Got busy this last week. So extra thicc chapter for ya (3k).
Also, thanks to SkyRex for revising the chapter!
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Escaping the hounds through the maintenance shaft, Hunk felt momentarily relieved. However, he couldn't just sit still. He could still hear the noise of the creatures trying to reach him in every way, even worse, there was little time left before his squad detonated the bomb.
He kept moving, and the passage led him steadily downwards - so much so that he passed the fourth floor, but the path still continued, and there was no sign of a way out from there.
The maintenance shaft narrowed the further he went, forcing Hunk into a near crawl. The air grew heavier, stale with decades-old dust, and carried with it the metallic tang of oxidized iron. In the darkness, he turned on his flashlight. His flashlight flickered across something that made him very surprised, ancient pipes and decaying bolts, faded warning signs from the past in both English and Russian.
It was then that further ahead, he saw, a descent. Which left him perplexed. He thought that this shaft would take him somewhere else within the same floor, but he was wrong.
For some reason, the shaft was taking him even deeper into this hell. However, why was there an even deeper place? His entire team, including him, knew that there were only four floors.
He felt an ominous chill. But unfortunately, this was his only way out. Taking a deep breath, he continued.
He dropped down another level, boots landing in a puddle of still water that hadn't seen movement in years. Something about the humidity, the decay... it didn't feel like Umbrella. It was older.
Looking around with his flashlight, Hunk noticed immediately.
"An abandoned Soviet Bunker," he muttered.
All around, the walls were covered with Soviet flags. The old flag of the crossed hammer and sickle.
For a moment, Hunk stopped, and picked up his radio. However, there was only static.
"As I thought. No signal."
Hunk began to wonder if God really hated him. He had survived so far, of course. But his situation grew increasingly desperate.
Ignoring any more useless thoughts, Hunk walked through the Bunker, trying to find a way out. Even though he was in a Bunker, it was an old one. If it could save him from the bomb blast or not, that was unsure and Hunk would not let his survival hang in the balance.
As he walked with his flashlight on, Hunk looked around very carefully. The place seemed to be rotten and lost in time. There were cobwebs and spiders of all sizes around, fleeing the light that came from Hunk's flashlight.
Erosion really is the end of everything, Hunk thought.
He walked steadily, but not carelessly. The place looked truly abandoned, but there was a bittersweet, nauseating smell in the air, and Hunk knew that smell all too well. It was the smell of Death.
After walking for a few minutes, Hunk comes across a rusted hatch blocked the end of the tunnel. Faded red letters marked the metal surface:
Uroven' 2 — vkhod vospreschyón.
Level Two – Access Forbidden.
Hunk gave a dry laugh. Was there another lower level? This place really was hell, and he was descending straight into it.
With a grunt, he grabbed the wheel lock and twisted. It groaned in protest, scraping rust loose like dead skin. Finally, with one last yank, the hatch creaked open—releasing a rush of air that smelled like old oil, gunpowder, and mold.
He stepped through and into the past.
The corridor beyond was clad in thick steel and bolted panels. Dust blanketed every surface, but underneath the decay was a functional design: reinforced concrete, Cold War era Soviet architecture. Power conduits lined the ceiling. Propaganda posters—now curling and faded—clung to the walls: muscular soldiers holding rifles, slogans praising the Motherland, warnings against American spies.
'Looks like this is the real deal.' Hunk thought.
He raised his weapon with his flashlight again and moved forward.
The deeper he went, the more surreal it became. There were sealed quarters with Cyrillic placards reading Командование (Command), Химическая лаборатория (Chemical Laboratory), Изоляция (Isolation). Inside the rooms, ancient equipment lay abandoned—glass tubes, war-time radios, crates labeled with faded biohazard symbols.
And more disturbing—some rooms weren't empty.
He passed a viewing window clouded by grime. Wiping the glass revealed rows of decomposed bodies strapped to upright slabs. Human figures in rotting Soviet uniforms, each connected by tubing to rusted machinery. Their faces were sunken, twisted into eternal screams.
