The mirror that had been shattered by the Stalker now left behind nothing but a pitch-black hole.
The interior of the passage was not the rough rock walls one might imagine, but was instead paved with a cold, smooth black marble.
There were no lights on the walls.
The only light source came from the high-intensity flashlight clipped to Jill's tactical vest.
That snow-white beam of light pierced through the thick darkness, only to be ruthlessly swallowed by the deep gloom, illuminating only a very limited distance ahead.
Jill held her ump9 submachine gun, its muzzle slightly lowered, as she cautiously stepped into this unknown passage.
The air was thick with a strange scent—a heavy mix of blood and formalin.
It was the scent of a Stalker.
The passage wasn't long; after walking about twenty meters, she reached the end.
At the end were two starkly different doors.
Directly facing the passage was a gated door made of rusty cast iron.
That thick, fishy stench was constantly seeping out from behind those iron bars.
Just standing before the door, one could feel a cold, damp wind whistling through the gaps.
Jill swept her flashlight beam behind the gate.
Behind the door seemed to be an even larger, naturally formed underground limestone cave.
Vague shapes of massive, oddly-formed stalactites and slippery, moss-covered rock walls could be seen.
It was obvious.
The Stalker that had suddenly jumped out of the mirror to attack her earlier had come from in there.
That was likely one of The Hives where Umbrella cultivated and stored BOWs in this island base.
Jill's gaze then turned to the door on the left.
Unlike the crude and hideous iron gate, this door was much more elegant and refined.
The door on the left appeared much more ornate and exquisite.
It was a double-wing wooden door crafted from expensive walnut.
Extremely complex and beautiful reliefs of roses and thorns were carved into the door panels.
The brass door handles were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting a warm and soft golden luster under the flashlight's glow.
This door seemed utterly out of place in this eerie, sinister underground passage.
It looked as if it had been ripped straight from some medieval European noble's castle and installed here.
Jill stepped forward and tried to push the wooden door.
The door was locked from the inside.
But for Jill Valentine, this wasn't a problem at all.
She temporarily slung her submachine gun back over her shoulder.
Then, from an inconspicuous hidden pocket on her multi-functional tactical belt, she took out a small and precise set of professional lock-picking tools.
It contained various models of slender tension wrenches and probes.
She gently pressed her ear against the cold wooden door.
Holding an L-shaped tension wrench in her left hand, she gently inserted it into the keyhole, applying an extremely subtle rotational force to the lock cylinder.
Her right hand held a probe with a tiny hook at the tip, which she also carefully inserted into the deep and complex structure of the keyhole.
Jill held her breath.
All her attention was concentrated on her ears and the tips of her right fingers.
Her ears carefully distinguished the extremely subtle sounds of metal friction and collision coming from inside the lock cylinder.
Through the slender probe, her fingertips clearly felt the minute force feedback from the pins of varying heights and shapes inside the cylinder.
One, two, three... With an extremely steady hand, she used the probe's hook to gently lift the pins in the lock cylinder one by one.
Whenever a pin was pushed to the correct shear line position,
She would hear an extremely faint 'click' in her ear.
At the same time, the tension wrench in her left hand would feel a minute rotation from the lock cylinder.
This was a highly precise skill that required the high integration of hearing, touch, and Mental Energy.
It was also the ability she was most proud of as a S.T.A.R.S. lock-picking Great Master.
Click—
When the final pin was successfully pushed to the correct position,
A much crisper unlocking sound than before came from inside the door lock.
The tension wrench in Jill's left hand suddenly gave way.
She successfully turned the entire lock cylinder ninety degrees.
She withdrew her tools, stood up straight, and let out a long breath.
Then she reached out and gently pushed open the heavy walnut door.
A bright, even somewhat dazzling soft light instantly spilled out from the gap in the door.
It illuminated a large area of the dark corridor outside.
Behind the door was a massive study, decorated with extreme luxury.
The massive chandelier overhead, made of countless small crystal pieces, was emitting a light as dazzling and warm as the sun.
The floor was covered with a thick, deep red velvet carpet woven with intricate patterns.
Stepping on it was so soft that almost no sound could be heard.
The room was surrounded by rows of massive bookshelves that reached the ceiling.
Those bookshelves were also crafted from expensive mahogany.
They were packed with various heavy, hardcover books bound in gold-stamped leather.
The entire room was filled with the unique scholarly scent of old paper and leather mixed together.
This place didn't look like a part of a secret base built deep underground on a lonely island at all.
Instead, it looked more like the private library of an ancient European noble family that had been passed down for centuries.
Jill's gaze scanned every corner of the room warily.
She had had similar experiences in the Spencer Mansion in Raccoon City.
She knew very well.
The more a room like this seemed out of place with its surroundings,
The more likely it was to hide vital clues or lethal traps and mechanisms.
She trusted her intuition.
The third and final piece of the music box had to be hidden somewhere in this study.
She began to search the massive study carefully.
She didn't rummage around like a headless fly.
Instead, she acted like the most professional crime scene investigator, not letting a single possible clue slip by.
She carefully observed the thin layer of dust accumulated on those massive bookshelves.
She tried to find traces of movement from the distribution of that dust.
She also gently tapped her knuckles against the bookshelves that seemed perfectly flush with the wall.
She tried to distinguish from the dull thumping sound if any part behind them might be hollow.
Soon.
The massive desk in the center of the study, carved from a single piece of ebony, caught her attention.
