September 27. Raccoon City. 6:30 PM
The smell of rust and sewage was the only scent John had smelled in the last few hours. The humidity was a constant, a heavy veil that enveloped him. He walked through the tunnel the soldier had told him about, the MP5 hanging from his chest and the weight of his knowledge weighing on his mind. Dr. Birkin, the mayor, the police... a web of corruption that extended into the city's guts. The labyrinth was vast, but his path was clear.
He passed the first side tunnel. A few meters ahead, the second. Finally, about a hundred meters away, the light from his flashlight revealed a third tunnel on the right. The faint sound of a generator became more and more audible, a constant hum that mixed with the echo of voices. He stopped, his mind processing the information. 20 soldiers, a supply post, a hidden entrance. He didn't hesitate. The plan formed in his head in a matter of seconds.
He moved toward the tunnel on the right, his step as silent as a ghost's. A few meters from the entrance, the light from his flashlight revealed a steel grate. John pushed it, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. He found himself in a narrow ventilation duct, full of dust and grime. The air was dense, hot, and smelled of chemicals. He moved cautiously, his flashlight off. The darkness was total, but he was the lord of the shadows. He advanced a few meters, and the light from a room filtered through a crack in the floor. John peeked out.
What he saw was a control center. In the center, a table with a map of the sewers, and around it, several soldiers sitting. There was a group of about five, who were watching a screen with security cameras. But John's gaze went to the cages, which were against one of the room's walls. And inside them, there were civilians, or what was left of them.
With lethal precision, John slipped out of the ventilation tunnel. His first target was the guard who had his back to the entrance. John took out the silenced pistol, aimed at the guard's head. He fired. The man fell without a sound. John moved like a shadow, using the boxes as cover. He saw another soldier, who was concentrating on his screen. A silent shot, and another body fell without a whimper. The third soldier, who was at a table, was the next victim. A well-aimed shot, and he fell to the floor, his body hitting the table with a dull thud.
The sound alerted one of the infected in one of the cages. Upon seeing John so close, he began to roar, a guttural, bestial sound that alarmed the other infected. The scream mixed with the roars and the noise of the cages being hit.
"Damn it! What was that?" a soldier shouted.
John, with no other options, decided to shoot the nearest light, which went out with a bang, plunging everything into almost total darkness. With a quick movement, he shot the lock on the cage, freeing the infected. John went to another place, the soldiers, still confused, began to alert by radio, but one of them was interrupted by a scream of pain. An infected John had freed bit him on the neck. The radio fell to the floor, and the sound mixed with that of a body being dragged.
"Sir! An intruder!" a soldier shouted, his voice full of panic.
"Where did that thing come from?!" another one exclaimed, firing blindly.
The soldiers, panicking, began to shoot, killing the infected after firing at will, but when they thought they had finished with the threat, they could hear several cages being opened with a silent breaking sound. The situation became chaos.
"Shit! The cages! They've opened the damned cages!" one shouted.
"Who are you?! Tell central command!" another exclaimed, trying to use his radio.
"Control post here! We have an intruder! I repeat, we have an intruder! The power is out, and... Aaaah!" The soldier's voice suddenly stopped. A bloodcurdling scream echoed in the darkness. The sound of a body falling, and a gurgle. The radio fell to the floor, and the sound mixed with that of a body being dragged.
John, taking advantage of the distraction, began to shoot the soldiers, with accurate headshots.
A soldier who was a little further back could see John shooting his companions. He quickly aimed his weapon and fired, the bullets bounced off his suit, but it alerted John who took cover again. The soldier, having seen John, tried to call his companions for help, but it was clear that everyone had their own problems. The other soldiers seemed more busy killing the infected that were approaching.
"Over there! The intruder is over there! The one with the bullets that bounce off!" the soldier shouted, desperate, trying to get his companions' attention.
"Stop messing around! Here! Help me with this thing!" one of his companions, who was fighting an infected, replied.
"It's not a joke! It's him! The man in the suit!" the soldier shouted again.
But his companions were too busy, shooting, shouting, reloading, dodging. They were fighting for their lives. One of them, upon seeing John's silhouette, shot, not knowing it was him. The soldier who had seen John ducked.
"Damn it! Stop shooting!" he shouted. "It's not a zombie! It's...!"
But it was too late. John, seeing how the one who shot him seemed desperate to call his companions and a little distracted by the zombie situation, quickly came out of his cover and gave him an accurate shot to the head.
John could see how the other soldiers seemed to have problems with some infected, he could see several infected starting to devour the bodies of the soldiers, while he reloaded his pistol he heard footsteps near him and saw 3 infected with their mouths full of blood approach him at a slow pace. John, without hesitating or being surprised, gave 3 shots, all to the head, causing the 3 infected to fall to the floor.
John observed the situation of the numerous remaining soldiers. Only 5 were left, who had formed a circle to eliminate the remaining infected, and they seemed to be containing several, their strategy was that one had to reload and the other shot, so the shooting became constant and it was a good strategy, John thought.
