"Hey! Come look!"
"Billy, we found it! The key is right there!"
Rebecca waved excitedly from the edge of the drainage pool. The smell of stagnant water and algae was overpowering, but as a chemist accustomed to mixing volatile compounds, she barely flinched.
Billy limped up behind her and looked down.
There it was. The Facility Key. It was sitting innocently on the floor of the empty pool, trapped underneath a heavy iron cage.
Billy frowned. It was too easy.
"Who puts a key in a cage at the bottom of a pit?" he muttered. "If they wanted to hide it, why not destroy it? This isn't security. It's bait."
It was a classic trap. The kind of setup only a Bond villain or a deranged Umbrella scientist would come up with. Come down here, little mouse. Get the cheese.
"Rebecca!"
"Wait. Don't go down there yet. It's definitely a trap."
Billy grabbed the back of her vest, stopping her from jumping in.
He scanned the walls. High up on the concrete, there was a winch system similar to the library lift. A heavy chain ran down to the cage.
"It's another two-person job," Billy sighed. "I'll operate the winch. You cover me with the shotgun. If anything moves down there... blast it."
He handed her the Winchester 1887.
"Got it."
Rebecca racked the lever, chambering a shell. She aimed the cannon-like weapon into the pit, ready for anything.
Billy grabbed the chain hoist and began to pull.
Clank... Clank...
The rusty gears groaned. Slowly, the iron cage lifted off the floor, revealing the key—a gold and red emblem shining in the gloom.
Nothing happened. No spikes shot out. No gas was released.
Billy didn't relax. He drew his handgun and fired three shots into the pit.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He hit the corners. He hit the cage. He even shot near the key.
Silence.
"Hmm. Maybe I'm just paranoid?" Billy wondered. "Maybe the trap is broken?"
It was 1998. Motion sensors were expensive and unreliable. Maybe it really was just a manual cage.
"See? It's fine!"
Rebecca, impatient to regroup with Havel, handed the shotgun back to Billy and hopped down into the pit. Her boots squelched in the algae.
She ran over and snatched up the key.
"I got it! No trap! See, Billy? You worry too much. Now we can go find Havel."
She held the key up triumphantly, beaming.
Up on the ledge, Billy relaxed slightly. He holstered his gun. Maybe they were lucky.
Unfortunately, luck had nothing to do with it.
Deep inside the dark drainage tunnel connected to the pool, a pair of glowing red eyes had been watching them.
The predator wasn't a machine. It didn't rely on motion sensors. It relied on instinct. Like a spider in a web, it waited until the fly was fully entangled before striking. The gunfire didn't scare it; it only signaled dinner was ready.
And this predator... was an "Old Gentleman."
A very large, very leggy gentleman who enjoyed a specific kind of hug.
CRASH!
CLANG!
The metal grate covering the main drain exploded outward. It flew across the room like a piece of paper, crumpling against the far wall.
"HISSS—!!!"
A sound like a thousand cicadas screaming at once filled the chamber.
From the darkness, a nightmare emerged.
It was colossal. Over thirty feet long. Its body was segmented like a train, covered in black armor plating with a blood-red back. Hundreds of yellow legs churned the slime, propelling it forward with terrifying speed. Its head was a mess of waving antennae and razor-sharp mandibles.
The Centurion. A giant, T-Virus mutated centipede.
It was a biological impossibility. It defied the square-cube law. Did Umbrella feed this thing steroids and protein shakes? It was the size of a subway car!
"Rebecca! RUN!"
Billy screamed, leveling his shotgun.
But it was too late.
The Centurion wasn't trying to kill her instantly. It had other plans.
HISSS!
The monster lunged, its front segment rearing up like a cobra.
Rebecca froze, staring up at the towering beast. Before she could even scream, the Centurion's front legs—thick and strong as steel bars—snapped around her.
It scooped her up.
It wasn't a bite. It was a capture.
The monster lifted her high into the air, clutching her against its underbelly in a grotesque parody of a "Princess Carry."
"AHHH! BILLY! HELP!"
Rebecca kicked and screamed, dangling twenty feet in the air, held tight by the monster's embrace.
The Centurion chittered happily, wiggling its antennae. It had its prize. Now, it just had to deal with the annoying man with the gun.