Umbrella Surveillance System
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Kitten The pair of secret servicemen had just hustled Ashley into the black sedan after contact with POTUS had been lost, they had their orders to evacuate her a day earlier but dealing with the young woman was often troublesome and jokingly 'the worst assignment' one could have gotten in the secret service.

"Miss Graham. Fasten your seatbelt, we're going to be driving at quite a rapid clip." The driver intoned her as the other agent in the passenger seat put his seatbelt on and the doors to the car were locked.

There was presently a protest going on outside of the college, with some kind of brawl taking place; one man had attacked another and bit his neck causing a large group of frat boys to join in causing pandemonium.

"This is Sheepdog to Field Operations, we have the package and it is secure. We're on the way to the extraction point now." The driver spoke into a radio as he began to pull away from Raccoon Cities school campus.
Ashley Graham What does one wear to an extraction? For Ashley, the choice was something comfortable. She selected an oversized white cashmere sweater over black leggings, tucked into cute but utilitarian fashionable boots. her hair is pulled back and over her shoulder in a fishtail braid. Simple, neat, expensive. But when the agents say jump? She jumps--right into the back of the SUV. She's already buckling herself in when she receives the order. The seatbelt clicks home safely and she nods, lifting her bright blue eyes to the rear view mirror. In her simple, black designer bag she has the necessities. ID. Cash. Things of that nature. For now, that bag rests beside her. She just nods to the mirror. "I'm ready," she says, managing to almost entirely hold back the tremor in her voice. Almost.

And then they're trying to move through the protest, away from the campus. Ashley's face is resting as close to the glass of the window as she can without actually pressing herself on it like a Garfield plushie, watching everything that passes. As if trying to bear witness to something already doomed.
Kitten The Agent in the passenger seat was rather quiet, mumbling "Itchy" Under his breath but not saying much else. The driver navigated expertly through the streets of Raccoon City before turning to ask the man in the seat beside him, "Hey Dave, you doing alright man?"

"Just so fucking itchy." Dave replied, "They look tasty, don't they?"

"Yeah I could go for a hot dog." The driver, Mark replied as he rounded a corner past an abandoned hot dog stand, "We'll have a medic check out the bite, don't worry."

A car crash with a large dump truck from the city waste management and several vehicles was blocking the intersection up-ahead and Mark slowed the car down and began to turn it around and head back through an alternate route, "How are you holding up Miss Graham?" Mark asked of Ashley while Dave could be heard muttering under his breath, "Itchy."
Ashley Graham "People are dying, and you're thinking about food?" Ashley fires toward the front seat. Sanctimonious bitch much? But then, that's the job isn't it. Ashley, now thoroughly disgusted, crosses her arms beneath her bust and turns to look out the window. The scenes outside have her full attention, and her judgmental face slowly fades into her concerned face. And then her sad one. And that sadness she turns on Dave.

"What bite?" she finally asks, leaning forward just a little so she can peer at the side of Dave's face. She's still fully in the back seat, but still peering as well. Then she turns those bright baby blues on the driver. "Did something happen?" she asks, her voice thick with concern. See, you can be a sanctimonious bitch AND a kindhearted softie. They're not mutually exclusive.

She peers back at Dave, then back at the driver again. She drops her voice even further. "Is he sick?" she asks. "I've met one of the doctors at Racoon City Medical, he's dealt with the sickness a lot, I'm sure he can help. Let's go there first."
Kitten Mark seemed to ignore Ashley's comment as Dave continued to itch himself uncontrollably, taking his seatbelt off so he could get at his back better. Dave's breathing had intensified but Mark was too focused on the road to deal with it as he swerved past a mother and her child who had rushed out on the road, "Jesus fucking Christ."

"He got bit by some asshole outside the university earlier today while we were looking for YOU." He seemed rather annoyed by it, "We're heading for the extraction, he can see a Doctor then. Our priority is making sure you get out of the city before the Quarantine is in place."

Dave was looking in the rear-view mirror directly at Ashley as he scratched himself, licking his lips and whispering, "Tasty."
Ashley Graham So maybe, just maybe, Ashley has been visiting the hospital too much. It was her only source of information! But then, all of that is left unsaid for now. The swerving of the car leaves Ashley to make a choked sound as she grabs for the 'oshit' handle in the back seat, righting herself. Then she's leaning to the side again so she can peer forward at Dave. She shakes her head.

"I don't think he'll last that long. We've got to take him to the hospital now. They're not going to lock me in here with a stupid quarantine, so ten minutes won't make a difference!" This time, she doesn't manage to cover the tremor in her voice. Her eyes are just wide, looking at Dave.

"Please!" she begs. Yes, the President's daughter begs, what of it? "I saw a lot looking like him when I was there, he needs help!"
Kitten "We're on a time limit Miss Graham and this detour is already pushing us close to that limit." Mark replied with an annoyed tone, he wished he hadn't fucked the Secretary of Defense's niece about now or he wouldn't have ended up on this crapshoot of an assignment, "This is Sheepdog to Field Operations, we had to make a slight detour due to blocked roads. We're going to be cutting it close." A pause, "Roger."

He stepped on the gas, running through a red-light and narrowly avoiding being hit by an incoming truck that was crossing the road at the same time, "I'm sorry Miss Graham, we have our orders and they don't come from you."

"Dave, how you holding up brother?"

