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The stench of blood, so thick it was nauseating, hit them like a solid wall.
The corridor ahead was a stark, flawless white. The walls, ceiling, and floor were constructed from a cold alloy with seams so tight they were invisible. As the trio stepped inside, sensor lights recessed in the ceiling flickered to life one by one, casting a pale, shadowless glow. The air was frigid, the sharp sting of disinfectant failing to mask the iron-heavy scent of slaughter seeping from the darkness ahead.
It was terrifyingly quiet, save for the hollow echo of their footsteps.
On the right, a matte black marble bar appeared, holding two of the latest IBM desktops. Their green power indicators pulsed like slow heartbeats. Noah didn't hesitate; he placed his ThinkPad on the counter and linked it to the terminal.
Beep.
The screen lit up with scrolling green code.
[TRANT_System_LINK: CONNECTING...] [AUTHENTICATION_SUCCESS.]
An email notification popped up from the familiar string of garbled characters. Noah clicked it.
[To the brave intruders: Congratulations on finding the New World. Your puzzle-solving is outstanding—especially Mr. Noah's insights into cryptography. This computer is now your eyes; a map is importing. Do not worry about its safety; the security system has suffered an... accident. Have fun. —Mr. T's Assistant.]
Noah turned the laptop inward toward the wall. "Let's go."
They pushed through a frosted glass door into a small lounge. The air smelled of stale coffee and old cigarettes. On a wooden table lay an open notebook with a blue cover and the Umbrella logo—a work log.
Noah flipped through it. The early entries were mundane, but the handwriting became frantic toward the end.
[October 15: That madman Durand took three more people from Lab B today. They never came back. I saw the cleaning crew pushing carts covered in white sheets... dark red traces on the floor.]
[October 18: The new administrator, Henri Durand. A former Colonel in the French Special Forces. He's a beast. Everyone is afraid of him.]
[October 22: I can hear sounds from the bottom levels. They don't sound human. The 'failures.']
The diary ended on October 25th with a large, dark brown stain.
"Bastard!" Etienne snatched the book, his knuckles white. "Sophia! Angela! This Durand... he must have them!"
Noah patted his shoulder, his voice chillingly calm. "Move forward."
At the end of the hall, a massive alloy double door stood closed. The stench of blood here was almost tangible, and from behind the steel, they heard a scalp-tingling sound.
Crunch... crunch...
Someone—or something—was gnawing on bone.
Noah and Claire motioned for Etienne to step back. Claire raised her MP5, clicking off the safety. Noah drew his silver Desert Eagle but then, after a moment's thought, slid it back into its holster. Instead, he slipped the heavy, matte-black brass knuckles onto his right hand.
Beep.
The sensor triggered. The heavy doors slid open.
Behind them was another set of doors, which also retracted, revealing a giant cable car carriage. It was a scene from Hell. The interior was stained dark red. The roof had been torn open by immense force, the metal curled like the teeth of a beast.
Three Lickers were crouched on the floor. Their flayed, muscular bodies twitched as their long, whip-like tongues coiled around scraps of meat. They were surrounded by over a dozen mutilated corpses in Umbrella white. The staff had tried to escape, but the carriage had become their coffin.
Gag—
Etienne let out a suppressed dry heave, collapsing to the floor in shock. He clamped his hands over his mouth, tears of terror mixing with cold sweat.
Claire aimed her quad-barrel Grenade Launcher, her finger tightening on the trigger. But Noah gently pressed the muzzle down, shaking his head. An explosion would destroy the cable system—their only way down.
Noah cracked his neck. The explosive power surging in his veins since the G-virus fusion needed an outlet. He wanted to see what he had become.
Etienne watched in pure, unadulterated horror. Is he crazy? He's going to fight those things with his bare hands? He looked at Claire, expecting her to stop him, but her expression was one of eager, predatory excitement.
Noah crouched low. The floorboards groaned.
Whoosh—
A sharp crack of breaking wind exploded as Noah vanished, turning into a blurred afterimage. He launched himself at the nearest Licker. His metal-clad fist traced a line of death through the pale light, aimed straight for the monster's exposed brain.
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