried to get some answers out of him, but every time we tried, we got deflected. And then when we tried to push, it just got weird, uncomfortable. I don't know how to describe it.” Daniel hummed. He knew exactly what Chris meant. The memory alone was enough to make him vaguely uncomfortable.
“It weighs down on you, right?” He asked. “Like a feeling that if you kept trying to push, he'd start pushing back. Weird, and unnatural, like you were at the edge of a really tall cliff and staring down. Or maybe up a skyscraper from the base. Sound starts muting at the edges, right?”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, it was like that. Never felt anything like it, not from anyone. I don't scare easy, not to brag, but that guy had my hair standing up.”
Daniel looked at Chris. “I'll be the first to tell you that the Survivalist is dangerous. I've never actually seen him in action, but I have seen the aftermath. It was a hell of a thing. I'd just gotten done down in the bunker and was riding a hidden supply elevator to the surface, expecting to have to fight my way out. Instead he was waiting for me. Him and around thirty dead USS."
"No shit? They don't sound like much, though. Jill told me you went through them like a wide dog through rabbits, uh, no offense." Chris said, and Daniel just shrugged. She wasn't wrong, if his memories served.
"Things are a bit hazy for me there, I admit, but don't worry about it. But no, it wasn't like that with me. This vest," He rapped his knuckles on his chestplate, "Plus the rest of the armor, the gloves, helmet, legs, all of it are made out of a hardened titanium composite. Basically tank armor. It lets me ignore most of what they were firing, and I was shooting shotshell grenades and armor-piercing ammo. I cheat, in a nutshell. Plus, yanno, me." he shrugged, motioning to himself. Chris acknowledged the unspoken implication behind his increased mass.
"Point is, he did all that without any of those advantages. Just him and a handgun against a small platoon of heavily kitted and armed mercenaries, and he killed them to a man. Did it fast, too. The bodies were still warm when I stumbled out of the elevator a minute later." Daniel said, grimly. Chris just nodded, processing that. "Either way that's all I really have to say about the guy. I've known him for almost a year now and I barely know anything about him beyond that.”
It wasn't exactly true, but in this case it was better to keep the harmless lie going. he would talk to Wesker later to see about getting the others read in on the guy, but that was a problem for future Daniel. They all had enough on their plate right now.
“I hear you.” Chris said, slinging one of the belts around his shoulder, before glancing up, spotting his partner over by their makeshift Infirmary talking to Rebecca. “I'll drag Jill over. It's gonna be you, me, and her before too long, and I'll be honest, I'm a bit hesitant about how the Captain wants us to run things.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Daniel said, glancing over. “Look, I know what Wesker said, but I don't know a damn thing about leading anyone doing anything, much less the SOP on these kinds of things. I don't plan to step on you guys' toes. You know what you're doing." His voice was distant, like he was pondering something. "All I ask is that if something weird comes up, you listen to what I have to say. Shit can get strange and dangerous in unexpected ways when we're going into one of Umbrella's fun houses. So we'll make this quick and clean. Head in, sweep the place, get what we need, get back, help Barry, and hopefully we'll be able to figure out what else to do here, and most importantly, how we can shut this place down.”
As he spoke, the reality of what was coming settled back into place. The apology had helped, but it hadn't changed the situation they were in. There was still a job ahead of them. There were still people depending on them to get it right. Whatever personal issues remained would need to be dealt with later, but for now, there was peace between the two men.
“Yeah, I feel that,” Chris said, face firm. "Barry needs us, so lets not fuck it up, eh?"
And that was that.
"You boys kiss and make up?" Jill asked as she came over. Chris had waved her down when she finished up with Rebecca, bringing her over. She gave the two a once over.
"Why, sad you missed the show?" Chris snorted, getting Daniel to roll his eyes, Jill just smirked at the two of them.
"Watching two burly, muscular guys get all hot and heavy? Shit, I'd pay to see it." She snorted, "But I know you wouldn't cheat on me like that, Chris. Especially not with Lobo over here."
