|Albert Wesker||On a still enough night, the groans and thuds, the incessant scratching and moaning, it carries all too well. Perhaps it carries from the strip mall a few blocks west, that used to serve what locals insisted was the best pizza in the city. Naturally, adjacent to the truck rental and bank. It hasn't been cleared, so thankfully it wasn't the city's largest center of commerce, and it's perhaps more pleasant to think about that than the countless (former) families locked inside their homes, infected-- turned. Still, even that is the better thought than those who turned... and broken out. The endless herds that wander the streets, attracting others to their bestial drives, forming coalitions to devour anything in their path.
On the second story balcony overlooking the modest backyard of the two-story single family dwelling concealing the Umbrella bunker occupied by Wesker and his comrades, however, there is peace. Nothing stirs; nothing hungers. It's quiet, but too quiet-- somehow still unsettling.
The peace is broken by the subtle hum of a zipline as Wesker descends to the base of the sturdy tree in the backyard below, gesturing the next in line onward as he deploys to the north-west corner of the fenced in yard, dropping low and surveying the scene through helmet-mounted NVD, his Samurai Edge held ready, silenced muzzle groundward.
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei Kirov will soon find himself at the base of the tree as well. Were it not the zombie apoclypse, he could see his next line of work being a zipline instructor.. after all helping install this entire contrivance was quite an amusing endeavor.. that was meant to keep everyone alive.
Once he has settled hismelf down, the man will move to check that his shotgun and loaned pistol are properly stored in a bouch, and the other tied around a haphazard strap over his shoulder. He won't say anyhting more to Wesker then, only sliding down his nvd goggles and offering the man a nod in the dark before walking on.
He just tried not to think about the fact that Wesker had like 40/20 vision at night, fucker was lucky.
|Daryl Dixon||'It was just like the zip-line from Old Fat Jack's barn into the lake behind his cow field...'
Thats what Daryl told himself on the inside when they talked him into doing this G.I. Jane bullshit. He'd wanted to go last, originally, but... screw it... get it over with. So he'd go whenever he'd have the opportunity and once it was down, he was on the ground and readjusting the gear strapped all over him. This damn stuff was weird, it felt foreign on him and he didn't care for it, but he was playing along anyway... He'd barely said more than a few words since he was brought into this team and didn't ever talk unless directly spoken to.
Crossbow was pulled out, he'd use it for stealth purposes unless anything happned that required more firepower... hopefully no such damn thing would happen though.
|Albert Wesker||There's a gap cut in the privacy fence that skirts the aforementioned backyard, and a simple gate that allows access, jury rigged out of the planks cut away and a solid backdrop that may have once been a shelf. It's not the first time a similar team has slipped out of the base, and by now it's a practiced regimen; watch each others' angles. Quiet weapons only unless otherwise ordered to engage. So far, it's a formula that's worked well for them, allowing them to subsist and even push a perimeter northwards, through similar yards.
Bolt cutters make short work of lesser fences, and for some time, it's a peaceful walk in the nighttime air-- granted, amidst an eerie, hostile warzone unlike any other. They all know what's out there in the dark, and it lends a grim determination even beyond the norm to the S.T.A.R.S. Commander's bearing; and also likely contributes to the paranoia that sees an M82a2 strapped to his back alongside the gear pack rigged to his heavy dragon skin armor.
Through the next fence ahead of the team is the street, and while the zombies that smashed chunks of it out came through days ago, there's a new group gathered across the street at the edge of the nearest cul de sac, gathered atop and devouring what must have once been a scavenger; a scavenger who apparently unleashed one of those caged, infected households, and attracted the attention of the herd at a nearby laundromat. Wesker motions eastward, towards the largely obscured road leading to a second, perhaps more hospitable route north.
|Andrei Kirov||It isn't like Andrei isn't a specalist in stealth, as they walk along though, in the middleo f the darkness.. well Kirov isn't exactly acting like he cares so much. They say complacency is a killer, and in this instance this is definetly one of those circumstances. SO there Andrei goesm, walking past the household with the scavenger and down the road, trying to keep off to the side of the road and not walk right out in the open. Better to have some foilage and cars to hide behind just in case after all|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl observed the use of the bolt cutters, it reminded him of the time they'd used some of those things to bust into a walmart back in his teenage years. That'd been a fun night, he'd been with Julie Eakens that night... she was -- focus, Dixon.
