Chapter 15: Lockdown

Jill Valentine leaned around the corner, pointing her Beretta into the deep blackness beyond.

Her eyes had long since adapted to the darkness filling the endless, identical corridors. She had even begun memorizing the standard layout of the complex, and was gaining the ability to predict what would be around the bend. So it was with ease – and no small relief – that she detected no movement down hall 32, and waved her companions past her into that long stretch of sterile emptiness.

Captain David Trapp flashed past her, a living shadow, and took up position halfway down the uniform hall where the first two sets of doors were located. Keeping careful watch over the bend in the hall further down, he signaled for the Betas to check the adjacent rooms.

They were in the employee section of the lab – Sector 2, the second level of the facility – where lockers, showers, and even sleeping quarters could be found. It could possibly have felt homey if it hadn't been for the institutionalized–hospital feel, and then there was the knowledge that unspeakable things were going on beneath their feet.

Of course, living underground could also breed claustrophobia.

Palmieri had informed them only a few minutes ago that they would need to find a keycard to access the restricted areas of Sector 3. Apparently, there was supposedly one hidden in a locker in Sector 2 somewhere. And so, Palmieri had directed David and his Betas – who were closest, due to their entry vector – to make a pit stop and locate it.

I spy a fucked–up quest, Jill had thought furiously as Boss relayed the orders. After all, why had no one thought of this before Freebird had gone operational? Chris and Barry had managed to cover everything else.

Laura Piescotte slowly turned the knob on the first door to their right and peered into the pitch cavern. John Andrews leaned on his shoulder against the wall to Laura's left, pointing his Beretta over the other Beta's head.

"Lights," David commanded in an undertone.

"Why?" John whispered back. "You don't want me and the ladies to have fun in the dark?"

No one laughed: they didn't have the time or the energy.

David and Jill remained on lookout while Laura, John, and Melissa Mason crawled into the room, one–by–one igniting their flashlights. The door slid shut noiselessly, trapping the light behind the nondescript window inset in the door at eye–level.

Once they had gone, David glanced over at Jill. She couldn't see anything of his features other than his glittering eyes, and they were intense.

"Are you alright?" he asked shortly.

In many ways, she was his superior, if not in rank. In the past, such a question might have angered her less mature self, but now she stopped to consider it. A quick synopsis told her that her heart was beating rather quickly and her palms were sweating inside her skintight gloves. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the recycled air – foul tasting through her mask.

"I'm good," she replied softly, genuinely grateful that he had asked.

David gave a barely perceptible nod. "It's not really the time to discuss this, but I've heard so much praise about you from the others." His dark eyes were still dancing up and down the hall, and he kept his accented voice to an undertone. "They praise you for your bravery at Raccoon and your initiative. I just wanted to say that it's a pleasure to finally get to work with you."

She wanted to say "thank you" or something – anything along those lines – but found she couldn't. Remembering Raccoon at a time like this made her chest ache with grief and guilt.

David seemed to understand her silence. She shook the sensation off, chasing it away with another deep breath. Get undistracted, Valentine, she ordered herself. Focus.

The three shadows that were the other Betas rejoined them in the hall, flashlights already extinguished. They had found nothing. In an emotionless whisper, David told them to move on to the next room – a locker room, which held promise.

Two hallways – 33 and 34 – and a tiny cafeteria later, they were still empty–handed. Jill was sweating through her skintight outfit, and the drafty halls – echoing with the thrum of the air conditioners – did nothing to cool her down.

David held up a hand, bringing the team to a stop. Jill – near the head of the group – automatically assumed lookout, taking up a spot near the next bend in the corridor. Mirroring her, John took rear as the other two women remained closer to David.

"We have no time for this," they heard the Captain mutter as he fingered the mic hidden beneath his mask. "Boss?"

There was a pause, and then Director Palmieri's voice came through. "I'm here."

David held two fingers to his ear. "Sir, we need a more directed search pattern – if we search all of Sector 2, we'll find nothing in time to get out before Umbrella support arrives."

"I'm not sure exactly what to tell you, Captain," Palmieri replied in a clipped tone of voice. He wasn't a proud man, so it wasn't the fact that his orders were being questioned that was aggravating him. It had to be the press of time.

"Give us some room numbers of living quarters so we don't search each room unnecessarily," David said. "Do the lab blueprints show the locations of lockers or closets for personal belongings?"

Another pause.

Greg Defkine: "I've got some room numbers, Captain. As for lockers, I would assume there would be some in the lavatories down hall 16-2a – back the way you just came. That's the best I can do."

David sighed in frustration. "Okay. We'll check those bathrooms. Thanks."

Jill spoke almost without thinking. "Boss? Do we know what that delivery truck was dropping off?"

"Negative on specifics," Palmieri replied bemusedly. He was probably looking at the live security feed. "Activity in the loading bay is at a minimum currently, but the shipment definitely contained illegal materials – considering time of arrival."