"Who the hell is that?" Chris asked, but Daniel just groaned. He did look like the eponymous character didn't he? Fuck. One more thing to hate Gideon for.
"Comic book character. I dated a guy who was into that kinda stuff a few years back." She shrugged, "Nice guy, didn't last." She added on at Daniel's raised eyebrow.
"I remember him. Geeky dude, good taste in music though. That was what, three years ago?" Chris ribbed her as he handed her a magazine of P90 ammo, then another as she slid them into her vest. Daniel had a shitload of it, and he was glad for it too, considering where her rifle ended up.
"Yeah. Anyway, glad to see you two are all buddy buddy now." She said, before turning to face Daniel. "I know Wesker said-" She started, only to stop when Chris put his hand on her shoulder.
"We talked about it. He knows not to try and play armchair general. All he wants is for us to listen if he has something to share, right Dan?" Chris asked, and Daniel nodded. Jill pursed her lips for a moment before coming to a decision, and nodding.
"Fair enough, then. No need to get into a dick waving contest over it." Jill nodded, only for Chris to get the biggest smile on his face. Jill saw it too late.
"Why not? Scared you'll lose, Jill Valentine? I always thought you said you were more man than any of us, remember?" Chris quipped, and Jill slugged him in the arm none too softly, getting a pained groan from the man.
"Fuck you, Redfield. I got more between my legs than both of you, and you goddamn know it." She said, her smile all teeth, as Chris rubbed his arm gingerly. Jill turned her gimlet eye on Daniel, but he just held up his hands.
"Leave me out of this Lovers' spat. I didn't say nothin'." He grunted, and Jill let off a barking laugh. The three continued on for a bit as they loaded up, grabbing as much as they could carry. Both Chris and Jill were glad they didn't need to haul the heavy supply bags they'd had to ruck since getting there, though Daniel did. Both were curious as to why, and he just told them it was better to have it and not need it, even if they disagreed some.
Granted the damn thing weighed something like a hundred and fifty pounds extra on top of the rest of his armor, but as Jill said it, the man was 'roided out enough to not care all that much. In the end all of them had what they hoped was more than enough ammo to handle whatever nightmares were hiding out in the labs. Daniel had warned them that those were always, always the worst. Neither of them commented after they watched him fall into a memory of something and shudder immediately after.
Wesker wished them luck as he headed towards the security center. None of them were surprised with how taciturn he was, lost in his own head about planning this or that contingency. Jill told Daniel that that was just how the Captain was before a mission, and she knew that if he could he'd be right there with them. Daniel had his doubts, but he didn't let them show.
Rebecca only had a moment to spare as Barry slowly degraded, but she still found her way over to Daniel. The sight of her immediately cut through the tension he had been carrying. For a brief moment, everything else faded into the background.
She came up and kissed Daniel on the cheek.
“Be safe,” she whispered into his ear and hugged him.
Daniel wrapped an arm around her for a second longer than he probably should have. The concern in her voice hit harder than he expected. It reminded him that someone would be waiting for him to come back. More than that, it reminded him how badly he wanted to return. He squeezed her gently before letting go.
And that was it. It was go time.
000
“What the fuck?” The words tumbled from Chris's lips as he, Jill, and Daniel piled out of the bunker and into an alien landscape. It had been barely a day since the heating system was reactivated, and while the deep trenches that followed the paths remained, the high snowbanked walls boxing them in, everything within those channels had transformed into something grotesque and unrecognizable. The steam that once drifted harmlessly from the vents now billowed upward in thick, inky clouds, so dark it looked more like smoke than anything else. It rolled through the trenches in sluggish waves, staining the air and swallowing their visibility beyond a handful of feet, and the snow was now smeared with patches of gray-black residue, as though the taint itself had condensed and settled across the landscape.
