Rebecca hurriedly scrambled out of the infirmary, the door banging shut behind her just as the zombies threw themselves against it, their rotting hands smacking against the metal. She fumbled for her radio on instinct, only to find it missing, lost somewhere back in the infirmary during the chaos.

"Really?!" Rebecca exclaimed in frustration, her voice echoing down the empty hallway.

She had lost her only means of communication in this nightmare of a building. Cursing under her breath, Rebecca briskly walked on, one hand resting on the gun at her hip. She entered a large classroom, dusty chalkboards and neat rows of desks making it look like a university lecture hall. Her boots squeaked on the tile floor as she crossed to the front, eyes drawn to the projector screen that bore the ominous words: Discipline, Obedience, Unity. A mantra.

A glance down showed blood splattered across the front of her S.T.A.R.S. vest. "Oh, come on!" She groaned, quickly unbuckling the vest and tossing it aside. It hit the floor with a wet smack, more blood seeping from the fabric. She couldn't worry about that now. Gripping her gun tightly, Rebecca pressed on.

The bathroom she ducked into next was just as unsettling as the rest of the building, with a zombie leaning vacantly over one of the urinals. Before it could lurch toward her, Rebecca fired two quick shots into its head, the body collapsing with a heavy thud. Holstering her gun, she approached the corpse, conflicted emotions swirling inside. After a long moment staring down at it, she turned away and went to the sink. The faucet squeaked loudly as she twisted the knob, cold water rushing out.

Rebecca contemplated the stream, remembering all the blood on her hands, both literal and metaphorical. This was no time for guilt. She had to keep moving. Methodically, Rebecca removed her gloves, and washed away the blood and grime.

She set her first aid kit on the sink and sat down, gingerly removing her boot and sock to examine her injured ankle. That confrontation with the crawler did not come for free. It was swollen and tender but not visibly wounded. Still, she couldn't hold back a pained hiss as she probed it with careful fingers.

After wrapping her ankle snugly with bandages, Rebecca slid her sock and boot back on, lacing them up tightly. Next she lifted her shirt, revealing the dark bruises along her ribs, courtesy of a zombie's crushing grip. The anti-inflammatory spray stung fiercely when she applied it, but Rebecca just gritted her teeth and pulled her shirt back down.

Finally, she checked herself in the mirror, brushing her bangs aside to see a thin trickle of blood from a cut on her forehead. Once it was bandaged, she steeled herself and left the bathroom. She was ready to face whatever horrors awaited her next.

In the foul-smelling sewers beneath the secretive facility, the lone remaining soldier lifted his sub-machine gun and pulled the trigger, shooting the zombie in a blood-stained lab coat that Rebecca and Billy had encountered earlier. The bullet tore through the zombie's eye socket but failed to take it down.

The soldier fired again, only to hear the hollow click of an empty cartridge. Out of ammo. He hurled the machine gun into the stagnant, greenish water sloshing around his boots and decided to kill the monstrosity with his knife instead.

As the zombie lunged, jaws gnashing, he nimbly sidestepped the attack and plunged his blade deep into the back of its neck. The creature immediately went limp. After yanking out the gore-slicked knife and returning it to its sheath, the soldier drew his pistol and continued on his way inside the ominous facility.

In a dim office, the overhead fluorescent light flickering erratically, an altered man in a lab coat spoke heatedly into the phone.

"How can you be so calm?" he demanded, sweat beading on his forehead. "If this gets out we're finished! Our reputation, our research, everything."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He listened for a moment, his free hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist.

"You can't be serious," he shouted. "I refuse to give up my life's work! I need Umbrella's resources, there's no other way."

Another pause as the person on the other end replied.

"You take care of the idiot at the station," The doctor snapped, beginning to pace back and forth. "I don't want anyone else sniffing around, that was your responsibility!"

He stopped pacing abruptly, listening intently now.

"I've got someone taking care of them already, with any luck they'll be able to find out how the leak happened."

