The question hung between them, laden and oppressive. Billy's shoulders slumped beneath its weight as he studied the bandages wrapping his arm, the entry point where Rebecca's antivirus had granted him a second chance.

Finally, he exhaled a weary sigh. "Off the record?"

Rebecca gave a solemn nod, her expression a portrait of rapt attentiveness.

"Screw it..." Billy massaged his throbbing temples. "I guess I owe you." Leaning into the wall, he allowed his eyes to slip shut as the fragmented memories resurfaced - flashes of gunfire and anguished screams echoing across sun baked desert. When he spoke again, his tone was rueful, laced with bitter resignation. "No one I killed was innocent."

The dank air hung heavy, permeated by the stench of decay. Rebecca's brow furrowed as she studied Billy across the room. "But your report-"Billy cut her off with a dismissive wave.

"Fuck the report. They filed what they wanted." His words sliced through the tension like a blade.

Rebecca pressed on, undeterred. "Then explain it to me."

With a resigned sigh, Billy launched into his tale. "Five other soldiers and I were hired anonymously to assassinate a target. Should've been easy money, but it turned into a goddamn massacre." He paused, the memories flickering behind his eyes. "The mission was supposed to be straightforward - get in, take out the target, get out. No more than two guards at the residence, they said. Pure bullshit."

Rebecca inched closer, captivated. "There were at least fifteen well-armed bastards waiting for us. An ambush." Billy's fists clenched. "It was a slaughter. I was the only one who made it out alive...until they captured me." He took a swig from the can, the liquid sloshing. "The rest, you already know."

Processing his words, Rebecca's stomach twisted. "This target you were hired to eliminate...who was he?" Billy's next words dropped like a bombshell. "Oswell Spencer."

Rebecca recoiled, disbelief etched across her delicate features. "So-""I was probably hours away from him murdering me personally." A wry chuckle escaped Billy's lips. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Before Rebecca could respond, a monstrous scream tore through the room, raising the hairs on their arms. They whipped their heads toward the sound.

"Shall we move?" Billy arched an eyebrow. "Or did you want to ask about my childhood next?"

Rebecca wasted no time pulling out the keys. "I have an idea."

Offering the map, Billy gestured for her to take it.

"Keep it. I've already memorized the layout."

As she tucked it away, Billy's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?!"The scream echoed once more, spurring them into action. Rebecca gripped the keys tightly. Their banter would have to wait, survival took priority now.

The bathroom reeked of stale urine and disinfectant, stretched out long and narrow, a row of urinals and toilet stalls. A cracked mirror hung askew above the sinks near the entrance, shards missing from its fractured surface.

The door banged open with a violent crash. A crimsonhead lurched inside, growls and snarls ripping from its throat. Its bare feet slapped against the tile as it shambled forward, head swiveling, sniffing the air like a bloodhound catching a scent. A noise, the scrape of movement from one of the stalls.

The crimsonhead wheeled toward the sound, claws extended as it charged. The stall door exploded outward in a hail of splinters. HUNK burst forth, driving his fist like a piston into the crimsonhead's face. Bone crunched as the creature staggered back, crumpling to its knees. HUNK wasted no time, seizing its horned skull and slamming it against the wall in a sickening series of wet thuds until it collapsed, unmoving.

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Two more crimsonheads charged through the door, claws outstretched. HUNK dodged the first strike, using a stall door to deflect the raking talons, trapping them within its metal frame. The second monster managed a glancing blow, shredding HUNK's gas mask and unleashing a hiss of decompressed air.

Snarling, the creature lunged, snapping at the mask as HUNK grappled against its fetid bulk. He shoved hard, propelling the monster backward into the stall, its skull cracking against the porcelain bowl. A vicious kick caved its head inward with a crunch.

The remaining crimsonhead screeched, claws scraping uselessly against the unforgiving metal door. Ripping a claw from one of the corpses with a savage twist, HUNK stabbed it through the slitted eye, silencing the grating howls forever.

Staggering back, he rasped for breath, chest heaving against the confines of his mask. A flicker of movement in the shattered mirror froze him in place, gaze locking onto the abhorrent form crouched in the doorway.

