The damp rock alcove echoed with a heavy silence. The thermal image of the transforming army still hovered on the display device, a death sentence suspended over their heads. Six soldiers, trapped behind enemy lines, facing a truth more terrifying than any purebred B.O.W.
"No." Rook's voice cut through the silence. It wasn't a suggestion, but a declaration. "The answer is no. We pull out. Right now."
He was kneeling beside the delirious Viper, her face slick with sweat. "This mission was over the moment that thing tore her shoulder open. Everything we've done since has just been delaying the inevitable."
Jotun, the Norwegian giant, leaned against the rock wall, his sniper rifle looking like a toy in his massive hands. "I'm with Rook," he said, his voice a low rumble like grinding stone. "I was in Sarajevo. I saw what happens when a small, isolated team tries to play hero. It ends with names on a wall. We have the intel. That's a win. Take it and live to fight another day."
"Another day?" Wraith let out a sharp, dangerous laugh. "Another day, those things won't be in the Congo. They'll be in London, Tokyo, or New York. We'll read about them in the news, sitting in some bar, wondering why we didn't do something when we had the chance."
She stepped forward, confronting Jotun. "You saw that village. You saw the pit. That wasn't war. That was genocide on a cellular level. And we're just going to turn our backs?"
"We're soldiers, not saints!" Rook roared, getting to his feet. "Our job is to follow orders and stay alive! Not go on suicide missions for some vague ideal!"
"Then why are you here, Rook?" Kael spoke up suddenly, his voice low and cold. He had been standing silently in the corner, observing, but now he stepped into the light. "If it's just about survival, you could have chosen another life. We all could have."
He looked directly at Rook, then at Jotun. "We're here because we were burned by the old system. Because we saw what it was hiding. And now we're going to run when faced with something even worse? How does that make us any different from them?"
"We're alive!" Rook shouted back, pointing at Viper. "That's the difference! I'm not burying another teammate in some godforsaken jungle because someone wants to play hero!"
The confrontation reached its peak. Four people, four pasts, four different fears colliding in a confined space. The air was thick with anger and desperation.
"Enough."
Gryphon's voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of authority and exhaustion. He had risen at some point, and now he stood between the two factions, like a referee in a fight to the death.
"You're both right. And you're both wrong."
Gryphon wasn't looking at anyone. His gaze was fixed on the holographic map of the complex, his finger gliding across the surface, rotating it, zooming in and out. He was in his own world, a world of strategy and lethal gambits.
"The textbook says we retreat," he murmured, as if to himself. "Preserve our strength, report the intel, plan for a larger assault. Logical. Safe. And it's exactly what the enemy expects."
He paused. "And instinct screams that we attack. Hit the enemy where we have the chance. Heroic. Brave. And it's also what the enemy is prepared for. That lab, where Hunnigan is, is undoubtedly a fortress."
He switched the map off, then on again, but this time he displayed only one thing: the power grid. A tangled web of red and blue lines.
"The enemy expects one of two things: for us to run or for us to charge head-on. They don't expect a third." He pointed to a modest-looking concrete building on the edge of the complex. "They don't expect us to go for the gut."
"The power station," Kael realized instantly.
"Exactly," Gryphon nodded, a faint, tired smile on his lips. "We can't kill the monster. But we can destroy its cage. We won't attack them. We'll make them attack each other. Cut the lights, cut the fences, cut the security systems. Cut the containment cells. Create absolute chaos from within."
He looked at his team, his eyes now sharp and determined. "We're not going to fight an army. We're going to hand them a civil war. And while they're busy tearing each other apart, we're going to disappear into the night with Viper."
The plan was insane. It offered no guarantees. But it wasn't suicidal. It was an unexpected punch to an unguarded weak spot. It was Hummingbird's style.
"I'm in," Wraith said immediately.
Kael nodded.
Jotun and Rook looked at each other. The hostility was gone, replaced by the reluctant respect of professionals for a daring plan.
"Alright," Jotun said. "But if anything goes wrong, we pull out immediately."
"Deal," Gryphon replied.
Five minutes later, they were ready. The atmosphere in the alcove had changed. The division was gone, replaced by the intense focus of a hunting party preparing for the kill.
Gryphon was fitting a grenade launcher under his rifle. "Jotun, you're with me. We're Fire Team. Our target: the southern substation. We're not just going to disable it. We're going to level it. We need to create a show big enough to draw at least half their forces that way."
Jotun patted his sniper rifle. "Leave it to me."
"Kael, Wraith," Gryphon turned to them. "You two are Ghost Team. Stealth and lethality. The schematics show a drainage pipe that leads directly beneath the main power station. You get in, you plant the charges, and you get out. No trace. No sound."
