Hunk arrived at the Umbrella Corporation's New York Manhattan Branch, twenty-fifth floor underground. He was fully armed and on time, as always. Yesterday, his recent remuneration allowed him to visit the company's equipment department. There, he purchased a brand new set of gear. Though "brand new," it was identical to his previous set, differing only in wear and tear. He especially liked the fly-head-shaped gas mask, buying three sets at once. This demonstrated his true affection for the style, as he kept them readily available year-round.
Stepping out of the elevator, Hunk heard continuous gunshots from the training ground. This surprised him greatly. Usually, he waited for Matthew, who had never arrived early before. Hunk did not know that the T-Virus injection had made Matthew exceptionally energetic. Sleep had become optional; it was more a 'habit' than a necessity. During the long nights, Matthew, unlike Tony Stark, had no daily companions. With nothing else to do, he naturally sought occupation, making training his choice.
"You're here," Matthew said, mid-practice, without turning his head. Hunk grunted in response. He silently raised the submachine gun from his waist and began his shooting warm-up. Gunshots filled the space. Amidst the dense gunfire, Hunk's masked eyes, intentionally or not, paused on Matthew for two seconds with each glance, then moved on. 'I feel like the boss is a bit different today than yesterday...' Hunk murmured to himself. As a mercenary with countless dangerous missions, he was extremely sensitive to changes in his surroundings and people. This sensitivity allowed him to immediately detect Matthew's difference. But what exactly was it? With this question, Hunk subtly approached Matthew while reloading, hoping for a closer observation.
The moment he moved his foot, a *Buzz* of warning made the hairs on his arms stand on end. A strong sense of danger instinctively halted him. His hand unconsciously reached for the dagger at his waist. His eyes fixed on Matthew's seemingly unguarded back. Upon careful discernment, the source of this danger, which even Hunk felt, was precisely Matthew, still practicing shooting.
"...What's wrong, Hunk?" Matthew turned his head, puzzled. Hunk pretended nothing was amiss, sheathed his dagger, and shook his head. "Nothing." "By the way, sir, I believe your practical combat experience is still a bit lacking. Would you like to reinforce it today?" A *Click* sounded as the rifle in his hand indicated an empty magazine. Matthew set down the gun and checked his watch. Hmm... it was still early. Thirteen hours remained until the meeting, leaving plenty of time to prepare after some exercise. "Alright, then. Let's get some more activity in." "However... Hunk, this time, you can try to use your full strength." Matthew looked at Hunk. Hunk nodded, saying nothing more. He silently replaced his submachine gun's magazine with a full one. Then, he retrieved two flashbangs from a nearby prop cabinet. Master of Props, Hunk, no further words were needed.
Seeing Hunk fully prepared, Matthew casually picked up an M4. He took two steps back, then pulled a remote control from his pocket. He pressed it. With a 'beep,' the previously bright training ground, without a single shadow, instantly plunged into darkness. Matthew quietly lowered the night vision goggles on his tactical helmet. His figure, like a nimble black panther, silently vanished into the darkness.
Hunk's gas mask was not a cheap market item. It was special equipment developed by the Umbrella Military Weapons Department. It offered oxygen circulation, harmful gas filtration, bulletproof protection, and night vision capabilities. However, its night vision clarity was significantly worse than advanced devices. "Simulating night combat?" Hunk wondered. "Or trying to use darkness to weaken me?" He thought, finding a defensive cover. Darkness, like thick ink, swallowed the entire training ground. Hunk hid behind cover, his gas mask's integrated low-light night vision glowing green. The field of view was narrow and filled with blurry noise. It was far from the observation efficiency of advanced quad-tube devices, which mimicked natural eyesight. As his gaze extended further, he saw only blurry outlines of distant objects and patches of bottomless shadows. In other words, he faced significant disadvantages fighting in dark environments.
A deathly silence filled the space. It was so quiet that even heartbeats magnified countless times. In such a situation, no one would use lighting equipment to survey their surroundings. That would deliberately expose their position to a storm of gunfire. Hunk pressed his body against a concrete pillar, his ears like radar, catching every faint sound. In the darkness, time passed second by second. Suddenly, an extremely faint "click" sound came from the darkness ahead. Was it a shoe sole rubbing against debris? Or a slight noise from a firearm? None of that mattered. Hunk didn't hesitate. Adhering to his principles of "surprise, speed, and violence," he abruptly leaned out halfway. He raised his gun and fired in the direction of the sound.
*Bang bang bang!!* The muzzle spat fire, illuminating the darkness before him. But seeing what had made the sound, he realized something was wrong. "A... spent casing?" Knowing he was exposed, Hunk quickly detached a flashbang from his waist. He threw it out from behind cover. *Clang, whoosh!!!* The deafening blast and blinding flash, even filtered by his mask, still jolted Hunk's senses. Just as the intense light faded, before his night vision fully recovered, a burst of gunfire came from a completely different direction. "*Bang! Bang! Bang!*" The bullets practically grazed Hunk's body as they flew past. Matthew, hidden in the dark, clicked his tongue in slight frustration. He saw he hadn't hit Hunk. The flashbang's blast and intense light had interfered with his shooting accuracy; otherwise, those few bullets should have hit Hunk's chest.
The moment the bullets grazed past him, Hunk immediately unleashed suppressive fire in Matthew's direction. He simultaneously performed violent zigzag movements, making it difficult for his opponent to aim. Spent casings clattered crisply as they hit the ground. He emptied the magazine in his hand. The instant Hunk's gunfire ceased, extremely swift footsteps rapidly approached from his left. Matthew was trying to close the distance during Hunk's reload. But Hunk did not reload as usual. Instead, he simply let go, allowing the submachine gun to hang from its tactical sling. With a backhand motion, he drew his dagger. His body pressed against the edge of the cover like a spring compressed to its limit. He gambled that Matthew would follow the enemy engagement procedures he had taught, checking his "misfire" target point. He gambled correctly. The moment Matthew appeared, Hunk, pressed against the wall, immediately made his move. One hand shot up, blocking the muzzle of Matthew's extended gun. His other hand, guided by muscle memory, swiftly ejected the magazine. Even the remaining bullet in the chamber was pushed out... Seeing this scene, Matthew couldn't help but exclaim, 'Old ginger is spicier!' Although Hunk's physical attributes were now inferior to his own, his years of combat experience were not for nothing. Seeing this, Matthew simply discarded his gun. The battle between the two shifted from 'urban warfare' to close-quarters combat...