Lincoln stepped forward immediately and turned the frequency dial, switching to Umbrella’s internal encrypted comms channel.
The frequency wasn’t public knowledge, but after years in the corporate system, he knew the key emergency channels by heart.
The white noise quieted slightly once he switched, but there was still no signal.
He fine-tuned the dial, scanning a few notches in both directions.
Static ebbed and flowed through the speaker, broken only by intermittent pops of interference.
Lincoln frowned.
Mountainous terrain heavily shielded shortwave radio signals, and being inside a solid building made signal penetration even worse.
After a moment’s thought, he switched to a different frequency band.
This was the company’s high-priority emergency channel—it carried more power and broader coverage, normally reserved for Class-A operations or higher.
He pressed the transmit button.
“This is Lincoln, ID ES-047, Security Management Department Special Operations Unit. Requesting response.”
Releasing the button, he waited five seconds.
Nothing but white noise returned.
He tried again.
“Lincoln, ES-047, inside the Arklay Mountains Executive Training School. Facility compromised. Requesting response.”
Lincoln released the button.
This time, after about ten seconds, a sharp beep sounded from the speaker, and the background hiss shifted—someone had patched into the frequency.
Lincoln focused instantly.
“…Copy that, ES-047.”
The voice was choked with static, but clearly belonged to a male speaker whose tone was measured and steady.
“Signal is weak. Keep it brief.”
Lincoln didn’t waste a second.
“Situation in the Arklay Mountains far exceeds the briefing. Massive presence of biological mutants, including T-Virus infectees and leech amalgams.”
“Surviving members of S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team are alive and currently with me.”
“Below the Executive Training School is Dr. Marcus’s leech research facility, far larger than records indicate. Culture tanks on Level B1 have ruptured; a massive swarm of leeches has escaped and is aggregating.”
He paused, then added, “The training school’s train control and communications systems were sabotaged manually. This was not the work of mutants—someone tampered with them beforehand.”
Silence hung on the line for a few seconds.
When the voice returned, its cool, professional tone hadn’t changed.
“…Information recorded. The Arklay Mountains area has been placed under maximum quarantine. The perimeter is locked down; no ground support will be dispatched in the near term.”
Hearing this, Lincoln’s lips twitched slightly.
Meaning no extraction force was coming for them.
“Your mission is updated as follows.”
The voice continued, “Gather all accessible research data and biological samples within the facility. Confirm the full scale and progress of Marcus’s research.”
“Upon completion, execute self-evacuation from the mountain zone and proceed to designated rendezvous coordinates.”
“Evacuation route?”
“A maintenance tunnel on the west side of the facility leads to the rear slope. The exit emerges near the highway. Specific coordinates have been uploaded to your communicator.”
Lincoln pulled out his communicator and checked.
A new message had arrived on the screen containing GPS coordinates and a brief route description.
“Understood.”
“One more thing.”
The speaker’s voice lowered slightly, slowing down.
“…Dr. Marcus’s research was officially terminated ten years ago. The doctor himself was confirmed deceased.”
“However, multiple sources have recently reported sightings of an individual inside the facility bearing a high physical resemblance to Dr. Marcus.”
“Unconfirmed whether it is the subject himself or a mutated mimic. If encountered, do not engage. Prioritize evacuation.”
Lincoln creased his brow slightly.
Dr.
Marcus had died ten years ago, yet sightings reported someone who looked identical to him roaming the facility.
Connecting this with the leeches on B1 and the logs in the culture room, a vague suspicion formed in his mind, but without evidence, he held off on drawing firm conclusions.
“Understood.”
“Communication terminated. Stay safe, ES-047.”
The radio reverted to static.
Lincoln released the button and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.
The company had reacted swiftly and provided plenty of info, but one detail felt off.
He had reported that S.T.A.R.S.
survivors were with him, yet the handler hadn’t pressed for details or offered any instructions regarding the cops.
Normally, Umbrella wouldn’t want internal operatives mingling with outside law enforcement.
Yet the caller had said nothing.
Lincoln weighed the possibilities: either the signal was too poor to hear that part clearly, they didn’t care, or they cared but had far higher priorities right now.
Regardless, he decided against sharing the details of the call with Rebecca and Billy for now. Get faster updates on g.com.
It was enough to tell them two things: the area was locked down with no incoming rescue, and an egress route existed on the facility’s west side.
Lincoln stood up and walked to the doorway.
Rebecca and Billy were waiting in the hallway, Rebecca’s eyes filled with hope.
“Did you make contact?”
“I did. But the perimeter is locked down—no rescue team is coming in anytime soon. We’re on our own.”
Rebecca’s face fell, clear disappointment crossing her features.
“The good news is there’s a maintenance tunnel on the west side leading to the highway behind the mountain. That’s our way out.”
“Heading straight out?” Billy asked.
“We sweep the facility first,” Lincoln said.
While his actual focus was on the mission update to “gather research data and biological samples,” he offered a rationale all three could agree on.
“The facility layout is complex, and the maintenance tunnel won’t be easy to find. Plus, our ammo is low—we should scavenge for weapons and supplies before making a break for it.”
Rebecca gave it a thought and nodded.
Billy maintained his unreadable expression—neither objecting nor explicitly agreeing—but fell into step.
Leaving the comms room, the trio headed down the second-floor hallway toward the West Wing.
According to the layout map Lincoln had found in the Archives, the second floor of the West Wing housed the student dormitories.
At the far end lay an enclosed walkway leading to an annex building.
The maintenance tunnel access should be on the ground floor of that annex.
With full main power restored, visibility was far superior to before.
Yet as the lights cast bright beams, details previously hidden in shadow became unnervingly clear.
Deep claw marks scarred several sections of the corridor wall.
Lincoln noted that these marks were nothing like the tracks left by leeches—which were mucus trails and suction patterns.
These were sharp, gouged gouges—three or four parallel grooves, narrowly spaced and of varying depth.
He crouched down to examine them closely.
The spacing between the claws was roughly three to four centimeters, significantly smaller than the paw prints left by the mutant dogs in the forest.
Whatever left them was relatively small, possessed four or five digits on its forelimbs, and had considerable grip strength, though it clearly wasn’t a large creature.
Likely some kind of primate.
Lincoln straightened up, his hand reflexively coming to rest on his M1911 holster.
Continuing forward another twenty meters, the corridor split into a T-junction.
The left path led to the student dormitories; the right toward the walkway corridor.
A ceiling light above the junction flickered erratically, buzzing with a sharp electrical hum.
And in the brief darkness between blinks, Lincoln spotted something.