— It looks like the morning after a corporate party, — I concluded, surveying the devastated police station hall. There was trash everywhere, makeshift barricades, and a lot of different junk. Originally, the police building was an art museum, but because of its convenient location in the city center and low attendance, the police department bought it. They were especially fond of the underground parking and the three floors. A lot of free space for any needs just begged to use the extensive premises to store statues, paintings, and other works of art.
True, much had still undergone changes; in particular, a major renovation gave many rooms an office look. Other rooms, due to budget constraints, remained untouched, and in some places, they saved on repairs by moving works of art from one section to another. For example, right after entering the police station, we were met by a large statue in the main hall, a little further than the front desk.
— I remember how, right behind it, — my partner gestured to the desk. — Rebecca got drunk for the first time, — Jill continued the conversation a little sadly, remembering the good old days.
Rebecca, by the way, is the only survivor of the "Bravo" team. As far as I could dig up information about her, she left the city with Chris. Not immediately. Like the others, she tried to tell people the truth that the corporation was using them, and all that, trying to publicize the events that happened in Spencer Mansion. And before that, there were some problems with the train. In short, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge, but all for nothing. The authorities and the police are completely tied to Umbrella; no one listened to the surviving fighters of a half-dead special forces team. Their weight and influence are clearly less than that of the holy and unassailable pharmaceutical company.
— Trying to please everyone, the "Bravo" field medic never once rejected a request to drink "just one more glass," — I remembered with a kind smile.
— Yeah, that's why you shot a good girl in the stomach, and hit the bulletproof vest, but due to pride, you forgot to check the "corpse" for a pulse, — Jill mentioned the events from Spencer Mansion.
— Good girls have good karma, — I shrugged. — Plus ten to defense for good behavior.
— You're a joker… — she wanted to add something else, but instead, she hastily headed to the computer at the front desk, trying to check all the information accumulated during our absence. What's interesting is that any employee could use it and get a full plan of the building. Well, or a couple of secrets of the zombie apocalypse in the miniature of one city.
— This is perverted, — I unexpectedly heard from the pervert who drank away the beginning of the incident in Raccoon City. — No, he's not that crazy…
— Hmm, — I said with interest, moving closer to her and asking her to move over a little to look at the monitor. There are a lot of… interesting events in the report, capable of blowing the mind of everyone and anyone who used to work in S.T.A.R.S.
Let's start, perhaps, with the main and basic one — weapons. The esteemed police chief acted according to all the covenants of the brochure: "How to be a Moron. A Guide for Dummies." Due to the paranoia that broke out during the virus leak crisis, our chief ordered the armory next to our office to be opened, all the weapons and ammunition to be taken out of it, and then… well, wouldn't you know it… to be scattered all over the police station. This led to the fact that the rapid response team could not properly arm themselves to go out to civilian calls.
The police tried to help with the infected as best they could, but without weapons, it's impossible to do much useful. And where are the weapons? Well, according to the information, a pack of shotgun shells is lying behind a flower in the accounting department. Yeah, that's funny.
— Check the CCTV cameras, — I asked Jill, because the word "ordered" is inappropriate in our new relationship. And the request worked well; my partner went through the cameras without unnecessary objections, making me wince at the sight of one police officer's corpse. He tried to borrow money from me, but I didn't give it to him. Now he's gone, so there's no point in me remembering Bruce in a negative light. Although, he was a cheerful guy, only he died from a wound… A cut went from his head to the middle of his torso, piercing his skull and bulletproof vest. A regular "bite" from a zombie is not capable of that.
— What do you think? — Valentine asked, also noticing the strange cause of death.
— There are Lickers or their analogues in the building, — I replied, crossing my arms.
— Ahem… — she barely held back a chuckle. — Okay, Lickers it is. And why are they called that?
— The research only began this year because of the specificity of their creation, — I winced at the memories of the prototype of this specimen. — To create one Licker, an ordinary zombie needs to be fed a lot of biomass. This will cause their metabolism to fail, which will trigger a chain of mutations. And the result is worth it: their tongue is a meter long; it can cut a pig into pieces. Judging by the wound on the police officer, hmm, let me think… It's definitely him.
— Umbrella, — Jill sighed heavily, turning away for a couple of seconds, then returning her gaze to me. — What else do you know about Lickers?
— The skin is damaged, many bare areas of the body, they move on all fours on any surface, including the ceiling. Sharp claws and teeth. But their characteristic feature is, of course…
— The face?
— The head, — I smirked. — Imagine a person whose skull has been opened to the level of their mouth. So, this person is a Licker. They have no nose or eyes, and their brain is exposed — put on display, which is impressive, but makes them vulnerable. An open brain has never given a bonus to defense to anyone. Like some girls get for good behavior.
