The hallway was unusually white, eerily white, a white that almost blinded the fox when he broke out of the closet he had been jammed into. He rubbed his eyes, muttering words too acidic to be revealed here. As soon as his orientations were returned his paws yanked out twin pistols and spun in a full circle. The hall was empty, one way led to a endless hall of doors, somewhat like the Matrix, the other led to a glass door at the end of the hall, foggy glass that couldn't be seen through.

The fox, Rex, hated choices. Also, this was too calm, from what he had went through in the last hour, there had to be some major and life threatening conflict somewhere, waiting for him and asking for a violent clash.

Rex was a normal fox, except for the white steak that led from his nose, over his head, and down his back. This made him an individual, a special being in the situation at hand, one of those characters that probably won't die because he's destined to be the 'hero' of sorts, if they can be called 'heroes' in this kind of plot. The black vest he wore, plus the pistols, had been taken in his flight from the experimentation deck and cloud that definitely was not air fresher to get rid of the mucky, rotten garbage smell in that part of the building. The moans and screams of agony it left in its wake didn't do anything to stop Rex from fleeing into the airtight vault.

That had been two days ago, and he still had all the bullets in his guns and he still wasn't sure what was going on.

Rex walked down the hallway to the foggy door, his claws clacking against the smooth marble floor. Rex wondered why a random hallway had marble floors. The Umbrella Corp. had more money than he figure at first. He didn't know much about the Umbrella Corp. in the first place, so it didn't matter. The marble was cold on his footpads.

He shot one of his guns twice, the glass door shattered. He could have just opened it; there was no lock or keypad. The shooting of the door made it more exciting. Rex carefully stepped over the broken glass of the former door, he was stepping into an office, quiet normal for an bland office...except for the papers all over the floor, the ceiling ripped up and sparks raining from it, lights hanging askew and broken, leaving dim illumination and shadows in room, and, of course, splatters of blood everywhere.

"Wow, they sure do know how to throw retirement parties 'round here," Rex muttered, edging his way into the room. It was much dimmer than the hall, Rex's eyes rejoiced, but this left a much more uncertainty of the shadows, more sense of growing tension. An upbeat in the musical score started, all eyes locked on the shadow emerging from beneath a desk that the fox had passed. The shadow stalked towards Rex from behind.

The fox sensed it, slowly turned around, and looked up into the raccoon's face. No, that's not enough information. He looked up into the rotting flesh and fur, the skeletal grin of open jaws, eyes white and hanging out of their sockets, of a raccoon, a sight that brought Rex the memory of the time in school when he left a sardine, pickle, baloney, and chocolate syrup sub sandwich crushed under his books and discovered it at the end of the year. He recoiled from the form, and a chair, inconveniently right behind him to cause more conflict, caused him to fall to the floor, hard, making the guns fall from his paws.

Rex desperately scrambled backwards, the raccoon kept coming, stiffly. The fox was panicking as he waved his paws at the raccoon, "Wait, wait, halt the suspense, I'm not a disposable character, let me get the guns so I can shoot you..."

The decaying raccoon licked his nonexistent lips and continuing stalking. Rex had backed into a desk, he searched for an escape; he had backed into a cubicle. He'd heard these were death traps but this was ridiculous. He pondered if this was what it felt like to have a job and a boss.

The raccoon stood over the fox's cowering form. He objected, "This is just the beginning sequence, I can't be eliminated yet, and anyway, I'm into sugar foods, I'm high in fatty stuff, come on..."

The raccoon's face came closer, its bloody mouth open, its jaws only held by thin pieces of flesh, a smell emaciated from its throat that made Rex choke, it smelled of a mix of rotten eggs, blue cheese and locker room.

Then, when the jaws were inches away, at that convenient point of time came the explosion. Blood went everywhere. The raccoons half gone head was now all gone. Rex was covered in the blood, he sighed in relief, then realized something was moving. The rest of the body was flailing at him.

Rex scrabbled out of the evil cubicle, right into another raccoon. Only difference, this one was not rotten, and this one was holding a shotgun.

"Hullo there," the raccoon said, in friendly 'isn't it a wonderful day?' matter, which scared Rex even more than his recent encounter.