Satisfied with the response, he slammed the phone down onto the receiver.

The brick walls of the laboratory absorbed the echoes of Rebecca's footsteps as she entered with pistol gripped tightly in hand. Her eyes methodically scanned the elongated room, sweeping over the lab tables littered with papers and equipment before settling on the nearby door labeled "Depository."

Scattered across the floor were the corpulent bodies of the deceased, their limbs splayed at unnatural angles. The acrid stench of chemicals emanated from the shelves of reagents and compounds lining the walls.

Rebecca's gaze fixed upon a shattered fish tank situated atop one of the tables, its remaining viscous fluids dripping down the fractured glass. Beside it, she spotted a handheld recorder resting alongside strewn documents. She lifted the device, fingers testing its weight as she turned it on to play the audio log.

A nasally male voice emitted from the recorder, the words sending a chill down Rebecca's spine:

"Despite our attempts, the leeches remain susceptible to temperature changes, perishing within hours of exposure above 40 degrees and entering hibernation at 30 degrees or below..."

Rebecca set down the recorder and picked up a nearby lab utensil, using it to poke at the slimy residue oozing from the demolished tank. She continued listening to the eerie voice echoing in the empty room.

"Under ideal conditions, they reproduce and enlarge rapidly. The toxicity and contagion of their mucus has magnified exponentially, facilitating gaseous synthesis..."

The implications of the last sentence dawned on Rebecca, who immediately discarded the contaminated utensil.

The voice droned on. "We also discovered the leeches can be stimulated by specific sound frequencies. My colleague beside me will reproduce the tones while I document the results."

A low, vibrating hum emerged from the recorder, barely audible. Rebecca lifted it to her ear, straining to hear. Behind her, one of the inert bodies strewn on the floor began to stir, slowly sitting upright and fixing its gaze upon her. Oblivious, Rebecca scrutinized the recorder as the newly roused zombie lumbered toward her.

"We observed signs of elation and frenzy paired with chaotic, hostile behaviors. We hypothesize that the proper application of these frequencies could prove useful for issuing commands, even establishing directives in stressful climates."

The shambling corpse inadvertently crunched a discarded vial underfoot. Whipping around, Rebecca aimed her pistol hastily, her finger tightening around the trigger. The recorder fell from her hand, clattering to the floor. Shock rooted her in place as she took in the leeches swarming grotesquely from the zombie's mouth, writhing beneath its translucent skin.

Squeezing off rounds, Rebecca landed headshots, dislodging a pair of leeches that plopped wetly to the floor, squirming. Two more rapidly emerged from the host's mouth to shield its fractured skull. Recognizing the futility, Rebecca desperately scanned the room for an escape route.

To her left, two more leech-infested zombies approached, blocking the distant door - her only visible exit. Darting past the first one, she narrowly dodged a projectile leech launched from the second's yawning mouth. Rebecca sprinted for the door, nearly there, but stopped short - its handle was completely engulfed in viscous slime.

Trapped, she ducked under a swipe from the third zombie and threw herself to the floor, crawling furiously towards the nearest lab shelves. She scrambled up and frantically toppled them over, barricading herself behind the makeshift blockade. The frenzied undead battered against the shelves, stretching their arms through the gaps in a futile attempt to grab her.

Ramming her shoulder against the supply room door, Rebecca tried forcing it open to no avail. As the shelves began buckling under the relentless assault, she threw her full weight against the obstinate door until it finally burst open. The splintering barricade gave way just as Rebecca slipped inside the storage room, slamming the door closed behind her. She could hear the repeated thuds of the undead throwing themselves against it.

The compact storage area was warmly lit, cluttered with shelves, boxes and cabinets brimming with equipment. Rebecca quickly checked her remaining ammo and investigated the contents of the room. Kneeling before a low cabinet, she rifled through the array of chemicals, scrutinizing their labels until she found one that gave her an idea.

"Heat-sensitive, heat-sensitive" she muttered under her breath.