"Damn it! They almost killed us! Do you think we killed them all?" a soldier said, his voice full of relief. "I can't believe that thing bit me on the neck!"
"No time to talk, just stay on guard. We're almost done with this," another replied.
But while they were talking, a soldier saw his companion suddenly fall to the floor. The whistle of a silent bullet was heard.
"Damn it! Julio, you've been hit!" the soldier shouted, seeing his companion fall.
"Ah...!" was all the injured man could reply. His body slumped to the ground, a blurry vision and the sound of blood gurgling in his throat.
"The intruder! He's shooting at us! Take cover!" another one of the remaining soldiers shouted, his voice full of panic.
The others, without hesitation, ducked behind some containers, aiming their weapons at the darkness.
John shot the remaining lights, leaving everything in darkness, while the soldiers, full of fear, could hear different footsteps, dragging footsteps and roars of what seemed to be some remaining infected, so they couldn't distinguish John's footsteps.
He, who already had his pistol in hand, approached silently and threw an empty shell toward where the soldiers were, the soldiers, upon hearing something near their position, opened fire, briefly illuminating their position, John, who already had his pistol in hand, it was like shooting at a target, the illumination of the soldiers' bullets was a perfect target in the darkness, and with that John eliminated the 2 remaining soldiers, he quickly took out his flashlight and began to illuminate his surroundings, he could see some infected getting up again.
John with precision shot each one that was still alive in the head, making the room fall into total silence with John's flashlight illuminating everything around him, showing a chaotic scene with several dead bodies on the floor.
John walked among the bodies. The beam of light from his flashlight danced over the chaos. He could clearly see the infected and the fallen soldiers. Several soldiers' bodies were mangled, their stomachs open, their skin torn. A couple of infected were still devouring the bodies. The sight was grotesque, but John didn't blink. It was a reminder of what he was fighting. It wasn't just against Umbrella, but against the monstrosity they had unleashed on the world. A reminder that his goal was to eliminate all traces of the T-Virus.
The room, now illuminated only by his flashlight, was a silent battlefield. John moved with his usual efficiency, not wasting a second. Methodically, he checked the pockets and belts of the fallen soldiers, precisely taking the ammunition magazines.
The MP5 was the one most used by them, so he picked up everything he could. He also found a total of 5 grenades that he put in his backpack, a first aid kit that he put on his belt, and a bag of rations that he put in his backpack. With his pockets full and his weapons reloaded, John felt prepared for what was to come.
He knew that Umbrella would not send a rescue team to this place. The soldier who had managed to contact central command before dying had alerted the corporation, which would put them on alert. It was not a time to hesitate. John moved quickly and his gaze went to a table in the center of the room. There was a map, a little old, of the sewers. It seemed incomplete, but he could see a room several meters from his position. It said: "Break Room."
John had the hope that this would be a momentary refuge, a place where he could find someone to interrogate, or if the room was empty, it could be a safe place to choose his next step. With determination, he gave the room one last look. He had already taken the necessary ammunition, such as some grenades, a total of 5. He put on his backpack, made sure his weapon was in his hand, and followed the route the map indicated.
While John was on his way to the room, he couldn't help but think of Jill. Where would she be now? What would she be doing? With bitter sarcasm, he thought she was surely much better off than he was, since he was in the sewers, immersed in the smell of death and garbage. He wondered if she would be safe, if she would have found a safe place to hide, away from the plague. The image of her, a strong and brave woman, gave him a fleeting moment of peace before his mind returned to his mission.
When John reached the room, he opened the door carefully, his weapon always pointed. With a quick glance, he could see that there was no one else, that the room seemed to be alone. He quickly decided to close the door, while he set a trap, a small wire that aimed the pistol at the entrance. If someone tried to enter, they would be greeted with a shot first.
The sound of the door closing echoed in the room, followed by a total silence. John leaned against the door, letting out a long sigh. The adrenaline of the battle was beginning to dissipate, and with it, a sharp pain in his shoulder returned. He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the rough bandage he had put on before, now soaked in blood.
With precise and efficient movements, he took a new bandage from the first aid kit he had picked up and applied it, cleaning the wound with a little water. The pain was a constant reminder, but he didn't flinch. Once the wound was bandaged again, he buttoned his shirt and felt a little more prepared.
Then, calmly, he unpacked his backpack. Kendo had done a good job. From the guts of the bag, John took out several parts wrapped in cloth. He carefully placed them on the floor, revealing the lower receiver, the barrel, the handguard, and a stock. It was a Colt Commando assault rifle, a robust and reliable model, perfect for combat in confined spaces.
Sitting on the floor, John began to assemble the rifle. His hands moved with the fluidity and precision of a craftsman. Each piece fit together perfectly, a ritual he had repeated thousands of times. First, the barrel and the upper receiver were joined. Then, the pivot pin.