From every steam vent, strange organic growths had erupted. Long tendrils of moldy cilia stretched upward from the earth, swaying gently despite the still air, their surfaces glistening with moisture and decay. Some were no thicker than fingers, while others resembled ropes of diseased flesh twisting around one another as they climbed several feet into the air. Bulbous sacs clung to their sides, pulsing faintly before bursting with wet pops that scattered clouds of spores across the surrounding snow. Each release painted the white drifts in spreading stains of sickly gray and green, creating vast patches of discoloration that looked like bruises spreading across the frozen world. The smell hit them moments later, a nauseating mixture of mildew, rot, and something faintly chemical that burned at the back of their throats.
The ground beneath their boots was even worse. What little exposed earth remained was coated in a living carpet of fungal growth that twitched and undulated as though responding to their presence. Countless black, vein-like threads spread outward from the vents in every direction, weaving themselves across the trenches in intricate networks that resembled a colossal spider web spun from the rot and disease. The strands pulsed intermittently, carrying dark fluids through their interiors, and every so often a section would contract, causing nearby clusters of spores to shudder and release fresh clouds into the air. Even the snow seemed infected, threaded through with black filaments that disappeared beneath the drifts before emerging elsewhere. Chris stared in disbelief as the corruption stretched as far as he could see down the trench, transforming the world outside the bunker into something that looked less like a winter landscape and more like the surface of a world being consumed by a living plague.
“Masks on. Masks on,” Daniel snapped, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence. He checked the readings scrolling across his display and felt a knot form in his stomach. “My sensors are picking up trace contaminants in the air. You don't want this shit getting in your lungs.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Jill chimed in from the side, already pulling her mask into place. Chris followed suit, securing his own as the three of them stared out at what lay ahead.
“What the hell happened?” Chris asked. “All this was clear just a day ago.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the growth. “I don't know. All this steam created a hot, wet environment for it. Perfect. If it wanted to spread, would be my guess.”
“If it's moving this fast,” Jill said, “I hate to see what it'll look like when it warms up.”
Daniel couldn't argue with that.
The thick plumes, which had been a pain in the ass to navigate before had turned into downright soup, the mix of steam and fungal material, a combination of hot and clinging that was going to slow their pace significantly. Comparative to the barracks, it was a brisk walk in normal times, maybe five, ten minutes at most. Daniel was under no illusions that it would be so easy. Fast was sloppy, sloppy missed things, and missed things killed people.
It didn't stop the sight of it from making his skin crawl. Whatever this organism was, it wasn't behaving like any ordinary mold. It spread too aggressively, adapting to its environment with unsettling efficiency. Given enough time, Daniel suspected it would overrun every habitable section of the facility. And it wouldn't stop there, would it? It was a sick kind of luck that this whole disaster happened when everything was an icecube. If whatever took the facility happened in spring, it would make the overgrowth around the hospital seem like a leisurely walk through a botanical garden.
“We need to get moving,” Daniel said, finally tearing his eyes away from the infestation. “I don't know if any more of those things are hiding in the walls. There's been plenty of time for more to break loose, so keep your eyes peeled.”
“Yeah,” Chris said, “do you want me to take point?”
It was a fair question, but Daniel shook his head. “No, I'm better armored than you are. And I'm pretty sure I'm immune to this crap by now,” he said, implicating his own strange, highly aggressive infection. They hadn't really touched base on what that meant, but Daniel was a hundred percent certain it made him immune to this flavor of hell, at least in small doses.
Both Chris and Jill looked distinctly uncomfortable with that, but they both agreed regardless. Instead Jill took up rearguard, and Chris, checking his rifle, took center. There was an old, familiar fluidity to them that Daniel felt a bit envious of, all told. The two were genuinely well trained and prepared, compared to him, who was, if not an enthusiastic amateur, still miles away from that level of discipline and experience.
Raising his P90, Daniel began making his way across the parking lot towards the open gap in the walls of snow. “According to my map, the R&D facility is around thirty-five hundred feet directly north northwest. We'll have to circle around the central plaza again and then pass where the Barracks is, but it should theoretically be clear. A side path from there will take us to the research facility directly.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Chris said with faux cheer. Jill just grunted, checking her own P90. She'd opted to take one of the spare shotguns, and Chris had decided to haul the grenade launcher. They were loaded down with as much ammunition as they could carry, sans hauling a backpack of the stuff. Daniel hoped it would be enough, though worst came to worst, he was a walking arsenal bristling with weapons.