Out trailing after Kirov and Wesker the man with the crossbow didn't let that groaning zombie talk more than a second or two before he lined his crossbow up and fired off a single shot right for its nostrils.
|Albert Wesker||The ravenous hordes inhabiting Raccoon City in place of its normal citizenry are particularly elated to meet new survivors, and several from the collection break off to pursue the sighting as one of their kin groans it loudly, hungrily into the night. Thankfully, others stay with their feast-- for now. The half-dozen that accelerate their shamble up the street swiftly close distance with the sneaking team as they take cover, three of them outpacing their comrades; one of those, conveniently, the fellow who caught sight-- smell?-- of the commandos.
The first two in line are caught by Daryl and Wesker in turn, 9mm round and crossbow bolt falling nigh-synchronously just shy of a headshot-- the bolt taking the first creature through the mouth and dropping it harshly to the street, writhing, while the second loses a necrotizing chunk of its neck, head lolling to one side as balance fails it and the ground rushes up to greet it in turn. Wesker calmly holsters his M92F, unlocking his combat knife from its convenient hardsheath and palming it into a combat ready position, creeping up to take cover behind a car across the street from Andrei. Patience is a virtue.
|Andrei Kirov||The good news is that for everything that is going wrong.. or right with this situation at the momment.. there isn't exactly a whole lot Andrei can do in this situation except to stand idly by, peering over a car from across the street as they take a few shots at the group that is approaching them. There is a momment of visibile hesitation, consideration then before he just moves to bolt, taking the time then to run off to the side and slide up behind a car.... and proceed to do what Andrei is best known for.. actually TRYING to hide. But god forbid..|
|Daryl Dixon||Who knew that hunting rabbit and squirrels your whole life would lead to being a successful zombie killer...
Daryl downed the deadhead and then marched over to slide the bolt back out of the blood stained hole it'd put into the nasty bastard's face cavity. They weren't the nicest bolts in the world, he knew that eventually they'd start breaking and bending until they were un-useable, but thats why he prefered Crossbows over regular bows... he'd started with a regular bow, and the damn arrows bent all the time, damn huge waste of money replacing them after every hunt.
Daryl used the rag hanging off of his clothing to clean the bolt then slide it back into the crossbow and followed after the others.
|Albert Wesker||Daryl finds the downed zombie child's play to finish off while removing the arrow-- but the third in line is bearing down nearly as fast as his brethren. Luckily, Dixon has been moving with his squad, and his flank is occupied in the blink of an eye by Wesker as the Captain lunges from his hiding place, taking the undead creature lunging in turn for Dixon's blindside through the neck, the tip of his blade immediately finding purchase upwards, and into the brain.
For a moment, the zombie twists towards Wesker, reaches weakly, its mouth wide, gurgling instead of groaning... and then a quick twist, an abrupt heave throws its twice-broken body to the ground, thoroughly dead this time. "We can outpace that trio. Let's move." Wesker gestures towards Andrei's cover, closer to the alternate route; which might even be clearer.
|Andrei Kirov||When Andrei peeks his head up over the car, he'll catch sight of Wesker and Daryl approaching, or at least hopefully moving towards him, and catch sight of the man's hand motioning where to go. He'll look over at Daryl, who is still alive as well, wonderful that, and move to turn and beat a path down the 'alternate' pathway as discussed, his eyes shifting to look back behind himself at his team for just a second.. no longer willing to be caught out like that, whispering. "Lets go, lets go.."|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl wasn't trained for this kind of team operation thing, he was a civilian by all rights, used to working alone. So Wesker having his back like that was appreciate so much so... that it got an upward chin nod from the gruff southerner. (thats a huge deal you know, the upward chin nod)
Hearing Kirov's whispering, Daryl started to move once more, following after the other and successfully restocking his crossbow for another shot should the need arise.
|Albert Wesker||The block occupied by the second cul de sac is much clearer of the undead or infected, indeed-- and the group practiced enough to slip several corners and use some cover to outlast the attention span of their pursuers. A paradox immediately noted by Wesker, however, is the relative level of destruction of half of said houses, total silence coming from all but the last in the line of ransacked structures.
