Chapter 7: inhumane experiments
The train vibrates faintly as it moves along the rusted rails. Outside, the forest swallows what little light remains. Inside, the silence has an edge—like a blade that cuts without warning.
Rebecca and Richard move carefully through the dining car, stepping between the remnants of what was once an elegant space. The flashlight trembles slightly in her hands. Tables are overturned, broken dishes litter the burgundy carpet. The air smells of rust, dampness… and old meat.
"Did you hear that?" Richard murmurs, coming to a sudden stop.
A dull noise. A sharp thud. Then, nothing but the murmur of the train pressing through darkness.
They approach a partially open metal door. Richard peeks through first, finger on the trigger.
The next car is lost in shadow… but something is there. Movement. Muffled noises. A struggle. A desperate fight.
"Get it off me! AHHH!" — A man's voice, broken by pain and fear.
Richard bursts through the door. His flashlight beam cuts the gloom for just an instant… but it's enough.
A man with an athletic build, dressed in a prison uniform, lies on the floor. Broken handcuffs dangle from one wrist, his face contorted in terror. Two dogs attack him without mercy. These are not normal animals. Their bodies are grotesque amalgamations of torn flesh, exposed fangs, and milky eyes. Skin hangs in shreds like wet rags. One bites into his leg, ripping out tendons. The other savages his face with frenzied jaws.
The man screams, spits blood, tries to crawl… but it's useless.
"Richard!" Rebecca screams, her eyes wide with horror.
Richard reacts. Fires. One shot. Another. A dog's head explodes against the metal wall, spraying black blood. The second lifts its bloody snout and growls, eyes fixed on them. It prepares to lunge—until a burst drops it. It spasms and twitches, then lies still.
Rebecca rushes to the man's side, her breath ragged.
Too late.
The prisoner's chest rises one last time… then stops.
His glassy eyes stay open, fixed on some invisible point. Terror and fury frozen on his face. His lips move faintly, but only a gurgle of blood escapes.
Richard kneels, checks his pulse.
"He's gone."
Rebecca studies his shredded clothes, the uniform soaked in blood and mud. Something glints from a torn pocket. A barely legible name: Coen.
"Who… who was he?"
"Maybe an escaped prisoner," Richard mutters.
Silence returns, wrapping around them once more.
The train rumbles beneath their feet, indifferent to the death it just claimed.
Rebecca slowly stands. Her gaze lingers on the corpse. She struggles to swallow.
"He didn't stand a chance… not even in here."
"Doesn't matter now," Richard replies, voice hoarse. "Now it's our turn to survive."
They move to the next car. The lights flicker intermittently, as if the electricity itself were trembling. The walls are smeared with blood, as if someone had been violently dragged. The train keeps moving, but there's no sign of an engineer. Not a single living passenger.
Rebecca whispers:
"Who the hell starts a train like this?"
"Someone who didn't plan to come back," Richard replies.
They cross the automatic door. The next section looks like a first-class car, but something is off. The seats are empty, the overhead bins open. A suitcase falls with a dull thump. It's covered in blood.
Richard kicks it aside without a word. Rebecca sweeps every corner with her flashlight, the tension in her shoulders stretched to a breaking point.
Then, a sound.
First a low hum. Then a viscous screech, like something massive dragging across metal. The floor trembles.
"You hear that?" she asks.
Richard nods, face stone-cold.
The screech becomes a roar. Something heavy. Something scraping. Something alive.
A massive shadow looms at the far end of the car. It's black, glistening, with long, bladed limbs and a segmented body that writhes with silent menace. Eight legs. A curved stinger scraping the ceiling.
"Is that… a scorpion?" Rebecca stammers, backing away, eyes wide with panic.
The mutated scorpion smashes through the metal door with brutal force. It explodes in a shower of fragments. The stinger strikes the ceiling, sparking on impact. The creature lets out a shriek that rattles their eardrums.
Richard fires. Bullets bounce off its shell, leaving cracks but failing to stop it. Rebecca falls, rolls to the side. The stinger slams into the spot where she stood seconds before.
"Move, Rebecca! MOVE!" Richard shouts, changing magazines with frantic speed.
She scrambles to her feet, gasping, eyes full of terror. The monster crashes forward in lurching, destructive bursts, crushing seats and foaming at the mandibles with pale froth.
"This way!" Richard pushes her toward the rear door. He shoots the lock—it shatters. They leap through the door just as the scorpion lunges, shaking the entire car.
Shards of metal rain down around them.
Rebecca slams into the wall of the next car. Her heart pounds with unbearable force. She looks at Richard—he's bleeding from the shoulder, but grinning with fury.
Inside the train — hidden laboratory car
The door slams behind them with a metallic squeal. The scorpion remains on the other side, slamming against the barrier, but can't get through. Reinforced walls hold… for now.
Silence returns, but this time it brings no comfort. It weighs heavy.
Richard clutches his wounded shoulder, breathing hard. He checks his magazine. Rebecca leans against the wall, chest heaving.
"You okay?" Richard asks, not looking directly at her.
"No. But I'm still here. That counts, right?"
Richard nods. His eyes scan the new space.
It's no longer a passenger car.
It's a lab.
Broken vials. Test tubes with dark liquids. Flickering monitors. On the walls, plaques bearing the Umbrella Corporation emblem. The air reeks of formaldehyde, chemicals… and death.
Rebecca kneels and picks up a document smeared with dried blood.
"Culture report… T-Virus, batch 12-Alpha. They were conducting experiments here. While moving."
"Umbrella?" Richard reads over her shoulder. "This is theirs?"
"Yeah. Same as the leaked reports. Mobile biological research. This train isn't transport. It's a rolling lab."
Richard switches on a monitor. The screen flickers. A recording begins. Black-and-white footage: scientists in hazmat suits injecting a greenish fluid into a caged monkey. The animal convulses… then hurls itself at the bars so violently it breaks its own bones.
"What the hell were they doing here?" Richard mutters, frowning.
"Live tests. No restraint. They don't care how many die, as long as they get results."
A sound interrupts the tension: a soft thump, then another.
Something moves behind a surgical curtain.
Richard aims his weapon. They approach cautiously.
The curtain ripples. A breath. Something wet. Something alive.
Richard yanks the curtain back.
A humanoid creature tumbles forward. Naked, covered in sores, its face is incomplete. No eyes. Its skin is swollen, inflamed. Its mouth opens… and releases a silent scream.
Rebecca stumbles back, nearly vomiting.
"It's alive! It's a—"
"Get back!" Richard yells, and fires.
The bullet tears through its soft skull. The body collapses like a broken puppet, trembling until still.
Silence. Again.
Rebecca covers her mouth. She looks around. The fear is gone—replaced by fury.
"This isn't an accident anymore," she whispers. "This is inhuman. They're playing with people's lives like they mean nothing…"
Richard says nothing. He just grits his teeth and reloads his weapon.
The train keeps moving.
And hell isn't over yet.
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