The prison hallway was just a mixture of mildew and despair. Water droplets trickled down the moldy walls, echoing faintly in the gloom.

Billy scrolled through the, his brow furrowed. "We're already in the prisons. Ground floor and an upper level. Cells galore, neglected shitholes, by the looks of it." He glanced up, meeting Rebecca's eyes.

The alarm lighting cast harsh shadows across her face. "It's fucking terrifying." She gave a tight nod, lips pressed into a grim line. "Let's keep quiet."

They advanced cautiously, weapons at the ready. Halfway down the row of cells, a skeletal figure shambled into view, emaciated arms straining futilely through the rusted bars. Rebecca stiffened but held her fire.

Billy's finger tightened on the trigger. "They look like monst-""People," Rebecca cut him off, voice hushed but firm. "They used to be people."

Reaching the barred gate at the far end, Billy jerked his head toward the padlock. "You should try the keys."

As Rebecca dug through her pockets, a metallic screech rang out. Cell doors ground open one by one. Zombies poured out, some pitching from the upper level. The reanimated prisoner lunged at Billy. He blasted its torso with the shotgun, chunks of putrid flesh spattering the floor. Pumping a fresh round into the chamber, he barked, "Hurry, before your 'people' devour us!"

Rebecca cycled through the keys frantically. More undead closed in around them. Billy dropped one, blew another's head apart in a spray of black ichor. The third key finally turned in the lock with a heavy clunk. "It's open!"

Rebecca flung the gate wide. A tide of dead flesh lurched forward into the breach. Anticipating their mindless charge, Billy decapitated the leader with a well-aimed blast. Rebecca raised her rifle, firing in controlled bursts. "Leave them to me. Watch my back."

Swinging into a combat stance, Billy rotated his pistol and opened fire on the former inmates pressing in from all sides. Spent cases rained around his boots. Seared by gunfire, the undead fell in smoldering heaps. Rebecca systematically cleared the path ahead, pushing deeper into the prison's twisting corridors. Billy noticed her advance, hastily reloading to cover her back.

Rounding a corner, she found the passageway choked with a mass of unmoving corpses. Muzzle flashes flickered in her peripheral vision, Billy engaging stragglers. Snatching a grenade from her cargo pants, Rebecca cooked it off and lobbed the explosive into the cluster of bodies. It detonated in a torrent of shrapnel, shredded meat, and billowing smoke, blasting an open avenue.

"Billy!" she called over the ringing in her ears. He appeared at her shoulder, pistol dry-clicking on empty chambers. With a grimace, he slammed the gate shut, cutting off pursuit from the horde behind them. Rebecca pressed forward, firing precisely-aimed bursts to cut down any threats. No time to hesitate. No time to grieve for the fallen. They pushed on, deeper into the lightless depths, one step ahead of oblivion.

The zombies pounded relentlessly on the closed door as Rebecca led Billy into the dimly lit elevator room. Billy reloaded his shotgun, metallic clicks echoing through the chaos. He squinted at the nearby shutter, a large steel barrier looming in front of the elevator. "Is this the place?" Billy's raspy voice broke the tense silence. Rebecca nodded solemnly.

Conflict marred the room - spent shells, thrashed furniture, smears of blood. Billy stomped towards the shutter's control panel, his boots crunching across the debris-littered floor. With a groan of protest, the shutters parted, unveiling a cavernous garage lined with vehicles bathed in sickly glows.

"Rebecca!" Billy barked, jerking his head towards the potential escape.

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But the young officer stood transfixed, her gaze locked on the elevator's metal doors as if hypnotized. Billy closed the distance between them, the musk of gunpowder and sweat clinging to his clothes.

"Hey, we're leaving," he growled, giving her shoulder a rough shake. "One of these vehicles must be working."

Oblivious to his urgency, Rebecca examined her S.T.A.R.S. ID, brow furrowed. Billy huffed an exasperated sigh, pressing the butt of his shotgun against the small of her back. "Rebecca!"

She blinked, refocusing on him with a pensive frown. "Go away. I have something to do first."