Wesker gives nary a whisper of warning, however, just a hand motion north. Advance quietly. Carefully. None of them needs to be told twice, a clear path presenting itself through the yards across from the subtle shift in the destruction. Inside one of those nearby houses, the now too-familiar racket of an occupant slamming incessantly against the front door carries loud in the night. Louder than the ripping and tearing across the street...
|Andrei Kirov||Once Daryl and Wesker catch up, the pair will be given a nod and then Andrei si back to doing what he does best, partly dropping the ball, partly sneaking like a pro, making his way down the street between all the cars, carefully walking and jogging between points of cover. "How much farther is this church?" He'll mutter under his breath as he glances down the street, those NVD goggles making looking for the odd zed or two even in the dark all the more easy.|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl was just doing his thing, trying not to make too much noise but all these damn guns were flopping around on his body and it was starting to get under his skin. He'd never been a guy to carry this much crap on his person, it just felt unusual to him. He heard Kirov's question and glanced over to Wesker, hoping like a child in the backseat of his parents car to hear 'not much further'.|
|Albert Wesker||As the group advances up the street, Wesker's reassuring 'just past these house and across the athletic field' is forestalled by a howling screech that pierces the night; a throaty, almost hoarse thing, unfamiliar to even the most hardened survivalist among the crew of rather hardened survivalists; as if at once not of this Earth, and of her deepest, most primordial jungle.
Rather than reaffirming words, Wesker harshly motions towards the ground, "Take cover." He whispers firmly, doing -just- that earnestly, himself, dropping low with his back against a crookedly emergency-parked SUV and once more unholstering his pistol. A second sound echoes from the second story of another of the houses across the street, an answering, quizzical skree.
|Andrei Kirov||Welp, that makes Andrei take a dive, nothing quite like an unusual, almost unnatural sound to make a man just jump and crawl under a car. Luckily for Andrei, he doesn't fit so instead he is forced to just hunker down against the SUV, just ahead of Wesker, peering around the corner then before glancing back and moving to clutch his shotgun then to his chest, breathing rapidly, in and out, not even pretending to be composed after that sound.
"What was that? That wasn't human sounding, or.. listen, there are like.. fuck tons of churchs around here.." He'll whisper softly, "Or we can find a radio, why can't we find a radio? I bet we can get some batteries.." Andrei mutters, trying to reason Wesker with a less scary ass plan.
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl listened to orders as best as any good soldier boy, didn't really need training in that.. he'd been listening to orders his whole life, an abusive drunk father and an asshole older brother'll do that to a kid growing up.
Crouched now behind a car beside the SUV that the others were at, Daryl looked around, his eyes doing all his work, trying to find whatever had made those noises without adding any verbal comments on any of it, he hadn't said a word since they'd set out tonight.
|Albert Wesker||A body-- well, the lower half of a body-- comes crashing out of one of those second-story windows across the street, seemingly in perfect synchronicity for a swiftly sprinting shape to burst from the lower floor of the adjacent structure, disappearing behind a parked car-- or was it a hedge row-- as swiftly as it appeared. Was it even there?
Wesker signals more harshly for quiet as Andrei asks questions... but it's too late. After that moment's beat, helmeted gaze sweeping the field from his cover, the Captain takes aim with his M92F and looses several rounds with silenced reports; but the question stands. What the hell -is- he shooting at?
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei doesn't even bother to look up over the car, just carefully craddling his shotgun then, closing his eyes tight for a second or two as he just mutters a few soft swears under his breath as hel istens to the sound of Wesker's gun. He won't stand, he won't move, only just carefully switch the saftey off of his shotgun before peeking his head around the car again for just a few seconds, just taking another glance.. under the car more than around it, but still keep hidden as best he can.|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl spotted what Wesker had fired at and he stood up beside the Honda that he'd been crouched beside, raised up his crossbow and unleashed another shot right into the deadwalker's left eyeball with a satisfying wet crunch.
He crouched back down then and started to reload his weapon while listening to whatever the other two were going to say to do next.
|Albert Wesker||The beast that lurches out from around a vehicle, taking a crossbow bolt moments before it springs onto Daryl, what at first might have looked humanoid instead a grotesque, reptilian deformity, its hands and opposable thumb all repurposed to a single function: bringing shearing, razor edges to bear. Agile, aggressive, alarmingly cunning-- there's little time to admire or abhor the deceased specimen before its partner in purge sounds an ireful call.. one that goes unanswered.
