Umbrella Sub-Lab – L1 / Junction Corridor
The corridor erupted.
From vents, wall cracks, and even the half-melted corpses scattered across the floor, spiders poured out—skittering, shrieking, a black tide of twitching legs and dripping fangs. The air filled with the sound of thousands of claws scraping against metal.
Jack didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, planting his boots and bracing the riot shotgun against his shoulder. The first blast turned the lead wave into mist. The second tore a hole through the swarm, bodies exploding into pulp.
"Keep back!" he barked. "I've got front!"
Jill fired beside him, short, controlled bursts from her pistol, but the sheer number of targets made every shot feel wasted. Bullets tore through the mass, and still the floor moved. The spiders climbed over their dead, screeching—blind and relentless.
"Damn it!" She reloaded fast, chamber snapping. "There's too many—we're boxed in!"
Rebecca knelt against the wall, covering their flank with measured shots, her breathing ragged but focused. "They're coming from every vent! If we stay here, we'll be buried alive!"
Jack pumped the shotgun again, shells clattering at his feet. "Then start thinking of exits, Becca!"
Jill's eyes swept the hall, the way only a tactician's would—checking corners, pressure seams, anything Umbrella might've built into a maintenance design. Steam hissed from ruptured pipes above them, clouds rolling through the red light.
Then she saw it.
A line of thick heating pipes ran the length of the ceiling, several glowing dull orange through the haze. They fed into a junction ahead—large enough to burst if hit.
"Rebecca!" she shouted. "Those pipes—high-pressure steam lines! If we rupture them, it'll flood this corridor. The heat might drive them back!"
Rebecca ducked under Jack's firing line, eyes scanning the valves. "We can trigger the release manually, but we'll have seconds before the pressure cooks us too!"
"Seconds are all we need!" Jill shouted back.
Jack fired another shell, splattering a spider that leapt for Rebecca's shoulder. "Tell me where to shoot!"
"Top right conduit—silver bracket!" she yelled.
Jack sighted up through the smoke and pulled the trigger. The blast hit metal—then a deafening hiss filled the corridor as superheated vapor exploded outward. Steam boiled across the ceiling, pouring down like fog.
The spiders shrieked in unison, their bodies blistering as the wave of heat rolled through them. The swarm faltered, scattering toward the vents.
Jill grabbed Rebecca's arm. "Move! Before we roast with them!"
Jack fired one last shell, then fell in behind them as they sprinted through the haze. The air was thick enough to burn in their lungs; the floor slick with ichor and melted silk.
They rounded a corner and collapsed behind a row of toppled consoles. For a long moment, only the sound of dripping condensation filled the air.
Rebecca coughed, wiping soot from her face. "That bought us time. Not much, but enough."
They pushed deeper into the corridor until the floor markings changed—faded Umbrella insignias stenciled into the steel. They stopped at a heavy blast door half-hanging from its hinges. Across the top, letters flaked but still readable: U.S.S. ARMORY – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Jack moved first, kicking the door open with one hard shove. It crashed inward, echoing through the empty hall. Inside, the air was stale and metallic, tinged with oil and gunpowder. Rows of racks lined the walls, most stripped bare. Half-open crates lay overturned, spilling magazines, ration tins, and shards of shattered glass across the floor.
Jack swept the corners out of habit. His flashlight caught the edge of a locker, the nameplate half-buried under grime: UNIT LEAD – CPL. J. RICO. He tugged the latch; the door groaned open. Empty—except for a torn harness and a bundle of sealed blast charges.
Jack pulled them free and started strapping them to his belt, the motions automatic. He glanced at the tag again and muttered, "Guess the bugs got him first."
Rebecca shot him a look. "Not funny."
Jack gave a half-shrug, tightening the strap. "Wasn't trying to be."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Just… please don't blow us up in the process."
Jack shrugged. "No promises."
Jill moved through the opposite side of the room, scanning the intact weapon racks. Most were empty—until she found one still sealed in a plastic sheath. She tore it open, revealing a compact MP5 submachine gun, Umbrella issue.