"What?!" Billy's eyes blazed with disbelief. "Are you crazy? I'm not staying here another minute."

Tucking her ID away, Rebecca's jaw tightened with resolve. "I know. That's why I told you to leave."

A pulse throbbed in Billy's temple as he struggled to keep his temper leashed. "Are you fucking with me? What's more important now than running out of here?"

"My friends," she replied, her tone edged with a sobering chill. "My team."

Billy threw up his hands, spittle flying with his words. "Are you still with that? If they're not here, it's because they're dead or worse."

With a slight tilt of her head, Rebecca leveled her gaze at him, unflinching. "I know. That's why I have to make it worth their deaths."

A muscle tensed in Billy's jaw as his teeth ground together. "Like, getting yourself killed? If you want justice, come out alive and tell the world what you saw."

But Rebecca was already stepping towards the elevator, slender fingers punching the call button. "Who's going to believe me? And even if they did, Umbrella controls the media. I need proof, not testimony."

"This fucking place is proof, Rebecca!" Billy's shout bounced off the walls as he flung an arm towards the disheveled room. "Get your fucking bosses down here and let them see it."

The ding of the arriving elevator silenced his outburst. Rebecca turned, fire blazing in her eyes as the doors parted. "They're my bosses, Billy! That's the problem!"

His face contorted with a sneer of disgust. "So what difference does it make whether you have evidence or not? They're going to silence you anyway."

Ignoring his scathing remark, Rebecca boarded the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. She exhaled a shuddering breath as the doors ground shut, sealing her in the shadowed cab.

"Whatever, great, play lady justice, I'm out." Helpless fury flickered across Billy's features for a beat before he spun on his heel, snarling curses under his breath as he stalked towards the garage's vehicles. Rebecca's knuckles whitened as she gripped the handrail, the rumble of the ascending lift vibrating through her bones. She steeled herself, clenching her jaw as bitter determination flooded her veins. There were powerful people who wanted Umbrella gone - she had to reach them, had to share the truth. Punishment would be served, no matter how high the scales had been tipped.

The elevator doors slid open with a metallic hiss. Rebecca stepped out, Beretta raised, sweeping the muzzle across the hallway. Rotting figures shambled towards her, mouths agape, milky eyes fixed on their prey.

She squeezed the trigger - the crack of the gunshot echoed like thunder through the corridor as the first corpse crumpled. Muzzle flashes strobe-lit the walls in rapid succession as she dropped two more.

Elsewhere, Billy ducked under the rising parking garage shutter, shotgun clutched tight. The cavernous space reeked of gasoline and grease. Scores of decades-old vehicles littered the area - rusted shells awaiting repair, others stripped for parts on grimy worktables.

Naked bulbs cast pools of yellow light. He pivoted, surveying every shadowed corner for threats. Distant gunfire rolled across the concrete like far-off thunder. Shotgun ready, Billy advanced towards the armored Jeeps.

One by one, he tried the doors until the third stopped with a reassuring thunk. A rusty M2 Browning mounted on the roll-bar. He vaulted inside, gave the stick a wiggle - barely a quarter tank.

Gunfire echoed again, spurring him to search the cab. A grenade rolled out of the glovebox. He snapped it up, considered it for a moment, then tossed it onto the cracked leather seat and fished under the steering column for wires to hot-wire the Jeep.

Down another gore-streaked corridor stalked Rebecca, sidearm outstretched. A shambler emerged from an alcove, jaws snapping. Two barks from the Beretta dropped it. She advanced once more towards the door marked "James Marcus" and tried the handle. It swung open into a smoke-hazed office stuffed with weathered books and dusty keepsakes. The mingled reek of whiskey and rotting flesh sucker-punched her senses.

She clamped her nostrils shut against the overpowering stench. There he was - Marcus himself, slumped behind his desk. Glazed eyes stared accusingly from a shriveled face grayed by decay. A tarnished 1911 lay beside one desiccated hand. Rebecca holstered her weapon and applied transdermal ointment beneath her nose to counter the stench. Only then did she spot the handwritten note lying on the desk...