With a satisfactory click, the two halves of the rifle were joined. The stock slid into place, locked, and the 30-round magazine was inserted. In less than a minute, the pile of metal and plastic had been transformed into a lethal and action-ready weapon. The MP5 was good, but the firepower and range of the Colt Commando would be crucial for what was to come.
A day later John Wick's Journal. September 28, 1998. 3:00 P.M. Time has passed slowly down here. It has been more than 24 hours since I arrived at this "Break Room". The wound in my shoulder has started bleeding again, and although I have bandaged it again, the pain is a constant reminder. The smell of the sewer has become my perfume. I have been exploring these labyrinthine hallways, following every tunnel the old map indicates. But it has been useless. Each path seems to lead to another, and each one feels exactly the same as the last. I was about to get lost a few hours ago. Luckily, I managed to find my way back. It's strange. No one has come. Umbrella hasn't sent a cleanup crew, not even a reconnaissance group. The bodies of the soldiers I eliminated are still there, like a macabre reminder of last night. The smell of putrefaction has intensified, mixing with the already nauseating scent of the sewers. There are no traces of anyone else. It's as if the corporation has a much bigger problem on the surface than this small underground control post. A problem that, for some reason, they don't want to be known. The hunger has returned, so I have eaten something from my backpack. A dry meat ration, it's not very tasty, but it has served to calm my stomach. The taste of metal and salt in my mouth, added to the heaviness of the last few hours, has made me think of Sarah's death and how I couldn't do anything. I need to get out of here. End of journal
John closed the small leather journal and put it in his pocket. The weight in his stomach was no longer hunger, but a growing impatience. The idea of being trapped in this labyrinth, ignoring what was happening on the surface and not being able to contact Jill, was torture. He clenched his jaw. It was time to return to the surface, no matter what was happening.
He prepared himself with his characteristic efficiency. He put the Colt Commando assault rifle on his shoulder, with the strap crossed over his chest. He took the MP5, which he had put in his backpack, and put it in his hand. The silenced pistol, on his belt, ready to be used.
With all his weapons in place, he felt prepared. He opened the door carefully, his weapon pointed. The wire trap he had left on the door was still intact, a sign that no one had tried to enter. The room was just as he had left it.
John gave one last look at the "Break Room". His only momentary refuge. Now, it was time to leave it behind.
He retraced his steps, passing by the room where he had eliminated the soldiers. The scene was the same: a silent battlefield, the bodies of the soldiers and the infected lay scattered, their state of decomposition advanced. The smell was unbearable. John sighed, resignation weighing on his heart. It was a sight that would never be erased from his mind. He continued, vaguely remembering the way he had gotten here.
He passed by the place where he had interrogated the soldier he had submerged in the water. Curiously, his body was not there. It had disappeared. John stopped for a moment, his mind processing the strange situation. Had the current carried him away? Or had something else dragged him?
A strange turbulence in the water current caught his attention. John leaned over, watching the water churn unnaturally. Suddenly, he could see what it was: a scaly snout emerged from the water, followed by a yellow eye. It was a crocodile, but the snout was too big, and the eye was a color too unnatural. John found it curious. The crocodile seemed not to have noticed him, and John, ignoring what it was, continued on his way.
John continued, moving with agility through the maze of tunnels, following the route he had mentally traced the day before. Finally, the light from his flashlight revealed the metal ladder that led to the manhole cover he had entered through.
He climbed the ladder quickly and carefully, his heart pounding with the anticipation of the surface. With a push, the metal cover lifted, revealing an alleyway illuminated by daylight. The sun was a spectacle, something he hadn't seen in more than 24 hours. The sounds of the city were a distant murmur, a contrast to the oppressive silence of the sewers.
He quickly got out and put the lid back, covering his entrance. He took out the assault rifle and hid it under a nearby trash can, concealing it with newspapers. Such a large weapon was difficult to hide and go unnoticed in an urban environment, so he left it. Once he had made sure the weapon was well hidden, he turned around and headed for the main street.
But as he approached, the murmur of the city became stranger, more silent than he remembered. There was something suspicious in the air, an unnatural stillness. John stopped, his senses on high alert.
And as if it were a signal, when he reached the main street, he found himself with a scene of absolute chaos. A crowd of crashed cars, some on fire, filled the street. Black smoke rose into the sky, a shroud over the city. He could hear distant screams and shots. John was in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. A day ago, everything was normal. But now, this chaos was surprising.
While he was observing the situation, he could notice a group of creatures identical to the ones he had found in the Raccoon City sewers, surrounding what appeared to be an R.P.D. police officer. The infected, with their swollen bodies and bloodshot eyes, pounced on the police officer, their jaws closing around his body, devouring him like a pack of hungry wolves.
The horror of the scene was palpable, and John couldn't help but feel a chill. The chaos had been unleashed on the surface.