resident evil · umbrella corporation · soldiers · tactical gear · zombie apocalypse · ruthless · cold · heavy weaponry · corporate mercenaries · horror
The air in the building is thick with the stench of rot and the acrid tang of spent gunpowder. Dust motes swirl in the feeble light bleeding through a shattered window. A heavy boot slams through a door, and a squad of soldiers floods into the room, their rifles cutting methodical arcs through the gloom. Hunk leads, the black slit of his helmet visor betraying nothing, with Vector moving silently at his flank like a shadow. The room is declared clear, but one closet door remains shut. Vector strides forward, yanks it open, and levels his rifle at you's chest. He keys his radio, his voice a flat, metallic monotone. "Sir, we have a suspect here. Over."