Still, he'd learned a long time ago that being prepared and being ready were not the same thing.
Sweeping in, the three stepped through the entrance with weapons raised and eyes moving constantly. The eerie silence that greeted them stopped all conversation for a moment. Only the faint hissing of steam vents broke the stillness. Moist, sticky air drifted through the trenches, carrying clouds of mold spores from the infected piping below.
Jill slowed and scanned the passage behind them. Her grip tightened around her weapon as she listened. After several seconds, she glanced between the others. There was an eerie lack of nothing, like everything around them was holding it's breath.
“Do you hear anything?” Jill asked.
Daniel paused long enough to focus on the sounds around them before shaking his head. Chris did the same. Both men shared a look, before turning to Jill.
“No,” Chris replied. "It's weird, now that you mention it. Shouldn't there be birds or something?"
“I don't like this,” Jill said coldly, eyes narrowing behind her mask. “It's way too quiet.”
Her voice carried farther than it should have, and the sound seemed to linger after she finished speaking, drawing all three into another brief silence. They resumed moving, each careful about where they placed their feet. Their boots squelched against the thick overgrowth coating the floor. Strands of fungal growth clung to their soles wherever they stepped, slick yet oddly sticky, making their footfalls echo in the dead air.
Chris muttered under his breath when a patch of mold brushed against his pant leg. He immediately pulled away and wiped at the spot with a gloved hand, only managing to smear it across the cloth. Jill, meanwhile, gave the walls a wide berth whenever the passage allowed it. More than once she caught herself leaning away from clusters of growth protruding from the piping. The mold formed long, cilia-like structures that swayed slightly in the currents of steam. Every movement drew her attention. Every shift made her wonder whether something hidden inside the growth was reacting to them.
Daniel noticed the same behavior from both of them. Neither said much, but he could see it in the way they moved. Their shoulders remained tense. Their heads turned constantly. He knew the feeling. Hypervigilance, by any stretch of the word, was sinking into them, feeding that growing sense of unease. He felt much the same, not a calm before the storm, but more like they were prey being watched by a stalking predator. It was an apt description, he thought humorlessly.
The fungal mass coating the trenches seemed disturbingly active. Small pockets of dark slurry shifted beneath the surface whenever droplets of condensation fell into them. Thick growths spread across snowy walls and pipes in tangled layers, unbothered by the cold, or maybe feeding from it. Nothing actually moved toward them, yet the sensation of being observed refused to fade.
“Never gonna look at black mold the same way again,” Chris grunted. He nudged a patch of growth aside with the barrel of his weapon and immediately regretted it when a foul strand stretched out like overchewed gum, clinging to the tip.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jill murmured. “I hate how it feels like it's watching us. It's weird. Creepy.” She rubbed her free arm and shook her head before returning her attention to the corridor ahead.
Daniel didn't let the conversation distract him. He continued monitoring his feed, watching as the HUD screamed it's myriad of warnings at him. The toxicity in the air was just getting worse, the particle density raising precipitously with every step. His sensors remained active, marking, tracking, seeking whatever they could find, even with the wall of smog blocking his vision.
The mapping software updated continuously as they advanced down the beaten path, noting how the trench had changed from just a day ago, like it was a living thing that was just waiting for him to look away. He switched between visual modes several times, searching for anything unusual. The effort produced little. Infrared proved nearly useless. The steam plumes pouring from damaged vents glowed brightly enough to obscure large sections of his view. Enhanced hearing wasn't much better. The constant hiss of escaping pressure filled his ears and buried subtler sounds beneath a blanket of noise.
He adjusted settings repeatedly, trying to filter out interference. Each attempt yielded the same result. Empty trenches. Steam. Mold. Nothing else. That bothered him, almost more than if they were under constant attack, like when he and the girls went charging after Chris and the others. Headless had been bursting from the walls in a desperate attempt to slow them down, and it had almost worked. Now, it was almost like they were being let in. Like there was an ambush waiting, just out of sight.