That desk also had a uniform layer of dust on it.
Whether it was the classically styled green banker's lamp on the desktop or the exquisite pen holder made of pure silver,
They all, like their surroundings, appeared quiet and filled with a sense of historical weight.
Except for one thing.
A notebook with a bright red, soft lambskin cover.
It sat quietly in the most prominent position on the desk.
It formed a stark contrast with the dusty environment around it.
The cover of that notebook was spotless.
It was as clean as if someone carefully wiped it with silk every day.
Or rather.
Not long ago, someone had just flipped through it.
Jill frowned.
She reached out, her tactical-gloved fingertip gently touching the red notebook.
A cold and smooth sensation came from her fingertip.
She picked up the notebook.
Then, with a complex mood mixing curiosity and alertness, she slowly turned to the first page.
It was a diary.
The handwriting was delicate and neat, written in what looked like very expensive blue-black ink.
However, the content of the diary caused an indescribable chill to instantly rise up Jill's back.
[September 15th, Sunny.]
[Today Father brought that annoying guy in the white lab coat again.]
[He said he wanted to study the unique twin telepathy between me and Brother.]
[I hate the way he looks at me; it's like he's looking at a lab rat in a cage.]
[He hurt my arm. The wound was deep and bled a lot.]
[Then, in front of Brother, he used tweezers to pick up a tiny shard of broken glass, no bigger than a grain of rice.]
[He smiled at Brother and said if our connection was real, then he must be able to feel my pain too.]
[Then, he sewed that sharp glass shard into my unhealed wound.]
[I didn't cry.]
[Because I saw Brother's eyes turn the same bright red as the blood flowing from me at that moment.]
[I know he remembers that guy now.]
Jill's heart sank heavily.
She continued flipping through.
[September 20th, Rainy.]
[The guy in the white lab coat is dead.]
[He died very ugly.]
[Brother stole a very powerful muscle-paralyzing poison from Father's lab.]
[He said this poison wouldn't kill someone immediately; it would just make them unable to move, like a puppet.]
[But that person can clearly feel everything happening to them.]
[We put the poison in the cup he liked to use for afternoon tea.]
[Then we used a cart to drag him to the backyard, next to the cage holding several Dobermans.]
[Those Dobermans hadn't been fed for three days.]
[I liked listening to the desperate 'he-he' sounds coming from his throat while he was being bitten.]
[I liked seeing his bulging eyeballs, filled with fear and begging, even more.]
[Brother said this is what happens to those who hurt me.]
[I think Brother is right.]
A strong physiological wave of nausea surged from Jill's stomach to her throat.
She forced back the urge to vomit, her face turning somewhat pale.
She couldn't imagine how twisted the people here were, and this evil pair of siblings.
To commit such appalling, cruel acts at only six or seven years old.
She closed the diary and took several deep breaths, trying to calm her violently churning emotions.
But that bone-deep chill simply wouldn't go away.
She forced herself not to think about those hair-raising words.
She told herself that this diary was so unique, it must be the key to opening the hidden mechanism in this study.
As if possessed, she flipped forward a few more pages. The dates grew more recent, and the handwriting lost its childhood innocence, becoming sharper and more elegant.
[October 3rd, Overcast.]
[Brother has entered Father's core laboratory. He is more of a Genius than Father. Those stupid Researchers are like toddlers before him. I am proud of Brother. He is my one and only Genius.]
[November 12th, Sunny.]
[That new professor with the ridiculous brown hair tried to hit on me in class today. Truly disgusting. The way he looked at me was exactly like that guy in the white lab coat years ago. Brother just watched from a distance, a cold smile I know well on his face.]
[November 13th, Rainy.]
[The brown-haired professor's sports car brakes failed, and he went over a cliff on the mountain road—what an unfortunate accident. Tonight, Brother played a new piano piece he wrote for me; he said it was a melody composed for me alone. His fingertips had been stained with brake fluid, but now they dance over the black and white keys playing the most beautiful movement. I love this feeling; all the discordant notes in the world should be erased, leaving only our perfect duet.]
A strange sensation, mixing fear with morbid excitement, raced up Jill's spine like an electric current.
The extreme possessiveness and the twisted sentiment of aestheticizing sin depicted in these words gave her a scalp-tingling... thrill.
Jill slammed the notebook shut with a dull thud.
She shook her head hard, forcing herself to banish those mad sentences from her mind, and began to seriously examine her surroundings for any possible mechanisms.
This diary was so unique; it had to be the key to opening the hidden mechanism in this study.
Her gaze began to search those massive bookshelves carefully once again.
This time, her purpose was much clearer.
She was no longer looking for traces covered by dust.
Instead, she was looking for a slot that matched the size and shape of the red diary in her hand.
Finally.
In an inconspicuous corner of a bookshelf filled with various ancient plant guides,
She found a square slot cleverly hidden by a thick 'Encyclopedia of Ferns'.
The size of that slot was a perfect match for the red diary in her hand.
"Found it!"
A flash of joy crossed Jill's heart.
She walked quickly forward and firmly slotted the red diary, which emanated an aura of evil, into that opening.
A perfect fit.
"Clack—clack—rumble—"
A dull sound of gears turning and grinding erupted from behind the entire bookshelf in front of her!
Immediately following,
That massive mahogany bookshelf, which looked incredibly heavy, actually began to slide slowly to one side.