Wraith checked her C4 blocks, each fitted with a synchronized detonator. "How long?"
"From our first shot, you have exactly twenty minutes," Gryphon said, his voice holding no hesitation. "No more, no less. After that, this whole area goes dark."
He turned to Rook. "You stay here with Viper. You are her last line of defense and her only hope. Listen for our shots. If you don't see us back thirty minutes after the main explosion..."
"I know what to do," Rook said, his voice firm. He had accepted his role.
Gryphon nodded. He walked over to Kael, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be a hero, Spectre. Be a ghost."
Kael nodded back.
Gryphon turned to Wraith. "Don't get caught, kid. Your charges are the key."
Wraith just smirked.
They parted in silence. No good lucks. No hugs. Just firm nods and the silent understanding between people who had faced death together.
As Kael and Wraith disappeared into the darkness of the tree line, Rook sat down beside Viper, his rifle across his lap, his eyes never leaving the entrance to the alcove. He and his wounded comrade were now a small island, waiting for the storm to hit.
The metal sewer grate opened with a gut-wrenching screech, revealing a black maw that belched a thick, foul odor. It was the smell of sewage, industrial waste, and something sickly sweet, the smell of biological decay.
"After a night like this, I think I'm going to need a long vacation somewhere with a lot of soap," Wraith muttered, pinching her nose.
"I hear Raccoon City is nice this time of year," Kael replied, trying to keep his tone light.
They slipped inside, the darkness swallowing them. Kael's flashlight cut a narrow path through the night, illuminating a slimy, arched tunnel. Filthy, dark brown water flowed sluggishly at their feet, ankle-deep. Every step made a disgusting sloshing sound that echoed far down the pipe.
They moved carefully, hugging the wall. This was a perfect place for an ambush.
As they went deeper, signs of life—or death—began to appear. A tattered rubber glove floated by. Then a used syringe. Then what looked like a large, decomposing piece of an internal organ.
"Their garbage disposal," Kael confirmed, trying not to breathe too deeply.
Wraith stopped. She shined her flashlight on the wall. Scratches. Like the ones in the hut, but carved into the concrete. A desperate struggle had happened here.
Suddenly, they heard a sound up ahead. A rustle, a wet, dragging noise.
They immediately doused their lights, plunging into total darkness. Kael raised his weapon, holding his breath. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
The shape slid past them in the dark. It was indistinct, just a lurching mass, moving with difficulty, dragging something behind it. It moaned, a sound that wasn't human.
A failed experiment. Thrown down here to die.
They stood like statues until the sound faded and disappeared.
"Damn it," Wraith whispered, her voice trembling. "How many of those things are down here?"
"Hopefully, we won't have to find out," Kael answered.
Finally, they reached the metal ladder. The humming of the generators was louder now, vibrating through the pipe. Kael signaled to Wraith. He would go up first.
He pressed his ear to the manhole cover, listening. The sound of machinery. People talking in French. The clang of metal on metal. And... moaning. A lot of moaning.
He carefully lifted the cover a single millimeter. Light streamed down.
The scene that met his eyes was worse than anything he could have imagined. This wasn't just a generator room. This was a monster factory. Operating tables, mutating bodies, parasite containers...
And standing in the middle of it all was Ingrid Hunnigan, taking notes on a tablet as if she were in a sterile lab, not an abattoir. Beside her was Commander Kante, a giant of a man whose skin had already begun to transform.
Kael signaled to Wraith. Target confirmed. Heavy guard presence. Extremely dangerous.
Wraith nodded. She too peered through the crack. Her eyes widened when she saw Kante.
He was talking to Hunnigan, his voice full of self-satisfaction. "...the first generation had flaws. Too many undesirable mutations. A high rejection rate." He pointed to a deformed corpse on a table. "But with your new specimen, Major, with the Chimaera..."
"It's a perfect delivery agent," Hunnigan said, her voice cool and clinical. "Fast, efficient. But this third-generation Plagas parasite is still unstable. The success rate is only forty percent."
"That rate will improve," Kante said. "And I will be the living proof."
He picked up a syringe filled with a glowing, amber-colored liquid. A refined sample of the third-gen Plagas.
"Don't be a fool, Kante," Hunnigan warned. "It hasn't been tested on a human subject."
"There's always a first," Kante smirked. "And I have no intention of being a pawn. I will be the King on this chessboard."
To the horror of the two people hiding below, Kante plunged the needle straight into his own transforming arm. He pushed the plunger.
And began to scream.