Only as his pulse began to slow did he notice the hulking presence blocking the exit – a nightmarish humanoid form rising from the depths, its grotesque features twisted in a rictus grin as it regarded him through soulless eyes. In the creature's looming silhouette, HUNK saw his own haunted reflection.

The armory reeked of dust and decay. Emergency lights cast eerie shadows over the rows of antique firearms lining the walls. An M16 assault rifle clattered to the concrete floor, its dull thud echoing through the cavernous space. A split second later, an M1 Garand rifle joined it, skidding across the grime-coated tiles.

Billy Coen's jaw clenched as he gripped another rifle, an icy tendril of dread slithering down his spine. "You've got to be kidding me. None of this stuff is fucking functional!"

The weapon flew from his grasp, smacking against a rusty locker with a hollow clang. Nearby, Rebecca Chambers checked the magazine of one battered firearm after another, her movements methodical yet infused with urgency. Empty casings spilled across the workbench, dull brass glinting in the low light.

"Not even ammo," she muttered, propping the latest dud against the wall.

Billy's eyes narrowed as he scanned their pitiful arsenal. "For an Umbrella property, this place is falling apart."

His boots crunched over a carpet of scattered shell casings as he stalked between the lockers, yanking at their handles with increasing desperation. Most swung open with little resistance, revealing nothing but cobwebs and shadows within. Rebecca watched him mutely, her gaze flicking between the sealed steel doors and the jangling ring of keys clutched in her fist.

"Yes..." Her voice trailed off into uneasy silence. "It is."

One locker refused to budge despite Billy's insistent tugs. He whirled towards Rebecca, jaw set and eyes blazing. "This one is locked."

Without a word, she crossed to his side, keys outstretched. Their eyes met for a fleeting instant as she began testing each one against the stubborn lock. Endless seconds trickled by, the metallic clinks reverberating through the tense quiet. At last, the final key turned with a decisive click. They both froze, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. Slowly, Rebecca swung the locker door wide.

Pristine firearms gleamed within, accompanied by boxes of ammunition and a cluster of grenades. A feral grin split Billy's face as he snatched up an old World War II helmet and plopped it crookedly atop Rebecca's head. It slipped down, obscuring her eyes. "Good job, soldier."

One by one, he dragged the guns out, flinging aside those too degraded to be useful. Steel scraped on concrete as he stacked and sorted the workable weapons.

"How much ammo do we have?" Rebecca crouched amid the scattered boxes, rummaging through the dwindling supplies. "A little 5.56, 12 gauge, 9mm, .45. I'd say enough if we don't share a caliber."

An M16 caught Billy's eye. He snatched it up, weighing the solid bulk in his palm as he slapped a fresh magazine home with a practiced flick. "Great. You want to keep the shotgun?"

Grimacing, Rebecca rolled her shoulder, no doubt still aching from hauling the heavy firearm. "Not really.""

Fine, have it your way." The rifle spun through the air, landing squarely in Rebecca's outstretched hands. In one fluid motion, she racked the bolt, feeding a fresh round into the chamber with a metallic click. Ammo boxes upended, spilling their contents in a torrential clatter. Magazines slammed home as they worked in eerie synchronicity. Rebecca's teeth ground together as she wrestled bullets into the rifle mag one agonizing inch at a time. Billy approached in intent to help.

"I'm fine!" Rebecca said. The words whipped out on a reedy growl, her tone edged with stubborn defiance. Billy recoiled, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Okay, Jesus."

Their deadly preparations continued in grim silence, the air thick with tension. Shotgun shells slotted home. Pistol slides locked back. The razor-sharp bayonet lug of Rebecca's rifle gleamed with oiled menace.

At last, Rebecca paused, tracing a calloused finger over the faded map. "The parking lot is our best escape option. We have two entrances, the closest is this one."

Billy followed her outstretched hand, jaw tightening. "I've been there. Electronically locked. The card we have doesn't work."

"Damn." Rebecca jabbed at another point on the worn parchment. "This one, then." They locked eyes once more. Billy's grip tightened around the rifle stock until his knuckles shone bone-white. "Prison sounds fucking scary."