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.The goddamn dogs have been looking at me funny, so Idecided not to feed them today.Screw 'em.May 13,1998: Went to the Infirmary because my back isall swollen and feels itchy.They put a big bandage on it andtold me I didn't need to wear the suit any more.All I wannado is sleep.May 14, 1998: Found another blister on my foot thismorning.I ended up dragging my foot all the way to thedogs' pen.They were quiet all day, which is weird.Then Irealized some of them had escaped.If anybody finds out, I'llhave my head handed to me.May 15, 1998: My first day off in a long time and I feellike shit.Decided to go visit Nancy anyway, but when I triedto leave the estate, I was stopped by the guards.They saidthe company's ordered that no one leave the grounds.I can'teven make a phone call - all the phones have been rippedout! What kind of bullshit is this?!May 16, 1998: Rumor's going around that a researcherwho tried to escape the estate last night was shot.My entirebody feels hot and itchy and I'm sweating all the time now.Iscratched the swelling on my arm and a piece of rotten flesh just dropped off.Wasn't until I realized the smell wasmaking me hungry that I got violently sick.The writing had become shaky.Chris turned thepage, and could barely read the last few lines, thewords scrawled haphazardly across the paper.May 19.Fever gone but itchy.Hungry and eat doggiefood.Itchy itchy Scott came ugly face so killed him.Tasty.4 // Itchy.Tasty.The rest of the pages were blank.Chris stood up and slipped the journal inside hisvest, his thoughts racing.Some of the pieces werefinally fitting into place - secret research at a secretlykept estate, an accident in a hidden lab, an escapedvirus or infection of some kind that altered the peopleworking here, changing them into ghouls.and some of them got out.The murders and attacks on Raccoon started in lateMay, coinciding with the effects of the "accident"; thechronology made sense.But exactly what kind ofresearch was being done here, and how deeply in-volved was Umbrella?How involved was Billy?He didn't want to think about that, but even as hetried to clear his mind of the thought, a new oneoccurred to him.what if it was still contagious?He hurried to the door, suddenly desperate to getback to Rebecca with the news.With her training,maybe she could figure out what had been unleashedin the secret lab on the estate.Chris swallowed heavily.Even now, he and theother S.T.A.R.S.could be infected.EIGHTAFTER JILL AND BARRY WENT THEIR SEPA-rate ways, Wesker stayed crouched on the balcony inthe main hall, thinking.He knew that time was of theessence, but he wanted to outline a few possiblescenarios before he acted; he'd already made mis-takes, and didn't want to make any more of them.TheRaccoon Alphas were a bright group, making hismargin for error very slim indeed.He'd received his orders a couple of days ago, buthadn't expected to be in a position to carry them outso soon; the Bravo team's 'copter going down hadbeen a fluke, as had Brad Vickers's sudden display ofcowardice.Still, he should have been more prepared.Being caught with his pants down like this wentagainst his grain, it was so.unprofessional.He sighed, putting the thoughts aside.There'd betime for self-recrimination later.He hadn't expected to end up here, but here he was, and kicking himselffor lack of foresight wasn't going to change anything.Besides, there was too much to do.He knew the grounds of the estate fairly well andthe labs like the back of his hand, but he'd only beeninside the mansion a few times and not at all sincehe'd been "officially" transferred to Raccoon City.The place was a maze, designed by a genius architectat the bidding of a madman.Spencer was bats, no twoways about it, and he'd had the house built with allkinds of tricky little mechanisms, a lot of that silly spycrap that had been so popular in the late sixties.Spy crap that's going to make this job twice as hardas it needs to be.Hidden keys, secret tunnels - it's likeI'm trapped in an espionage thriller, complete withmad scientists and a ticking clock.His original plan had been to lead both the Alphaand Bravo teams to the estate and clear the areabefore he proceeded to the lower labs and wrappedthings up.He had the master keys and codes, ofcourse; they had been sent along with his orders, andwould open most of the doors on the estate.Theproblem was, there was no key to the door that led tothe garden, it had a puzzle lock and was currentlythe only way to get to the labs, outside of walkingthrough the woods.Which ain't gonna happen.The dogs would be onme before I could take two steps, and if the 121s gotout.Wesker shuddered, remembering the incident withthe rookie guard who'd gotten too close to one of thecages, a year or so back.The kid had been dead beforehe could even open his mouth to call for help.Weskerhad no intention of going back outside without anarmy to back him up.The last contact with the estate had been over sixweeks ago, an hysterical call from Michael Dees toone of the suits in the White office.The doctor hadsealed the mansion, hiding the four pieces of thepuzzle lock in a fruitless effort to keep any more of thevirus carriers from reaching the house.By then, theywere all infected and suffering from a kind of para-noid mania, one of the more charming side effects ofthe virus.God only knew what tricks and traps theresearchers down in the labs had screwed with as theyslowly lost their minds.Dees had been no exception, although he hadmanaged to hold out longer than most of the others;something to do with individual metabolism, or soWesker'd been told [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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