They continued forward at a measured pace. Nobody rushed, their squelching steps pulling them closer and closer. Jill didn't untense, not once, as she kept her weapon raised, tight to her body, one hand gripping tight onto Chris's belt to make sure she didn't get separated. Chris periodically checked back at her, for much the same reason. Daniel watched both when possible, dividing his attention between the team and the sensor data scrolling across his display. The fog was dense enough that if someone went down one of the myriad corridors, they'd lose sight of them in an instant, and for Jill or Chris that could end with them wandering god knows where. There were a hundred intersecting paths that had been cleared by the steam vents at this point, making the whole network of walkways a labyrinth.
The deeper they went, the more uneasy he became. He had expected resistance. He had expected creatures lurking behind walls or concealed within the curtains of tainted steam. Every encounter so far had taught him to anticipate those sudden attacks, but instead, they found only silence. It was like that old joke, about how the absence of evidence wasn't the evidence of absence.
It took everything he had not to jump at the shadows. Several times he caught himself tensing, seeing a ghostly flash in the misty shadows, weapon jerking up to follow what was nothing more than his active imagination.
Nothing happened. No Headless from above or the sides, no rampaging monsters charging down the path, no sudden reemergence of the Grafted or the clicking of the bone-limbs that heralded a Necro. That lack of presence settled heavily in his stomach. The quiet wasn't reassuring. Whatever inhabited these trenches should have noticed them by now.
Daniel tightened his grip on his weapon and kept moving. The peacefulness surrounding them wasn't enough to lower his guard. If anything, it made him more suspicious. Something was missing, and until he knew what it was, he refused to relax.
As they crossed into the central plaza, they all felt a low rumble roll up through the ground. It traveled through their boots and into their bones, subtle at first and then impossible to ignore. The three froze almost as one, instincts taking over as they dropped into low crouches, heads turning, eyes searching.
“Did you feel that?” Daniel asked.
“Hell yeah, I did,” Chris said, with Jill just giving him a nod.
“I don't know what that was, but it sounded big. Watch your footing, and try not to make any noise. This shit is always attracted to sound. Always.” Daniel said, grimly.
The two nodded as they began their trek again, slower now, more deliberate. Every so often the ground would shudder beneath them. A rumbling would follow, accompanied by a wet gurgling from somewhere deep within the pipes, like something thick and living was forcing its way through the metal veins hidden throughout the facility. Each vibration made their shoulders tense. Each distant groan drew their attention in a different direction. None of them spoke, not wanting to risk attracting whatever was moving beneath the snow and concrete.
But as they drew closer to the R&D center, the disturbances only grew more frequent, more insistent, like a warning they couldn't quite decipher. It was less a sense of being tracked as it was like there was something all around them, just below the surface.
As they passed by the barracks, Chris couldn't help but glance down the path. His eyes lingered on the broken gates that lead to where they'd fought for their lives against the Grafted. Even now, the memory sat heavily in his mind. He remembered Danny tearing the thing apart with his bare hands, remembered the impossible strength behind every movement. He still didn't know what to make of that. Didn't know what questions to ask. But he was fairly certain the creature was dead for good.
Then he saw it.
Something long and slithering moved across the path.
The shape slipped between snowdrifts with unsettling speed, appearing for only a moment before vanishing again. It moved like a snake and like a vine, like something that belonged to neither category and both at once.
Chris froze.
His hand shot out, tapping Danny on the shoulder. The gesture was quick but urgent. Daniel stopped immediately, and Jill slipped into position beside them, her posture tightening as she followed their gaze.
“Hey, did you see that?” He whispered and pointed.
They both turned their heads to look.
Nothing.
The path remained still, and empty.
The snow remained undisturbed.
For a moment they simply watched, waiting for another glimpse of movement.
“What did you see?” Daniel whispered, eventually.