Jill frowned beneath her mask. "Should we investigate?"

"Negative," Tom Kurtz said, making a first appearance. "Stick to the main assignment."

Jill wanted to tell the asshole to stuff it, but Palmieri spoke before her righteous anger could form the words. "If there's time on the way out, I will leave the decision up to Captain Beta's discretion," he said. "For now, acquiring the Virus is our highest priority."

"Roger that, Sir," David said. "What's the status on the other teams?"

"They're proceeding, Captain," Palmieri said shortly, pointedly. "Specifics are inessential at the moment. However, should the need arise, you will be enlightened."

"Understood, sir." David straightened as the transmission cut.

"Why is he keeping us in the dark?" Laura asked in a hushed tone. She almost sounded annoyed. "We can contact the others on our own."

"He just wants us to stay focused." Jill leaned back against the wall to relax her nerves for a moment, allowing the reinforced sheetrock to support her full weight. "Let's head for the lavatories for now – that's our best bet."

"Yeah, and I gots to take a piss," John muttered.

It took them roughly eight minutes to backtrack and locate hall 16-2a – eight full minutes that they didn't have to spare. And there were the main bathrooms for Sector 2. Men's and women's rooms were opposite one another and doorless; privacy came in the way of the elongated L–shaped entrances. While David remained outside on watch, Jill and John took the men's room while Laura and Melissa took the women's.

It would have been impossible to work in the blackness, so Jill lit her flashlight and saw John do the same. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the sudden harsh light. Shining the torch around the chamber, Jill took in the tiled floors and the huge mirror hanging above the row of sinks. Everything echoed, due to the vast empty spaces and painfully regular dimensions. The two rows of men's lockers stood parallel in the middle of the changing area, across the way from the showers. The best way was to search systematically, so Jill took a row and John took one. Most of the lockers hung open, but several were closed, and –

"This one's locked," John announced suddenly. His voice was unnaturally loud in the echoing bathroom.

"Use your silencer," Jill said. It would be the quickest way.

She continued her search in silence – using time wisely, just in case John found nothing – and was just nearing the end of her row when she heard the high whistle and a metallic thunk pierce the silence. Jill held her breath, one hand holding her Beretta, the other trailing the flashlight beam on the far wall.

"Got a shirt, wallet, and… no way. A Bible? How does that work? Sorry, Jill. Uhhh, a set of keys – I think they're to a car – aaaaand… Jackpot!"

Jill came around the end of the row quickly, her heart thumping with excitement. "You're not screwing with me, are you?"

"No, no – definitely a keycard." John shifted so that she could add her flashlight to his. He was holding a plain beige card, certainly uncharacteristic of Umbrella's traditionally melodramatic security measures, but it had a magnetic strip on the lateral edge and there were definitely electronic components within.

"No markings, but it's as good a bet as any," John said, and she could tell he was smiling even though his face was invisible.

She nodded, pleased but certainly not eager. "Let's go."

Security; Sector 3
2126 hrs (9:26pm)
- - -

Albert Wesker stood behind the tech in Sector 3, observing the security screens full of S.T.A.R.S. activity. There were two groups they could track currently, and there was a third which had disappeared somewhere, leaving the quarantine bay a disaster area behind them – full of fifteen dead Umbrella security commandos.

These were unacceptable losses for such a galling lack of results.

It was hard to tell where exactly the S.T.A.R.S. had gone. It was obvious that they had used the emergency tube, which led directly down into Sector 3. But they had disappeared off the cameras for that very reason: surveillance in the secret corners of the lab was kept at a minimum.

That left one available option.

"Do it," Wesker ordered.

The tech looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning. Even though he said nothing, the man's reservations were obvious. Had he lacked self–control, Wesker might have killed the grunt just for doubting his wisdom. But he was in control, and his wisdom was undeniable.

Drastic circumstances required drastic measures.

"Do it," Wesker repeated softly, his tone daring the little man to defy him.

The tech blew out a deep breath, and then reached for the release levers. A warning message blossomed on the main readout, but the tech ignored it as he pulled the first lever, then the second.

All twelve of them.

Wesker smiled thinly. He gave the man's shoulder a firm pat, as though he gave a damn about the grunt's insecurity. "Lock it down," he said.

The man turned to look at him again, and this time his eyes were wide and fearful. "Sir, you realize that if I do that, we'll be trapped in here with them."

Wesker cocked his head to one side. "Your concern is duly noted."

His upper lip sweating, the tech tapped the appropriate passcode into the computer, prompting another warning to splash across the screen. There was a dull tone, which rang through the facility, and then a rainbow of uneven colors and endless strings of meaningless letters and numerals dissolved the program on the terminal screen.

– which was quickly spattered with the tech's blood as Wesker put a bullet through the man's head. The tech slumped in his chair without a sound, chin drooping to his chest, leaking viscous fluids onto the console.