"So itchy." Dave replied as he continued to stare at Ashley with a near-maniacal grin forming on his lips, "Be okay though. Everything okay." His speech seemed off, slurred.
Ashley Graham The quick acceleration, the long honk of the truck's horn, and the near miss all are more than enough to put Ashley, more white-faced than usual, plastered back against her seat with a dramatic gasp. And that's where she stays, all her strength (such as that is) pressing her back against the seat, as though she could melt back into it and into the trunk. The trunk would be nice.

And now Ashley starts to lose it. She manages to choke out a few words. "We have to get out of the car," she tells the driver, only now understanding truly what Cassandra must have felt. A single tear rolls down one of her perfect apple cheeks. "Please we have to get out of the car!" she tells the driver, louder, but already she knows he won't listen. So she plasters herself back further, and her chest begins to rise and fall in quick, panicked successions as she tries to draw breath but can't seem to, even as her lungs fill and deflate faster and faster. Almost like panting.

"Lord above," she prays, because any president's family is a religious family. "Oh Lord, Oh Lord...."
Kitten As Mark sped through the streets, a police car pulled off and began to chase after the Sedan with sirens blazing, "YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW!" He yelled back towards Ashley as he ignored the police car that was clearly tailing them.

If Ashley looked out the rear-mirror she would notice that while the police car was tailing them, it was probably coincidental. The officer was slumped over the steering wheel and his partner was eating him.

At least that's what it looked like until the police car crashed into the sidewalk and went straight through the windows of a small boutique. Dave was still staring at Ashley, licking his lips, "Want tasty."

AsMark rounded the corner he took his eyes off the road to look over at Dave, asking him, "What the fuck?" He froze in horror as he saw the irises of Dave's eyes begin to turn red.
Ashley Graham Ashely's gone full Cod. Her mouth agape, making jaw gestures that don't lead to either words or air. Her beautiful eyes look like they might pop out of her perfect face as she watches, in the rear-view, what happens behind them. It's only the driver's words that bring her back to reality.

"Run," she manages to squeak out, barely above a whisper. And then? Then the floodgates break loose.

"RUUUUNNNNNN!" she screeches the word, long, drawn-out, and ear-shattering. It's not a traditional white girl scream though. It's low, guttural, the sound of a creature in true and awful panic. It's all she can say. It's all she can do. It's up to the driver now.
Kitten Ashley can see Dave's eyes turn red in the mirror and the man began to froth at the mouth as his body entered shock, it was a curious and terrifying thing to witness. Dave began to thrash violently in his seat and Mark did his best to try and hold him down even as he kept one hand on the wheel.

If Dave was just having a seizure, Mark might have been able to manage the situation but Dave had been infected by the highly virulent substrain of the T-Virus, codenamed R.

It made normal 'zombies' look terrifying by comparison as the infected were not yet truly dead and when killed? Tended to come back to life. Even Umbrella had not expected R to get loose in Raccoon City.

"I didn't sign up for this shit." Mark said calmly as he made Secret Service Agents everywhere proud with his collected handling of the situation, that was until Dave's thrashing became an attack upon him.

No longer was anyone driving the car as Dave leapt at his partner within the tiny confines of the car and began to attack him, an artery severed as blood sprayed in the back of the car all over Ashley and the interior of the car.
Ashley Graham She might be a painting by one of the Old Masters. A beautiful girl, almost angelic, adorned in white ... and covered in blood. As Ashley screams, this time the girlish scream of the token white girl in a panic, the arterial spray washes over her white blonde hair, her perfect porcelain skin, and OH LORD NO NOT THE CASHMERE! And yet even the cashmere too is a victim of this dark, dark day.

Ashley closes her eyes against the warm, sticky goo that is another human being's lifeblood. She throws up her hands in a panicked defense, and even starts to use her feet, bracing those stylish-yet-utilitarian boots on the middle console to start thrashing at Dave should he start coming his way. Otherwise, they're there just to brace herself.

This is hell. This is the place where it doesn't matter if you're the President's Daughter or a Potato Farmer. This is the edge of existence.

And Ashley is freaking the fuck out.
Kitten The sedan violently hit a curb as Mark cried out in pain, confusion, and terror as his partner of years tried to eat him, "This is Sheepdog-" He gurgled out as he tried to report in, ever dutiful as the car continued along the sidewalk slamming into several hapless people that had been attempting to exit the near-by subway.

Rolling over anyone in its path the vehicle drove down at high speed as Mark's foot pressed down on the accelerator with no control of his body anymore, descending into the depths of Raccoon Cities underground as it smashed through the toll booth.

Screams could be heard and the car continued forward, hitting the tracks and flipping over several times before screeching to a halt in the darkness.

The last thing Ashley saw as she fell into unconsciousness upside down was the twisted neck of Dave, the mans body half-way through the window and the lifeless eyes of Mark as blood continued to gush out of his wounds.
Ashley Graham Those bright blue eyes remain bright, even as they begin to close. Ashley's lids flutter -- it's clear to anyone (no one?) that she's trying to hold on. But there's head injuries to be considered, and those are demanding things. Slowly her vision blurs. Then blackens.

And then all is still, and the President's daughter is left hanging by her seatbelt, upside down, her arms hanging above her, lifeless. There's a gentle drip-drip-drip of blood coming from the driver, and Ashley herself is properly coated in the stuff.

To glance at her? She looks as dead as all the rest. For now.