— I get it, ignore the ugliness, look at the ceiling, and shoot them in the brains, — she nodded, catching on quickly. — You know, Wesker… If you weren't a traitor, we could work well together.
— If I weren't a traitor, as you put it… — I shook my head. — You wouldn't get a damn thing, and not cutting-edge information from the most secret Umbrella databases.
We discussed the plan of action a little more, after which we proceeded to check the next rooms through the still-working cameras. What was interesting: several fresh corpses, with weapons lying next to them. It seems that the shots came from them earlier. And also, unpleasant news came: some cameras are broken or access to them from the main hall is blocked.
— Survivors! — Jill rejoiced when she found two police officers patrolling the area. It's understandable, still… Oh, what a pity. A Licker attacked the first police officer, piercing his head with its long tongue. The second one reacted quickly and aimed his pistol at the threat, even managing to fire two shots, but without success.
The Licker jumped from the ceiling right onto the poor guy, clinging to his neck with sharp teeth, tearing out a piece of flesh. We caught the creature at work just in time. I wondered to myself if anything had changed in it, but no. This is a test sample, expected and predictable. I hope so… Its bones can be compared to titanium, or it can have divine tenacity. But externally, it's the same Licker I remember from the Umbrella archives.
Jill reacted impulsively, flinching from the computer and walking quickly towards the problems. She, of course, was holding a pistol and looked, judging by her stance, completely ready for battle. But my partner is acting irrationally, trying to take revenge for the corpses.
— What are you standing for?! — she asked sharply, putting her left hand on her right, and continuing to stand at the passage to the reception room.
— Another adventure, — smiling nostalgically, I went with her. Bypassing the main hall and reception, we entered the corridor where the attack took place. Right after the next turn, we saw the consequences of the recent attack: corpses half-hanging from the ceiling, where the ventilation was. Well, what can I say, in our time, such rooms look like decorative elements in the style of a post-apocalypse.
Something reminded me of this… Thinking about it, I immediately realized that there was a similarity to a haunted house, which was popular in the eighties in the wake of iconic horror films. Usually, right after the element of intimidation comes…
I sharply extended my palm and touched Jill's shoulder, making her flinch slightly. She turned to me, her facial expression showing more surprise than fear. Curious… Her green eyes expressed doubt with a mixture of trust. Complex emotions… She probably understands that in critical situations, I acted better than the other S.T.A.R.S. fighters.
Slowly putting my index finger to my nose, I slowly moved forward, and I wasn't wrong. Right beyond the corridor, on the ceiling a meter from the transition, a Licker was hanging. It has no eyes, orients itself to vibrations, and is also extremely effective at quick kills.
I decided to save ammunition, so I made a weak whistle. The monster did not make me wait long; in the next second, it released a sharp tongue in my direction.
Perhaps, thanks to the production of adrenaline, I was able to slow down time. What for an ordinary person is comparable to a whip crack was for me nothing more than a snail. Oh, it was quite exhausting, as if I had been waiting for public transport for five minutes. The creature's tongue moved so slowly that it's hard to imagine. I could have gone for a cup of coffee and not missed anything. But now, the moment of truth, the tongue is easily accessible to my hand. Quickly grabbing it, as if in slow motion, I pulled with all my might.
Oh, I need to learn to control this.
With the speed of a limping old lady, the huge carcass of the Licker flew to me, giving me the opportunity to deliver a knee strike directly to its brain. The unfortunate zombie did not appreciate this; its brain began to explode, and with that, the acceleration of my reaction ended.
Trouble…
I didn't manage to dodge the lump of brains that flew into my hair.
— This is a fiasco, — I complained about life in displeasure, turning towards Jill, while trying to remove the fragment from my hair.
— Oh, you got him fast, — my partner noted. — Did you start doing everything three times faster?
Why did I catch a hidden meaning in this question? Paranoia is a contagious thing. Five minutes ago, Jill was skeptical about everything; now paranoia has been transmitted to me through the air. Probably, nostalgia for the old days took its toll. It was normal for us to make dirty jokes after every mission where life could end at any moment. Something like: "live with music, die to rock and roll."
— Well, — I thought about the answer. — Only killing.
— Why not… Seriously? — she was distracted by a pile of boards, walked up to them, crouched down, and pulled out a six-shot revolver with two packs of ammunition. — It's like I'm back in childhood.
— And around that corner, there should be a first aid kit, — I joked.
Getting to her feet, Valentine shook her head, going with me — back.
Two police officers are dead, but there are weapons and ammunition next to them. In our line of work, it is considered normal to look for supplies not only under boards, but also to search corpses. Why should something that can save our lives go to waste? In any case, until we find other survivors here or a weapon suitable for our needs. If Nemesis comes in here, oh, a revolver or a pistol will not help us. They will only help us shoot ourselves, but suicide is clearly not a way out of our situation. Oh, a correction, my situation. A bullet to the head won't kill me.