"Who the heck are you?" Rex inquired, scanning the floor for his guns.

"Wow, his head blew up like a melon struck by lightning," he said, in the same over cheerful voice.

Rex stiffened at the comparison, "Ur...I guess so..."

"It also exploded blood, like a water balloons splurging water, all over the place. It sorta looks black in this lighting. Odd."

Retrieving his guns and holstering them, he returned to the raccoon who had not moved a muscle since the shooting. Rex waved a paw in front of the raccoon's eyes, not even a flinch. As Rex had expected, he was in shock. There was only one cure for this. He slapped his paw across the raccoon's maw.

"Ow, thanks, I needed that."

"You've never shot that shotgun before, have you?"

"No, I haven't how do you know."

"Your mind went into 'happy delirium'. Now who are you?"


"That's an weird name."


"'No Duck'? that's even an weirder name."

The raccoon used the rifle to smack the fox aside, just before the rotting raccoon's headless body's claws ripped into him, and shot out another barrel into the thing. This time the details were not even worth mentioning considering it mostly consisted of 'bloody body stuff' that went everywhere, we may as well keep this PG, although that line has been passed a while ago at the 'exploding head' part.

"I'm so glad I did have breakfast...or lunch...or dinner..." the fox concluded, seeing the damage the gun had rained over the area behind where the body had once stood, "I wonder where the cafeteria is in this place."

Giving a look of complete and utter confusion, he stared at the fox a long while. "Are you crazy?" the raccoon inquired.

"You're the one named 'No Duck'."

"My name's Dringer," the raccoon shot back, becoming more perplexed by the second.

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

"Because of a zombie that was about to kill you!"

"Oh, I knew that rotten thing looked familiar, zombies, that's the name..."

"Stop, stop," Dringer interrupted, "Do you have any idea what's going on in this building?"

Putting his eyes up in thought and a paw on his chin, Rex gave the appearance of concentration for about three seconds before responding, "Nope. You?"

Dringer shook his head.

"So you've never shot a gun before. That was great aim. What's your secret?"

"It's called panic and adrenalin," Dringer muttered. Who the heck was this fox? He was getting on his nerves despite the fact he was distracted by the fear that something would drop from the ceiling and kill them in one swipe of a mangled bloody paw and would end this messed up plot.

On the other paw, that would finally end the dang suspense building up.

This brought something else ponder. "This whole series of dialogue does not fit here at all," Dringer added.

"It doesn't have to, we're in a horror genre."

A rattling crash sounded from the double doors at the other end of the room and both creatures jumped. The rattling continued, echoing into the office area. Just as the fox opened his mouth to say another somewhat sarcastic and witty comment on the sound, much to Dringer's relief, a computer start up sound rang out from a nearby cubical.

Without having to confer, the two beasts edged towards the cubical to peak at the screen, which automatically started showing nifty presentation graphics.

"Hello and welcome to the Umbrella Corporation," a electronic female voice emaciated from the speakers, "On a normal basis I would tell you how wonderful our products are for the well being of skin everywhere and making creatures be young and beautiful." The image of a well groomed weasel appeared on the screen going through slow motion shampooing of its fur. "But unfortunately," the image turned dark and the weasel face decayed in a quiet unprofessional graphic of the flesh on the weasel...doing more things that I don't wish to describe, "I must inform our loyal customers...and you, Rex and Dringer...are all going to die. Have a nice day."

The computer turned off.

"That was somewhat disheartening on my goal of self preservation," Dringer commented.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the cynical one, you're supposed to be the 'scared and clueless' one."

The rattling of the door interrupted the conversation.

"I think we could take them on," Rex announced, "I mean, we could, it'd take a lot of bullets that we don't have but we could use office chairs and be creative and..."

By this time, Dringer was past the other pair of double doors in the opposite direction of the rattling. The fox considered his options, he could A-go down now in a flame of gunfire for no reason right now, B-follow his newfound companion and find some 'heroic' way to go down in a flame of gunfire, or C-wake up.

He pinched himself.

Nothing happen.

'Dang,' he thought and ran in pursuit of the raccoon.