Hunk kept moving. Whatever the hell this place was, it wasn't just a shelter—it was a testing site. A forgotten one. Maybe even a predecessor to Umbrella's work.
He descended a staircase, boots echoing into the abyss.
The main chamber opened before him like a tomb.
A vast control room, ringed with analog consoles, dozens of inactive monitors, and a massive map of Europe pinned with yellowed coordinates. In the center of the room sat a single, working generator—likely drawing from the facility's backup batteries. A console nearby blinked faintly in standby mode.
He approached and wiped the dust from the screen.
System: StandbyDate: 12/04/1987Protocol: ВИРУС "ЧЕРНЫЙ МАК" ACTIVEStatus: Containment Failure
Hunk narrowed his eyes.
"Black Poppy virus...?"
He pulled a data cable from his belt and connected his secondary flash drive. If there was information here Umbrella hadn't recovered—or didn't know existed—he'd take it.
After all, these things are worth a fortune to the right buyers.
The terminal buzzed weakly as files began to transfer.
Outside the chamber, something scraped.
Hunk turned slowly, flashlight rising toward the metal hallway.
The sound came again—faint, metallic. Followed by a soft, wet dragging.
The dragging sound grew louder.
Wet. Repulsive. Fast.
Hunk slowly stepped back from the console, flash drive still downloading. The progress bar crept forward—painfully slow. 12%... 19%...
Hunk sighed in irritation.
'Of course it would be slow.'
Then, it appeared.
First, just the legs—long, jointed, chitinous. They skittered out of the shadows like the feelers of death itself. Then came the body, squeezing through a rusted bulkhead torn open by time and force.
It wasn't just a spider.
Nearly one and a half meters tall, its body was bloated and asymmetrical. The abdomen pulsated with veins like green roots. Patches of human skin were stretched across parts of its exoskeleton like a parasite wearing its host. Multiple eyes stared blankly from a deformed human skull fused to its thorax. Mandibles twitched. Saliva... or something like it dripped to the floor and hissed on contact.
A abomination.
An experiment.
And it saw him.
The screech it released didn't belong to any natural species. It was the sound of something born in pain and kept alive by rage.
Hunk looked at the flash drive—only 42% complete—and bolted.
The spider screamed and charged.
Steel groaned beneath its weight. Debris exploded behind Hunk as the creature crashed through the chamber, tearing apart consoles and scattering sparks. He dashed down the nearest corridor, his breath sharp and controlled, even as adrenaline surged through his veins.
He dove under a partially collapsed walkway, the spider's legs slamming down inches behind him.
Through the bunker's twisting maze he ran—past flickering lights and forgotten relics of a dead war. Each turn brought more danger: collapsed structures, loose cables, ruptured gas lines.
And the thing didn't stop.
It chased him with an obsessive hunger, cracking walls and shaking the foundations with every movement. A stairwell gave way under its weight as it tried to follow. Hunk barely made it to the upper level, slamming a rusted hatch shut behind him and locking the bolt.
But even then—he knew it wouldn't hold.
The corridor ahead was narrow. No other way out. He turned, scanning quickly.
Vents too tight. Doors locked. Only one way back.
He reloaded in silence, raising his weapon just as the hatch behind him exploded open in a cloud of rust and smoke. The spider pulled itself into the hallway, its deformed limbs scraping along the walls.
He was cornered.
Hunk raised his sidearm. "Want a piece of me? Come on, then."
The spider charged.
And then—
BANG!
A thunderous shot cracked through the corridor.
The spider jerked mid-lunge, one of its legs detonating into gore. Another shot, closer this time tore through its head. Chunks of skull and mandible sprayed across the corridor.
The beast crashed to the ground, twitching violently.
Hunk stared, weapon still raised.
Footsteps echoed toward him—measured, calm.
From the smoke, a figure emerged. Tall. Armored. A modified tactical suit with no visible insignia. A heavy combat shotgun rested against their shoulder, still smoking.
The figure lowered their weapon, visor catching the dim light.
"You looked like you could use a hand," the voice said, it was female, confident, young, and eerily calm.