Daryl's earlier upnod is returned in kind, a second, conventional nod indicating the battered open front door of the home behind them. "Cut through, out the back." The Captain recommends, moving swiftly to do -just- that. Any sympathy Wesker has (or lacks) for Andrei's alarm will simply have to wait.
|Andrei Kirov||LIZARD THING! That has his gun raised quickly over towards Daryl then, and only a split second of hesitation has him not pulling the trigger and blasting the man, and his new best friend! Of course that would also betray their presence, so without a second thought he moves to follow Wesker then sneaking behind the man, taking the time, hesitating for a second to look back at the repitle, before his lips purse.
What the fuck is that thing? He can't.. he can't even comprehend what he is looking at..
|Daryl Dixon||The internal dialogue inside Daryl's head is about the same as it is inside Kirov's head.
After seeing what'd shot, Daryl's expression got even more bleak than it normally was. He huffed out a heavy exhale and seemed... shocked... then a few seconds later he reached out toward the beast and reclaimed his crossbow bolt, grabbing it by the two green/one orange plastic fins and yanking it back out of the creature. Then he set-off after Kirov and Wesker, trying to pretend like he hadn't just seen a gd bonified monster.
|Albert Wesker||The course Wesker plots is swiftly through the house, a lingering zombie in the hallway meeting the blade of his combat knife before being harshly slammed against the wall as the Captain continues unabated. His objective is the back door, which is quickly unlocked and open, admitting the trio into a backyard presently vacant of threats-- though the same can't be said for the yard two down, past un-comfortingly low chain link fencing. Thankfully, they're milling away from the team... right this minute.
Daryl's hunter's instinct (pun intended) tells him all but instantly that he's being shadowed by the engineered predator, even though it barely shows itself even on his peripheral vision, cutting from one side of the street to the other.. along the front of the house they passed through...
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei for his part just looks to Wesker then with what appears to be a very, very annoyed look now as he offers, not too loudly, really just mouthing the words. ' The fuck was that.' WIth that then he'll step forward into the yard now as he glances up towards the building in front of him, carefulyl trying to look it over before casting another glance back at Wesker and Daryl. He'll happily push the team forward.. towards anywhere- just not here, and guide them if need be.. oh yes.|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl was inside the front door when he caught his danger-sense of something behind him, he could feel that 'presence' of motion slide across the landscape behind him and boy did he whip around with his weapon readied and training after whatever he saw!
"There's another one." He finally spoke, his voice low and cold. He was ready to fire if the damn thing gave him even the slightest measure of a shot.
|Albert Wesker||Contrary to Andrei's impulse to press onward, Daryl's words cause Wesker to pull up short. He heard the second creature shriek-- but hoped to slip its pursuit. With no such luck on the horizon, the S.T.A.R.S. Commander instead drops to a stable crouch and readies his firearm, leveling it steadily on that back door... as he casts a wary glance aside to the milling group of zombies. A deep breath steadies him, and when the creature appears, Wesker is ready for it, firing several silenced rounds into the space it suddenly occupies, in the instants before the creature lunges at the group with its menacing, bladed limbs....|
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei Kirov just sighs and shakes his head then as he looks back, soon finding he is the only one not moving on past their movement out. Rather than continue though, he'll just stop then, his lips pursing for a second as he glances then down several yards to the zombies as well. Wesker's shots will attract his attention then and he'll shake his head, frowning as he does so. The Fuck! Oh.. WAIT.. there.. shit do I shoot it? But those zombies over there!? So Andrei just holds up his gun, almost ineffectually to be honest, and waits with the barrel pointed at the creature.|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl's sight was focused down the center of his weapon and he thought for sure that Wesker's gun would do this thing in, but it didn't seem to be doing the trick so he lined up another shot and hoped to burrow an arrow right into the creature's rightmost sight-hole!|
|Albert Wesker||Their angles of fire are synergistic, the Hunter-- he has only one way to come at them, and he isn't counting on hunting hunters as adept as Dixon and Wesker. Daryl may not be used to fighting as part of a squad, but the veteran's instincts fire in synch with his own, and they pepper the predator as one. The first pistol round takes the ravenous reptilian squarely center mass, the transfer of force enough to slow it; stagger it. But the B.O.W. does not stop, even when Wesker's second round joins the first, a scant spread lower.