“I don't know,” Chris said. “It was long, looked like a... like a vine. Or, I don't know, a big thick cable. It was fast. Didn't seem to care very much about the snow, either.” He tried to describe what he'd seen, quick as it had been. The fact that he'd caught it at all in the murk was a miracle all it's own.
“Shit,” Daniel grunted, as he rose, motioning for them to keep moving. “Keep your eyes peeled and watch the walls. I don't want either of you getting dragged away and into something.”
“You've seen something like it before?” Jill asked, slipping close to keep her voice from carrying.
Daniel nodded, solemnly, remembering his fight against the Headsman, and his ultimate fate. “Yeah, at the hospital. There were these vines, thick grasping ones. They were attached to this weird mutant flower person that was growing out of the roof of the building. I saw it drag off a man bigger than I am like he weighed nothing.” As he spoke, his eyes continued scanning the surrounding structures. His grip tightened slightly around his weapon. The memory clearly wasn't one he enjoyed revisiting.
Chris shared a look with Jill as Daniel shook his head, clearing his mind of it, and the ultimate revelations behind just who that big bastard was. With that, they carried on, the last leg of the journey ahead.
The closer they got, the more visible the facility became. What had once been a distant silhouette looming over the snowbanks gradually resolved into walls, windows, and finally the entrance itself. The sight of it drew a quiet breath of relief from all three. Their time in the trench maze had been fraught, even without the advent of the slavering hordes of undead.
A heavy gate blocked the way, much like the one at the worker barracks. Before either of the men could suggest a louder, more explosive solution, Jill stepped forward, producing her lockpick kit. Smaller, and more worn than Daniel's, it was of a clearly higher quality all the same. It was better, she argued, than blasting it open. Better to stay quiet, she impressed upon the two. Daniel and Chris didn't argue.
Jill slid into place with a practiced confidence, her deft fingers sliding the metal tools into the thick lock. The motion was smooth, familiar, and skillful, like she had done it a thousand times. For all Daniel knew, she had. Fortunately, the outdoor gates were all manual. They may have had magnetic locks, but the keyhole override was exactly the kind of redundancy she knew how to exploit.
Daniel and Chris immediately shifted into overwatch positions. Their eyes swept across the path behind them, and above, in case something had gotten the idea to ford the snowbanks to get the drop on them. It was a seamless transition between the two, as Jill worked her way through what sounded like an incredibly complex locking mechanism.
Nothing moved.
Nothing stirred.
Still, neither relaxed.
Click.
Click click.
Click.
The tumblers popped one after another, the sounds barely audible yet somehow deafening against the oppressive silence. Chris looked down to Jill, asking a hushed question, while Daniel ran a scan of things again. If anything, this was when the attack would come.
“Almost got it,” Jill said after a moment, sounding positively smug. Daniel grinned beneath his mask. She really was the master of unlocking, wasn't she? The thought had barely crossed his mind before the final tumbler gave way. Jill turned the mechanism fully, and the gate responded with a sharp magnetic snap as the locks disengaged.
“Easy as cake,” Jill said, as the door swung open on its automatic hinges.
None of them saw the movement until it had already crossed the open ground, and the thick, veiny tentacle snapped around Jill’s legs with enough force to rip her completely off her feet. Her body hit the concrete hard, shoulder first, and the impact tore the breath out of her as her picks scattered across the ground.
“Fuck, it’s got my legs!” she yelped, her voice cracking roughly from the impact as her cry pulled the attention of both men. They spun, weapons coming up, but the tendril had already pulled Jill several feet away with a heavy tug.
The tentacle dragged her again, further, before either Daniel or Chris could reach her, its ridged surface flexing beneath the black veins that pulsed through it. Jill clawed at the ground with one hand and tried to twist herself out of the fleshy cable, but the thing dug in, pulling a scream from her lips. Her body scraped across the wet concrete, leaving streaks through the grime while it dragged her towards the vent on the side of the building.