Hunk didn't move. "Who the hell are you?"
The figure tilted her head slightly. "Just another ghost in this place."
She extended a hand.
Hunk hesitated... then took it.
For now, survival came first.
Names could come later.
The spider's twitching finally stopped.
Its black ichor pooled beneath it, hissing where it touched the floor. The air stank of burning flesh, rusted metal, and rot. Hunk stood, back against the wall, breathing steadily despite the chaos.
The woman still held her shotgun low, eyes scanning the smoke filled corridor. Her posture was calm—but not relaxed. She was trained.
"Thanks," Hunk said curtly.
She glanced over her shoulder. "You can thank me by telling me what the hell Umbrella is doing here."
Hunk didn't answer.
She turned fully to face him. "Of course. Classified."
He nodded once. "Exactly."
Before either could speak again, a distant skitter echoed through the tunnels. Then another. And another.
The woman stepped back beside him. "They're nesting."
Hunk cursed under his breath. "I didn't finish the data transfer. My flash drive is still in the terminal."
Upon hearing about data transfer, the woman's posture stiffened, and Hunk noticed but said nothing.
"Let it go. We're lucky to be alive."
"No." Hunk's voice was cold and final. "Too much is in there. I don't run empty-handed."
She studied him for a second, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Then we go back the hard way."
As if on cue, the ceiling above groaned and cracked.
A grotesque limb burst through, sending chunks of concrete flying. Another spider, larger than the first, dropped to the floor behind them with a wet thud, mandibles clacking hungrily. Its legs twitched as it oriented itself, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
Then two more emerged from a shattered ventilation shaft, screeching as they crawled along the walls and ceiling.
"Move," Hunk ordered.
He sprinted back the way he came, past the corpse of the first spider, now half-melted by its own acidic blood. The woman followed close behind, pumping her shotgun once and firing a slug into one of the pursuing creatures. Its head burst like a melon, splashing ichor across the corridor walls.
The bunker shook with the swarm's movement—thousands of tiny legs skittering in the dark.
They reached the stairwell leading back toward the terminal room. The air was thicker now, warmer. More webbing clung to the walls. It was nest-like. The closer they got, the more grotesque the surroundings became: half-digested bodies cocooned in silk, limbs fused to walls, twitching as if still barely alive.
"Jesus," the woman muttered.
"Keep moving."
At the end of the corridor, the shattered hatch stood open. The terminal room beyond flickered dimly—light from one lone emergency panel still glowing.
They reached the entrance—
—and a spider leapt from the ceiling.
Hunk dove forward, tackled it midair, and drove his combat knife into the soft gap under its mandibles. The creature shrieked and thrashed, but Hunk held firm, twisting the blade until it collapsed in spasms beneath him.
He rose in one motion, covered in black fluid.
The woman stepped into the room, covering him. "I'll watch the door. Make it quick."
He didn't need to be told twice.
The Umbrella terminal was destroyed, but the secondary one still pulsed green. The flash drive remained, light flickering as if taunting him.
Hunk yanked it free.
"Got it."
"Then let's go—"
SKREEEEEEE!!!
The walls trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling. An even larger spider crawled out from a breach in the corner, easily the size of a small truck. Its mandibles clacked rhythmically, and strange sacs pulsed along its back, filled with smaller, squirming shapes.
"Time to run," the woman said.
"Can't argue about that."
They sprinted through the broken corridors, webs burning at the edge of their weapons fire. The bigger spider charged after them, smashing aside walls, screaming with fury.
The hatch they came through was blocked now—collapsed under rubble.
The woman pointed to another passage. "Back-up exit! Old silo elevator—Cold War era!"
They turned sharply, diving into a narrow access shaft just as the monstrous spider slammed into the corridor behind them. Concrete exploded in every direction. One of its limbs stabbed into the shaft after them, slicing the woman's arm.
She grunted, but kept moving.
The elevator shaft was coated in rust and age, but the emergency ladder remained intact.
Hunk went first, reloading his pistol as he climbed. Below, he could hear the swarm gathering, their screeches bouncing up the metal chamber.