She checked the chamber, loaded the mag, and gave the slide a quick pull. It was smooth, clean, and deadly quiet.
"MP5," she said. "Standard U.S.S. loadout. Figures they'd keep the good toys for themselves."
Jack glanced back at her. "You sure you can handle that thing?"
Jill smirked, shouldering the weapon with practiced ease. "I used to clear houses with one of these. Feels like old times."
Rebecca continued rummaging through the supply bins—no med kits, no stimulants, nothing useful. She sighed, grabbing a few spare magazines and flash grenades before regrouping with Jack and Jill.
The silence lasted only a heartbeat before faint clicking echoed through the vents again—followed by the low hiss of air bursting through corroded ducts above them.
Dozens of smaller spiders spilled out, the ones the steam hadn't killed. Their legs scraped metal, their bodies glistening with half-melted webbing. The swarm came from both sides now, flooding the corridor like living tar.
Rebecca's breath hitched. "They're reforming—faster than before!"
"Move!" Jill shouted, opening fire. The MP5 barked in controlled bursts, tearing through the front line but barely slowing the mass behind it. "We need to fall back!"
Jack racked the shotgun and fired again, blasting another cluster apart. The swarm didn't stop. The walls pulsed with movement, the sound building to a maddening pitch.
He looked up—pipes, junction boxes, containment valves—all potential weak points. His Assaultman training kicked in, mapping the corridor automatically: weak points, blast paths, cover angles.
"Rebecca! Jill! On me!"
He yanked a breaching charge off his belt, flicking the safety with practiced ease. The charge blinked red in his hand, a rhythmic pulse in the dark.
Jill saw it instantly. "You're setting charges?"
"Buying us breathing room."
"Good call." She pivoted to cover him, firing short bursts down the hall. "I'll cover left—set it high so the blast throws forward!"
Jack slapped the charge onto a wall support beam and gestured forward. "Go!"
The explosion hit a second after they cleared the corner—a boom that tore the corridor in half. Metal screamed, and a wave of dust and debris swallowed the advancing swarm.
Rebecca shielded her face as fragments rained down. "You ever not solve problems with explosions?"
Jack gave a tired grin. "You know me—if things don't blow up, am I really doing my job?"
The next junction split in three directions. Clicking echoed from the right and left tunnels.
Jack ripped another charge from his belt, this one smaller—a tactical breacher. He slapped it onto a maintenance hatch labeled RESTRICTED ACCESS – CHEMICAL STORAGE, grabbed both women, and pulled them back.
He threw himself over them, using his body as a shield as the charge detonated.
The blast tore the hatch inward, a burst of sparks and warped steel. The shockwave rolled through the hall, knocking debris loose from the ceiling.
Jack gritted his teeth as pain flared across his back but pushed it aside, checking the others. "Jill! Becca! You good?" he called, voice raw from the blast.
Both women coughed through the smoke, waving away the dust. Jill's voice came first, steady despite the rasp. "Still standing."
Rebecca nodded, her breath shaky but controlled. "Yeah… we're good."
Jack exhaled, relieved, then turned toward the gaping hatch. The air spilling out carried a sharp, chemical smell. He chambered another round and nodded toward the opening. "Then we move," he said quietly. "Before they regroup."
They stepped through the breached hatch and into the chemical storage bay. Pipes snaked through the ceiling like veins, dripping condensation into puddles below. The chemical stench hit instantly—sharp alcohol, solvents, and fuel. Every breath burned.
Jack led the way, shotgun raised. "Keep close."
Jill swept her MP5 across the room, muzzle light cutting through the haze. "Looks clear—for now."
Rebecca followed between them, her flashlight darting across shattered canisters and overturned lab tables. The Umbrella logo glared from half-melted signage: CHEMICAL STORAGE – LEVEL 1.
She knelt beside a spill of clear liquid, her nose wrinkling. "Isopropanol," she said quietly. "Flammable. Strong concentration, too."
Jack glanced back at her. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Rebecca's lips tightened. "If it burns, it kills. That's all that matters right now."