She was already halfway across the courtyard by the time Daniel and Chris opened fire, their weapons hammering over one another in a brutal, panicked rhythm. Chris planted his feet and fired short bursts into the writhing cable, trying to cut it apart without sending rounds through Jill’s legs. Daniel moved at an angle, P90 tight against him, bullets stitching across the thickest section of the thing as black fluid burst from the impacts.
The tentacle recoiled from the hits and tossed Jill sideways, slamming her against the ground hard enough to daze her. It never loosened its grip, and the sudden change in direction almost shattered her legs from the sudden, wrenching twist.
“Fuck, get it off me! Get it off me before it pulls me under!” she screamed, dragging her weapon around with shaking hands, her vision swaying from where she hit the ground. The tentacle twisted again, ruining her aim and sending her into a crate, causing her to gasp as her whole body exploded into pain.
Chris reached her first, throwing himself across the slick ground and wrapping both arms around her torso before the tentacle could pull her the last few yards. The force nearly tore Jill out of his grip, and his boots skidded across the concrete as he dug in with everything he had.
“Hold on, I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go!” Chris shouted, his voice rising with strain as the thing pulled them both toward the wall. The wet, mold-ridden ground was fighting against them, refusing them purchase, like they were sliding across wet grass.
Jill caught his vest with one fist and tried to kick free with the other leg, but the remaining length around her thighs tightened hard enough to make her cry out. Chris hauled backward until his shoulders shook, his face red behind the mask, and every inch he won was stolen back by the pulsing drag from the vent.
“I’m not gonna let it take you!" Chris screamed, holding her tight, trying desperately to reverse their momentum. "I’m not gonna let it take you! I’ve got you!” Chris reiterated, more to himself this time, as Daniel closed the distance, weapon up and roaring as he pumped rounds right into the creature's mossy. pulpy flesh.
The ground shuddered beneath them, and a deafening roar tore through the vents with enough force to make the air itself seem to buckle. The sound rolled through the courtyard and shook the snowbanks overhead, sending icicles crashing down around them. Chris threw both he and Jill to the side as several man-long spikes of ice shattered right where they'd been, Daniel just ignoring the frozen ice as it shattered against his armor.
The tentacle responded by pulling harder, and Jill screamed as the pressure in her legs became something sharp and grinding. Daniel dropped the empty P90, letting it hang, and reached for his combat axe, his hands pulling it free with a screech of metal, the blade coming loose and rising high in a smooth, singular motion.
He slammed one boot onto the tentacle just below Jill’s trapped knees, pinning it against the concrete while it thrashed under his weight. The thing writhed beneath him, all muscle and some kind of strange, undulating hydraulic, like a too-stiff hose being crushed down, choking out the water pressure. Daniel brought the hatchet down with both hands, putting all his strength behind it.
The blade bit deep on the first strike, carving through the thick chitinous sheath that protected the back of the tentacle and bit into the swollen flesh. spraying hot black fluid across Daniel’s chest. He struck again, harder, forcing the edge into the same wound while the tentacle bucked beneath him and tried to throw him off while Chris used the moment of slack to start unwinding Jill. The mold-filled vine held strong, though, and clamped tighter, pulling another agonized scream from Jill as she felt her bones creak.
Daniel chopped again and again, each swing landing with a meaty crack that sent shudders up through the handle and into his arms. Sparks flashed when the blade glanced against the concrete beneath the damaged tissue, and the impact sent gouts of pressurized, brackish blood hosing across the ground. On the final swing, the hatchet punched through the last corded fibers, and the severed length snapped apart with a violent, wet recoil.
Chris and Jill tumbled backward as the tension released, both of them hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs and gear. The severed tentacle whipped upward in a vicious curl, spraying viscous black blood across the concrete, the walls, the nearby snow, and all over the trio as they backed away as quick as they could.
Daniel threw himself aside before the worst of it hit him, but streams of the foul-smelling gunk still basted across him. Jill dragged herself backward with shaking elbows while Chris grabbed under her arms and hauled her away from the twitching piece still wrapped around her legs.
