The heavy oak doors groaned under their combined weight, slowly yielding to reveal a sliver of the interior. Behind them lay a city in flames; before them was a bottomless, deathly silence.
Noah and Claire slipped inside, and Noah immediately threw his shoulder against the wood to heave it shut.
Click.
The heavy brass lock engaged with a finality that felt like a prayer. For the first time in hours, there was a barrier between them and the nightmare outside. Noah leaned his forehead against the cool wood for a second, his chest heaving. Out there, the city had devolved into a charnel house. In here, they had a chance to breathe.
They turned to face the lobby, and the sheer scale of the place stole the air from their lungs.
The R.P.D. headquarters was a temple of shadows. It defied every expectation of a modern police precinct. Soaring Gothic arches reached toward a domed ceiling, supported by massive fluted pillars that would have looked more at home in a cathedral. An elegant gallery with a dark red carpet swept across the second floor, while the floor beneath them was a cold expanse of black-and-white marble that mirrored their guarded silhouettes.
The air was different here—thicker, smelling of old paper, floor wax, and the dry scent of an ancient museum.
In the center of the lobby stood a massive statue of a goddess. She held a water pitcher in one hand and scales in the other, her sightless marble eyes gazing down with a serenity that felt almost insulting given the chaos outside. Firelight from the street filtered through high, stained-glass windows, casting dancing, blood-red patterns across the goddess's face.
"My God," Claire whispered, her voice barely a breath. "It's a museum."
"Not just 'like' one," Noah said, pulling the map from his pocket. He traced a line of fine print near their location. "The building was the Raccoon City Art Museum before they converted it in '87. They kept the architecture as a landmark."
Claire shook her head, looking at a relief of a battle scene on the wall. "Who builds a police station in an art gallery?"
"People who think civilization is permanent," Noah said, refolding the map with a sharp snap. "But looking at the street out there, it's a hell of an irony. Stay sharp. We check the perimeter, then we wait for Leon."
Claire nodded, her hand hovering near the grip of her Browning.
Ugh... ah...
The sound was faint—a low, ragged groan that seemed to bleed out of the stone walls. It echoed through the vast space, shattering the silence.
Noah and Claire moved as one. They pivoted back-to-back, a practiced instinct. Claire leveled her Samurai Edge, her eyes scanning the dark corners of the gallery, while Noah raised the rebar across his chest, his head tilted to track the sound.
Ten seconds of suffocating silence passed.
Ugh...
"Left side," Noah whispered. "End of the hall, behind the statue."
They moved like predators, footfalls silent on the marble. Behind the goddess statue, a door to a side office stood ajar, a sliver of fluorescent light spilling onto the floor.
Noah pressed his ear to the wood. He heard the wet, labored rasp of someone struggling to breathe. He gave Claire a sharp nod, took a half-step back, and kicked the door wide.
He lunged in, rebar raised, but the strike died in mid-air.
A Black police officer in a blood-slicked uniform was slumped against a desk. A gruesome wound torn across his abdomen had turned his shirt into a dark, sodden mess. A pool of red was slowly widening beneath him on the parquet floor. His face was a sickly, translucent grey, his lips cracked and pale.
As they entered, he forced his head up, his eyes clouded with the haze of shock. Seeing they were human, the hand he'd had on his holster relaxed.
"Are you okay?" Claire dropped to her knees beside him, her voice thick with alarm. "Jesus, you're hit bad. Is there a medic? Anyone?"
The officer shook his head, a spasm of pain crossing his features. "I'm... Lieutenant Marvin Branagh," he rasped. "Who are you? Civilians shouldn't be here."
"I'm Claire Redfield. I'm looking for my brother, Chris. He's S.T.A.R.S."
At the mention of S.T.A.R.S., a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossed Marvin's face. He hissed as he tried to shift his weight. "Chris... we haven't had word from the S.T.A.R.S. office in days. Chris, Jill, Barry... all of them. Total radio silence."
Claire felt a cold weight settle in her gut. "What happened to this town, Lieutenant?"
Marvin swallowed hard, his gaze drifting to the window. "It started two months ago. The Arklay Mountains. Reports of 'cannibal' attacks. We thought it was animals. Some kind of psychosis." He coughed, a spray of red dotting his lip. "Chris and the others... they went to a mansion out there. Alpha Team. They found the truth. It was Umbrella. Biological weapons... the bastards were playing God."
Marvin's hand clenched into a fist on the floor. "But nobody believed them. Chief Irons, the Mayor... Umbrella bought them all. They called the S.T.A.R.S. report a delusion. Post-traumatic stress." He let out a bitter, wet laugh. "And now the 'delusion' is eating the city."
The effort of speaking sent Marvin into a violent coughing fit.
"Let me see the wound," Noah said, stepping forward. He crouched down, his movements clinical and steady. "I'm a medical student. I have supplies in my pack."
Marvin looked at Noah, his eyes glassing over. He shook his head weakly. "Don't waste it, kid. I know a terminal bleed when I feel it. It's too late for me."
With a shaking hand, he pulled a blue magnetic keycard from his belt and held it out to Claire.
"Take this. It'll get you through the electronic locks in the lobby. Go... find the others. Save whoever is left."
"But we can't just leave you—" Claire started.
"I said GO!" Marvin's voice suddenly boomed with the authority of a dying lion. He glared at them, his eyes bloodshot and fierce. "That's an order! Save the living! Now get out of here!"
Noah stared at the Lieutenant for a long beat. He saw the damage—the punctured organs, the sheer volume of blood lost. Marvin was right. Without a full surgical suite and a gallon of O-negative, he was a dead man.
Noah stood up, his face set in a grim mask. "Understood, Lieutenant. We'll be back."
He took Claire by the arm, pulling her away before her empathy could trap them in a room with a dying man. They stepped back into the lobby, the door clicking shut behind them, muffling Marvin's ragged gasps.
They walked to the central inquiry desk behind the statue. A lone computer hummed in the darkness, its screen glowing with the R.P.D. crest.
Claire reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the blood-stained keycard to the sensor.
Beep.
ACCESS GRANTED.
From the shadows of the wings, a series of heavy electromagnetic thuds echoed through the hall. The gates were open. The rest of the nightmare was waiting.