he front desk on weekends, Mary something. The
darkroom faced the opening beneath the stairs; she'd
have to pass within a few feet of the corpse, but she
thought she could avoid looking too closely if she...
CRASH!
Two of the windows imploded, a driving rain of
glass spraying over the receptionist's body, shards of it
slicing at Jill's bare legs. In the same instant, a giant
black mass was hurled inside, bigger than a man, as
big as -
- S.T.A.R.S. killer -
It was all she had time to think. Jill sprinted back the way she'd come, slamming into the evidence room
door, while behind her, she heard crunching glass as it
rolled to its feet, heard the ugly opening note of its sin-
gle-minded cry, "SSstaarsss"
She ran, snatching the heavy revolver from beneath
her waist pack's strap, through the evidence room to
the next door, through that into the patrol squadroom. A
sharp left as soon as she was inside and desks blurred
past, chairs and shelves and an overturned table spat-
tered with the blood and fluids of at least two cops,
their sprawled bodies reduced to obstacles in her path.
Jill leaped over the twisted legs, hearing the door
open, no, disintegrate behind her, a roar of splinters
and cracking wood that couldn't drown out the Neme-
sis's fury.
Go go go faster...
She hit the door running, ignoring the dull blossom
of pain that enveloped her bruised shoulder, twisting to
the right as she pounded into the lobby.
Shhh-BOOM!
A flare of brilliant light and smoke jetted past her,
blowing a jagged, burning hole in the floor not three
feet to her left. Shards of blackened marble and ce-
ramic tile flew, exploding up and outward in a fountain of noise and heat.
Jesus, it's armed!
She ran faster, down the ramp into the lower lobby,
remembering that she'd dead-bolted the front doors, the
realization like a punch in the stomach. She'd never get
them open in time, no chance...
... and BOOM, another blast from what had to be a grenade launcher or bigger, close enough that she could
feel the air part next to her right ear, could hear the
whistle of incredible speed just before the front doors
blasted open in front of her. They hung drunkenly on
bent hinges, swaying and smoldering as she ran
through, the night cool and dark.
"Ssstaaarrrsss! "
Close, too close. Instinctively Jill sacrificed a sec-
ond of speed to leap to the side, kicking away from
the ground, dimly aware that Brad's body was gone
and not caring. Even as she landed, the Nemesis
blew past her, barreling through the space she'd oc-
cupied an instant before. Its momentum carried it
several giant steps away, it was fast but too heavy to
stop, its monstrous size giving her the time she
needed. A squeal of rust and she was through the
gates, slamming them, scrabbling the shotgun off her
back.
She turned and rammed the shotgun through the
gates' hoop handles, both of them cracking against the
barrel before she had time to let go, hard enough for
her to realize that the gates wouldn't hold for very
long. Behind the gates, the Nemesis screamed in ani-
mal rage, a demonic sound of bloodlust so strong that
Jill shuddered convulsively. It was screaming for her,
it was the nightmare all over again, she was marked
for death.
She turned and ran, its howl fading into the dark be-
hind her as she ran and ran.
When Nicholai saw Mikhail Victor, he knew he'd
have to kill him. Technically, there was no reason, but
the opportunity was too enticing to pass up. By some
fluke, the leader of platoon D had managed to survive,
an honor he didn't deserve.
We'll just see about that...
Nicholai was feeling good; he was ahead of the
schedule he'd set for himself, and the rest of his jour-
ney through the sewers had been uneventful. His next
goal was the hospital, which he could reach quickly
enough if he took the cable car in Lonsdale Yard; he
had more than enough time to relax for a few moments,
take a break from his pursuit. Climbing back into the
city and seeing Mikhail across the street, from the roof
of one of Umbrella's buildings - the perfect sniper's roost - was like some cosmic reward for his work so
far. Mikhail would never know what hit him.
The platoon leader was two stories below, his back
to the wall of a wrecking yard's shack as he changed
rifle magazines. A security light, its bright beam flick-
ering with the erratic movement of nocturnal insects,
clearly illuminated his position and would make it
impossible for him to see his killer.
Well, you can't have everything; his death will have
to be enough.
Nicholai smiled and raised the M16, savoring the mo-
ment. A cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he studied
his quarry, noting with no small satisfaction the fear on
Mikhail's lined, unknowing face. A head shot? No; on
the off chance that Mikhail had been infected, Nicholai
wouldn't want to miss the resurrection. He had plenty of
time to watch, too. He lowered the barrel a hair, sighting
one of Mikhail's kneecaps. Very painful... but he
would still have use of his arms and would probably fire
blindly into the dark; Nicholai didn't want to risk get-
ting hit.