The inside of the tentacle peeled loose reluctantly, exposing rows of thin tooth-like protrusions that had sunk into her flesh. Long spiraling gashes circled her legs where the thing had bitten in, and fresh blood ran quickly beneath the torn fabric.
“Fuck! Oh shit, oh fuck me, holy shit!” Jill gasped, almost babbling as she drew herself back, trying to keep her voice steady while her hands trembled against the concrete.
Chris kicked the deflating tip away from them, the strange, mouth-ridden appendage flattening out as it bled all the remaining fluid out. Jill tried to avoid touching it, but it was all over everything. She tried to stand too soon, and her knees nearly buckled under her before Chris caught her against his chest.
“Easy, Jill, easy!” Chris said, sounding as soothing as he could as the unflappable ex-Delta fought through the shock, forcibly getting herself under control. Daniel stepped between them and the vent, grabbing the saiga, loaded with grenades, and keeping it trained on the hole. The weapon cracked, once, twice, then three times as he fed explosive rounds into the shattered vent.
"You will come out no more, motherfucker!" He shouted as a screech echoed around them, the ground shaking, but the gash in the wall flaming and broken. Jill and Chris refrained from commenting as he came up and took her other arm, the two helping her limp toward the thick vault door of the research facility.
They barely made it three steps when the courtyard began to break apart around them. More tentacles oozed from the gaps in the wall, pushing through the steam vent plates and coiling out of the piping with slow, hungry patience. The concrete cracked under the pressure as thick lengths of writhing flesh forced themselves up from below, widening the fractures into jagged seams. Steam blasted around them in dirty bursts, carrying black spores and the wet stink of the growth boiling beneath the surface.
“Move it! Move it! Move it!” Daniel shouted, driving the others toward the door while another tentacle lashed across the space behind them. Chris half-carried Jill for the first few steps, then she forced her weight under herself and stumbled forward with a strangled curse.
The radios crackled to life, and Wesker’s voice cut through the chaos with controlled urgency. “What’s going on out there? I heard shouting over the line, and I’ve got you on camera now!” Static tore across the channel as the ground rumbled again, and the nearest vent plate launched into the air with a metallic shriek. “There’s something moving under the courtyard, and the seismic sensors are going through the roof!” Wesker continued, his voice sharpening as the camera feed clearly caught what was rising around them.
“We need to get into the building! We need to get into it now!” Chris shouted into his radio while dragging Jill toward the sealed entrance. The plan had been to use Daniel's overrides to get inside, but they all knew that plan was sunk the moment they saw that the keypad had been shot out. "Plan A is fucked, Captain! We need a solution here!"
“Confirmed, I'm working on an override, but it'll take time to open the door!” Wesker said moments later, his clipped tone strained by the sound of frantic, rapid typing in the background. "There has to be something here. Umbrella is too paranoid not to give override access to all their security hubs. I just need to find it. Give me a minute."
“We don't have a minute, Al!” Daniel shouted as he turned back toward the courtyard. "Whatever you're gonna do, do it fast!"
No less than five thick, veiny tentacles streamed up from the ruptured ground, rising through the black steam with their inner surfaces peeling open. Long, thin teeth lined each length in uneven rows, razor-sharp and grasping, wet with black fluid that strung between them as they opened.
He shouldered the shotgun, and braced himself as the living mass surged toward them from every direction. The first tentacle struck the ground in front of him hard enough to split the concrete, and the impact threw black slurry into the air as the three split up, Jill's P90 roaring, only to be drowned out by Chris's Galil.
Daniel fired into it at close range, and the blast tore open the wet, pulsing tentacle in a burst of flame, smoke, and shredded tissue. He ignored the sudden peppering of shrapnel even as he felt the burn of pinpricks across the few exposed areas of his arms, as it swung away from him. The other tendrils didn't retreat, but the shredded one vanished back into the ground, only to be replaced with two more.
"Shit." Was all he said, the word lost amidst the chaos, as the remaining tentacles all converged onto him like the fist of an angry god, one he met with fire, steel and hate in his heart.