Climb.
Faster.
No time to think.
No time to bleed.
Just survive.
Just like always.
The ladder groaned under their weight, but it held.
Every clang of boot against metal echoed up into the darkness, chased by the skittering sounds of the horde far below. Hunk didn't look down. He didn't need to. He could feel them—like a cold, crawling pressure against the base of his skull.
Climb. Just climb.
After nearly five stories, the shaft opened into a side corridor—narrow, dusty, lit only by weak emergency bulbs powered by God knows what. The air was still and dry, almost... untouched.
Hunk reached the landing first. He scanned the corridor quickly, then turned to offer a hand to the woman. She took it without a word, her breathing heavy but controlled.
"Thanks," she said, blood still trailing from her cut.
"Let me see that." He pulled a small field medkit from his belt, snapped it open, and started cleaning the wound with practiced efficiency. The woman barely flinched.
"So...Umbrella, huh?" she asked finally.
"Yeah. What about you? You're not part of Umbrella - what are you doing here?" His tone was flat.
She smirked, "That's classified."
"Not funny."
"It is, a little bit."
With her arm wrapped and their breath finally catching up to them, they continued down the corridor. The path twisted through rusted bulkheads and peeling paint until they came across a sealed steel door, heavy, reinforced, Cold War era.
Faded Cyrillic letters were barely visible above it.
ЦЕНТР СВЯЗИ
Communications Center
"Perfect," the woman muttered.
Hunk knelt by the access panel, pried open the casing, and bypassed the ancient locking mechanism in under thirty seconds. The lock disengaged with a loud CLUNK, and the door creaked open slowly.
Inside, the air was stale and cold. Rows of dusty terminals lined the walls, each with dials, knobs, and cracked glass screens. A massive Soviet emblem still hung over the far wall, half-eaten by time. There were no bodies. No blood. Just silence.
And silence, in places like this, was rare. And precious.
They entered cautiously, but it was clear: they were alone. At least for now.
Hunk sealed the door behind them, manually locking it with the thick steel lever on the wall. He glanced at the old equipment, mostly analog, but a few modernized terminals had been spliced in decades ago, probably when Umbrella repurposed the facility.
"We're safe here," he said, checking for surveillance. "For a while."
The woman slumped into one of the old metal chairs, letting out a long breath. "First time I've sat down in... I don't even know."
"Name?" Hunk asked, not turning from the monitors.
She looked up at him, slightly amused. "You first."
"Hunk."
Her smile faded. "So... it's true. The Grim Reaper."
The Reaper was one of Hunk's nicknames, because in almost every mission, he was the only one who came back alive. He didn't know how she knew this, but he kept quiet. For now, she was an ally, whoever she was.
"…I'm Lera."
Hunk nodded once, from her hesitant behavior, that was all he would get from her for now. Then he returned to scanning the terminals. "This equipment could still be useful. Might be able to call out."
"To who?" she said, voice low. "You think anyone's coming?"
He didn't answer.
She was right. No one would come. Especially since his time was already up... And there was no detonation.
This can only mean one thing. The barricades didn't work, and everyone is dead.
After a pause, Lera stood and moved beside him. Her eyes lingered on the flash drive he had pulled from his vest pouch.
"That's the prize?"
He held it up. "Everything the Head Researcher was working on. Test subjects. Viral strains. And something new. Something even Umbrella hadn't cataloged."
"Sounds like a nightmare."
"It is."
They stood in silence for a while, the hum of forgotten machines whispering softly around them. Then—
THUMP.
Something landed against the door.
Lera reached for her shotgun.
Another THUMP.
Then silence again.
"They're looking for a way in," Hunk muttered.
"But they don't know how. Yet."
He nodded. "This place was built to survive nuclear war. It'll hold for a while."
Lera leaned back against the wall, letting herself slide to the floor, shotgun across her lap. "Then we breathe. Just for a moment."
Hunk remained standing, staring at the sealed door.
But even he allowed himself one deep, careful breath.
They weren't safe.
Not really.
But for now, they were alive.
And in this place, that was enough.