SKREEEE—!!!
WHOOSH!
The sound of vibrating wings filled the small storage room, sounding like a pair of malfunctioning lawnmowers.
Two massive Plague Crawlers dropped from the ceiling. They were the size of sheep, their bodies encased in yellowish-green exoskeletons. Their black, bead-like eyes stared without emotion, and their mandibles clacked together like rusted shears.
These were the nightmares of the insect world, brought to life by the T-Virus.
In nature, mammals like lions and bears are considered apex predators due to their size and muscle mass. But in terms of pure weaponry, insects are the true masters of war. Their bodies are built for killing—venomous stingers, serrated limbs, armored plating. The only thing holding them back is their size.
Umbrella had removed that limitation.
A six-foot insect was a tank. Its exoskeleton was natural Kevlar. Its strength-to-weight ratio was terrifying. If ants were the size of dogs, they would rule the planet. And these things were much bigger than dogs.
However, Umbrella didn't mass-produce them for a reason: Control.
You can train a dog. You can program a Tyrant. But an insect? Their brains are too primitive, too alien. They operate on pure instinct. Unless you had a way to mimic pheromones or a hive mind—like the Queen Leech—they were just loose cannons.
But right now, academic debate didn't matter. What mattered was that two biological tanks were diving straight for them.
"WATCH ABOVE!"
"Rebecca! Billy! Dodge first, then shoot!"
Havel screamed the order, backing away while keeping his shotgun trained on the descent path.
He knew the physics. Killing them in mid-air was risky; a hundred pounds of dead insect crashing onto you could still break your neck or slice you open with a serrated limb. And unlike Havel, his teammates weren't wearing full riot gear. A lucky swipe from a Plague Crawler could decapitate Rebecca in an instant.
"JUMP!"
The team reacted instantly. They scrambled backward, putting their backs against the shelves as the creatures slammed into the floor where they had just been standing.
CRASH!
Concrete dust puffed up. The insects hissed, turning to face their prey.
Crack-Crack-Crack!
Rebecca was the first to fire. Her Samurai Edge spat 9mm rounds at the closest crawler.
PING! PING!
The bullets sparked off the creature's carapace. They left dents and cracks, but failed to penetrate deep enough to hit vital organs. It was like shooting a tank with a BB gun.
The insect shrieked in annoyance, its mandibles clicking furiously. It turned its focus on the source of the pain—the small girl.
SKREEEE!
It lunged, legs scrabbling for traction, moving with terrifying speed.
"Get back!"
"Damn bugs! Don't think being big makes you tough! GO TO HELL!"
Billy stepped in front of Rebecca, racking the lever of his Winchester 1887.
CLACK-CLACK.
He leveled the "Demon-Slaying Holy Flame" at the charging beast.
BOOM—!!!
The muzzle flashed, sending a cloud of gray smoke and fire into the room.
At close range, the 10-gauge buckshot didn't care about armor. The blast hit the Plague Crawler square in the thorax. The kinetic energy shattered its exoskeleton like cheap plastic.
SPLAT!
Green ichor sprayed across the floor as the creature was blown apart. Its legs twitched wildly, then curled inward in death.
"One down!" Billy shouted, cycling the action again.
CLACK-CLACK. BOOM!
He fired a second shot at the other creature, which was trying to flank them. The blast took off its head and front legs, leaving it writhing in a pool of its own slime.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the heavy breathing of the team and the smell of gunpowder and bug guts.
"Phew..."
Billy wiped sweat from his brow. "Nasty things."
Havel stepped forward, kicking one of the carcasses to ensure it was dead.
"Good shooting, Marine. Insects have natural armor; 9mm isn't enough unless you hit soft spots. Shotguns are the way to go."
He turned to the shelves, scanning the room for loot.
"Now, let's see what we came for."
Tucked away in the corner, sitting on a dusty crate, was a canister of gasoline. And next to it, an ominous object.
A statue of a headless angel with a single black wing.
The Black Statue. (Statue of Evil).
"Jackpot," Havel grinned behind his mask. "One down. One to go."