Mikhail had finished his rifle inspection and was ooking around as if to plot his next step. Nicholai took
aim and fired, a single shot, extremely happy with his
decision as the platoon leader doubled over, grabbing
his gut and suddenly, Mikhail was gone, around the cor-
ner of the building and into the night. Nicholai could
hear the crunch of gravel fading away.
He cursed softly, clenching his jaw in frustration.
He'd wanted to see the man squirm, see him suffer
from the painful and probably lethal wound. It seemed
that Mikhail's reflexes weren't as poor as he'd
thought.
So, he dies in the dark somewhere instead of where I
can see him. What is it to me? It's not as though I have
nothing else to occupy my time...
It didn't work. Mikhail was badly injured, and
Nicholai wanted to see him die. It would only take a
few minutes to find the trail of blood and track him
down - a child could do it.
Nicholai grinned. And when I find him, I can offer my assistance, play the concerned comrade - who did
this to you, Mikhail? Here, let me help you...
He turned and hurried to the stairs, imagining the
look on Mikhail's face when he realized who was re-
sponsible for his plight, when he understood his own
failure as a leader and as a man.
Nicholai wondered what he'd done to deserve such
happiness; so far, this had been the best night of his
life.
When their conversation was over, the line went
dead and Carlos walked to one of the booths and sat
down, thinking hard about the things Trent had told
him. If all he'd said was true - and Carlos believed that
it probably was - then Umbrella had a lot to answer for.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Carlos had asked near the end, his head spinning. "Why me?"
"Because I've seen your records," Trent answered. "Carlos Oliveira, mercenary for hire - except you only
ever fought the good fight, always on the side of the
oppressed and abused. Twice you risked your life in as-
sassinations, both successful - one a tyrannical drug
lord and the other a child pornographer, if memory
serves. And you never harmed a civilian, not once. Um-
brella is involved in some extremely immoral practices,
Mr. Oliveira, and you're exactly the kind of person who
should be working to stop them."
According to Trent, Umbrella's T-virus or G-virus,
there were apparently two strains - was created and
used on homemade monsters to turn them into living,
breathing weapons. When humans were exposed to it,
they got the cannibal disease. And Trent said that the
U.B.C.S. administrators knew what they were sending
their people into, and probably did it on purpose - all
in the name of research.
"The eyes and ears of Umbrella are everywhere,"
Trent had said. "As I said before, be careful who you trust. Truly, no one is safe."
Carlos abruptly stood up from the table and walked
toward the kitchen, lost in thought. Trent had refused to
talk about his own reasons for undermining Umbrella,
though Carlos had gotten the impression that Trent also
worked for them in some capacity; it would explain
why he was so secretive.
He's being careful, covering his ass, but how could
he know so much? The things he told me...
A jumble of facts, some that seemed totally arbi-
trary - there was a fake green jewel in a cold storage
locker underneath the restaurant; Trent had said that it
was one of a pair, but had refused to say where the other
one was or why either of them was important.
"Just make sure they end up together," Trent had said - as if Carlos was going to just happen to come across the other one. "When you find out where the blue one is, you'll get your explanation."
For as cryptically useless as that seemed to be, Trent
had also told him that Umbrella kept two helicopters at
the abandoned water treatment plant west and north of
the city. Perhaps most useful of all, Trent had said that
there was a vaccine being worked on at the city hospi-
tal, and while it hadn't been synthesized yet, there was at least one sample there.
"Although there's a good chance the hospital may
not be there for much longer," he'd said, leaving Carlos to wonder again how Trent came by his information.
What was supposed to happen to it? And how would
Trent know that?
Trent seemed to think that Carlos's survival was im-
portant; he seemed convinced that Carlos was going to
be a significant part of the fight against Umbrella, but
Carlos still wasn't sure why, or if he even wanted to
join up. At the moment, all he wanted was to get out of
the city ... but for whatever reason Trent had decided
to offer up information, Carlos was glad for the help.
Although a little more would've been nice - keys to
an armored getaway car, maybe, or some kind of anti-
monster spray.
Carlos stood in the kitchen, gazing down at the
heavy-looking cover to what was, presumably, the
basement ladder. Trent had told him that there were
probably more weapons at a clock tower, not far from
the hospital; that and the bit about the Umbrella heli-
copters, due north from the tower and hospital, defi-
nitely useful...
But why let me come here at all if I'm so goddamn
important? He could've stopped me on the way to the
field office.
A lot of it didn't make sense, and Carlos was willing
to bet money that Trent hadn't told him everything. He
had no choice but to trust him a little, but he was going
to be very careful when it came to depending on Trent's
information.
Carlos crouched next to the basement entrance,
grabbed the handle to the cover, and pulled. It was
heavy, but he could just manage it, leaning back and
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