"Shhh...!"
Havel pressed a finger to his gas mask.
The trio dropped to a crawl, inching their way along the floor of the swaying carriage. They moved like ghosts, minimizing every sound as they approached the front of the Ecliptic Express.
After a few tense minutes, they reached the door leading to the engine deck.
Through the reinforced glass, they saw them.
Standing on the open-air platform, buffeted by the wind and rain, were two soldiers.
Whoosh...
BOOM—!!!
Outside, the storm was reaching a crescendo. Thunder rolled like artillery fire, and jagged bolts of lightning struck the Arklay forest, illuminating the trees in strobe-light flashes. It felt like divine punishment raining down on the unnatural abominations lurking in the woods.
In one of those flashes, Havel, Rebecca, and Billy got a clear look at the men.
They were dressed in full tactical gear, similar to Havel's but with a distinct difference. Their shoulders bore a patch: a red and white umbrella.
Umbrella Corporation.
Havel and Rebecca recognized them instantly.
U.B.C.S. (Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service).
Specifically, Delta Platoon.
To the public, Umbrella was a pharmaceutical company. But behind the scenes, they maintained a private military force divided into Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta platoons.
These weren't ordinary security guards. They were mercenaries, ex-military washouts, and violent criminals recruited from prisons. They were the "cleanup crew." Umbrella sent them into biohazard zones not just to rescue VIPs, but to wipe out evidence—including witnesses. The mortality rate was sky-high; they were throwaway assets, the first line of defense against the monsters Umbrella created.
Their gear was top-tier—heavy helmets, body armor, and automatic rifles—far superior to the standard issue equipment of the RPD or even S.T.A.R.S.
"Two of them?" Havel thought, squinting through the glass. That's Delta Team. They must have been sent to secure the train when the bio-alarms tripped.
However, only two men? Against the leech swarm? Umbrella was underestimating the situation.
The two soldiers were oblivious to the trio spying on them. They were focused on a handheld radio, trying to punch a signal through the storm.
Static...
Bzzzt...
"Command, this is Delta Team. Do you copy?"
"We have secured the engine deck. But... it's a mess. The research personnel are all KIA. The train is crawling with infected hostiles and leeches."
The soldier leaned against the railing, his voice bored and professional. To him, this was just another Tuesday.
"What are your orders? Do we proceed to the Training Facility? Or do we initiate the destruct sequence to sanitize the evidence?"
Inside the car, Rebecca's face fell.
Sanitize the evidence?
Before joining S.T.A.R.S., Rebecca had admired Umbrella. They were the pride of Raccoon City, a beacon of medical innovation. She had believed their PR. But hearing these soldiers casually discuss blowing up a train to hide a massacre... her worldview cracked.
"They aren't here to help," Billy whispered, his voice dripping with validation. "They're here to bury the truth. Told you."
Havel stayed silent, watching the soldiers. He knew who was on the other end of that radio.
Meanwhile.Three Miles Away.The Umbrella Management Training Facility.Monitor Room.
"Wesker..."
"This is scientifically impossible! James Marcus has been dead for ten years! I watched him die! The T-Virus has been secure in my lab!"
A man in a lab coat paced frantically around the room. His hair was messy, his eyes wide and bloodshot behind round glasses.
William Birkin. The genius virologist. The creator of the G-Virus.
He was unraveling.
Sitting calmly in a chair, watching the monitors with crossed arms, was a man in black sunglasses. He was an iceberg of cool detachment.
Albert Wesker. Captain of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team. Double agent.
"Calm down, William," Wesker said smoothly.
"Calm down?! How can I calm down?" Birkin slammed his hand on the console. "I investigated every researcher! None of them could have leaked the virus! This outbreak in the Arklay Mountains wasn't us!"
"If it wasn't us... then who? Someone is trying to frame us! Someone is trying to sabotage my work!"
Birkin pointed at the screen, which showed the static-filled feed from the Ecliptic Express.
"And look at this! The train is three miles away from the facility! How did the contamination jump from here to there instantly? Did the leeches fly? It doesn't make sense!"
Birkin was terrified. Not of the zombies, but of Ozwell E. Spencer. If the Chairman thought Birkin was incompetent, or worse, a traitor... he would end up like Marcus.
"And my creation..." Birkin muttered, his voice dropping to a whisper. "My 'God'... the G-Virus. It's not finished yet. I need more time. If Spencer shuts us down now..."
Wesker ignored Birkin's panic. Behind his shades, his eyes scanned the screens. He was calculating. The leak was an opportunity. A chance to separate himself from Umbrella and sell his services to a rival company.
But first, he needed combat data.
He reached for the microphone to reply to the soldiers on the train.
"Delta Team," Wesker's voice was ice cold. "Hold your position. Fix the train. Bring it to the Training Facility. We need to... assess the situation personally."