Lowering the Eagle, Wesker turned on his heel and exited the control room, out into the black corridor. The tech's death was necessary, and could not have been preempted. No one was to know who had ordered the release of the test subjects: such knowledge would be very detrimental to Wesker's rise on Umbrella security's totem pole, after all.

But the man whom he had just killed had been correct about one thing: with the lockdown in effect, there was no way out of Sector 3. It was a failsafe, and for once, Wesker found himself praising Renault for his anal–retentive security measures. Basically, the tech had scrambled every password and code in the entire facility, making it virtually impossible for anyone to get in or out. The elevators were also shutting down and the stairwells locking, so passage between sectors would be equally impossible in a matter of seconds, although all electronic doors within the Sectors themselves would be opening and locking that way.

But Wesker had his own codes – Watchdog codes, which would effectively override anything the Umbrella mainframe could throw at him. It was another failsafe, one that he had insisted upon – just in case of an emergency.

And so he smiled, not without a little pleasure. He could get out, even if the S.T.A.R.S. could not.

Computer lab; Sector 3
2126 hrs (9:26pm)
- - -

The chime echoed eerily in the emptiness of the lab.

Justin Cantori's flesh immediately puckered with gooseflesh beneath the skintight outfit. The very atmosphere of the lab had suddenly become palpably more threatening, although he didn't know why. He craned his neck to find the source of the noise, looking all around in the spacious cavern of a computer lab the Alphas had come across. The room was gloriously empty, and it was dark because they had not turned on any lights. The only illumination came from the flashlights they each carried and the dim glow of the few lit terminals.

"If that's the hell train's bells, I'm disappointed," Leon muttered, and his voice carried in the stillness as the chime lingered.

The rest of the Alphas had previously been spread out within the lab, but now they were gravitating back towards Chris's position by the glass doors. They would have blended with the darkness if it hadn't been for the lightsabers they were carrying.

Chris was already keying communications with the control van. "Boss?"

The Director came through almost instantly, and even over the poor frequency, they could hear the anxiety in his tone. "Captain, we have a serious problem – our codes have all been scrambled and all the cameras have gone blank. We're blind out here."

"Umbrella knows we're here," Greg Defkine informed them grimly. "They're taking drastic measures."

Chris swung his fist heavily into the sheetrock wall, denting it. "Fuck!" he screamed, loud enough to make them all wince.

"I'm doing what I can, Captain," Defkine said, and his voice was even, calming. "Just give me a few minutes to isolate the repeated code and I'll start working on breaking it. I'll open what I can and make do with what I can't."

Good luck, Justin thought, not without a little panic. What he'd seen of the passwords used in the facility was enough to dampen any optimism.

"How are we going to get out?" Fred Eyong asked, glassy eyes sparkling in the light of Jeff's flashlight. His voice was raspy, full of phlegm: the tear gas had wreaked havoc on his respiratory system.

"Not now," Chris snapped at him. The Captain was leaning heavily on a computer desk, head hanging weakly – defeated.

"Was it the commando squad?" Leon demanded. "Could they have triggered the lockdown, or did this come from the mainframe itself?"

"No way to tell specifically," Palmieri replied. "The order was definitely executed from inside the facility, though, so it's a safe bet that the commandos were responsible. What concerns me is the fact that we just witnessed all of them leaving the facility. And I mean all of them. As far as we can tell, you are the only ones left in the building."

"Doesn't really make a difference," Jeff said, the voice of reason. He was standing next to Justin. "Question is, what are we going to do about this?"

Justin found his voice again. "Yeah – can we move between floors, or are we stuck here until the morning shift comes in?"

"As of right now, that's anyone's guess," Palmieri replied tersely. "We need a few minutes to re-gather our intel. Until we're back up and running out here, I don't think I need to tell you to be careful."

"One other thing," Defkine said before Chris could cut the transmission. "We're still inside the mainframe, although it's essentially like standing in drying concrete. We've got some sort of alert that came through here –"

"What is it?" Chris asked, raising his head out of curiosity.

"The text is garbled because of the lockdown, but I can make out three words," Defkine replied. "Sector 3, release, and hosts. Does that mean anything to you, Captain?"

Apparently it did, because Chris's body went visibly rigid. He swayed on the spot, suddenly lost to the bleak world that was the research lab. "So that's why they left," he breathed.

"Captain?" Palmieri called uncertainly.

Justin frowned and looked to the others, judging their reactions against his lack of one. Since they were all wearing facemasks, it was hard to tell, but he got distinct senses of uneasy tension from Jeff and Leon. Peréz and Eyong were concerned, he could tell, but not to the same extent as their veteran fellows.

"Yeah, it means something," Chris croaked finally. He turned and looked at Leon, his eyes wide with very real fear.

"What, Captain?" Tom Kurtz, the AD, demanded.

Chris swallowed hard, searching Leon's hidden face for answers or maybe relief. But he found none, because Leon had none to offer in the first place.

"It means," the Captain said finally, "that we're not alone."