When Daryl's crossbow bolt punctuates the exchange, however, bisecting the beast's skull, the hunter's momentum transfers to a limp sprawl, careening into a forceful skid through the yard, still getting disturbingly close to the pair. With the impact, several of the herd down the block look over and catch sight of the encounter, hustling their shambling way over to the flimsy remnants of the fence seperating them from their quarry. As they hit it, they begin to rattle and rend the obstacle-- and several more notice the excitement.
"Let's move." Wesker murmurs, nodding to Daryl, and taking off northwards towards the road, just slowly enough to cover the trucker as he recovers his bolt. "Keep it together, Kirov-- this may not be under control, but we can handle it. Stick close."
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei will just shake his head then in response to Wesker, grumbling under his breath as his eyes drift closed, moving to shoulder his gun once more then, he won't speak, but will try and compose himself just enough to follow along towards Wesker, and moving bck to the road with the rest of the gang|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl watched the dead creature slide toward their feet and he exchanged a glance with the other two before moving toward it and just swiftly crouching/yanking that crossbow bolt out of its head, causing a streak of blood to slide across the ground as he pulled the projectile loose.
He'd hear the command to move and he'd shake the bolt off a bit more before going to reload it into his crossbow and then take up the end-spot, following after Kirov and Wesker.
|Albert Wesker||While moving along an efficient, normal route may be all but impossible in the infested district, this time the cover of night and opportune movements serve the team well, and the next leg of their path north is conducted along real, legitimate sidewalk (after serpentining around a roving band of the undead), covered by a surprisingly intact hedgerow.
"I warned you there were worse things than the hungry dead out here." Wesker observes grimly, once they've slipped safely away. "But I don't blame you for not quite believing it" .. or perhaps understanding just how horrible a truth it was, "-- even after the RPD." Daryl didn't get to see Nemesis-- lucky Daryl.
Their path comes to an athletic field, stretching a wide, open expanse towards the campus' southern approach, the chapel tower visible in the distance amongst those first halls.
To the west, a motel-like bank of efficiency rentals stretches silently, dark and still; no students drinking there tonight, most likely. It's a different view than it once was, particularly through NVD. The stars more vivid, Raccoon itself... more and more like one of the dead and dessicated.
|Andrei Kirov||Will just grunt out then, softly, trying hard not to call attention to himself, "This is not... that thing wasn't even fucking human.. or was human." He grumbles as he walks along eyes drifting closed for a few seconds before continuing along behind Wesker.
The Open field immeaditly has Andrei suspicious, and he just looks aside to Daryl then and generously lifts his hand towards the field. "After you."
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl had seen enough messed up shit since the night his truck was stolen... he didn't care to see more grotesque monsters than what'd he already had. Part of him still had trouble believe these 'people' were 'zombies' at all, the very notion seemed laughable at its core. But they sure walked the walk and, talked.. the talk and he'd be sure as shit not to let one of them take him down. So, kill or be killed.
At Andrei, Daryl glanced... then looked back to the athletic field and just started across it, keeping his vision on the near horizon to try to spot any movement that might be headed their way, the equipment and gear strapped to his person was gently swaying as he moved.
|Albert Wesker||Wesker mercifully holds his tongue rather than correcting Andrei. Somehow, the true origin of so many B.O.W.s is worse yet when compared to all the nightmares those terrified by confrontation with them imagine, project upon the malevolent entities. "Hold on." Wesker encourages Daryl, doing just that himself. He slips away his silenced handgun in the holster on his body armor and unslings the massive sniper rifle previously carried on his back, surveying the field, the campus beyond it, through the high-powered scope.
The campus beyond is filled with zombies milling here and there, breaking into and out of its august halls one by one, with no classes to attend for their betterment. "We don't all need to go ring that bell. Getting back out is going to be..." There's a dark ghost of a smirk, ".. hectic."
It's a mission perhaps best suited for Andrei-- but Wesker has a keen eye for his ally's morale meter. "I can make it. You should open up the efficiency apartments, make sure they empty out fast when the bells start. Take cover in the first room on the upper level-- meet back there." There is, however, a pause for his associated experts to weigh in.
|Andrei Kirov||"I like the sound of that plan.. so long as you don't get caught." Andrei will mutter out then as he crouches down, resting his hand on the ground then, his other hand resting on his knees as he continues to look on across the field, muttering under hisb reath then softly before shaking his head. Seriously, a radio would be a life saver right now. Hide it in a garbage can, be great! But damn bells have to attract undead better of course and so here he is.
"How long are you going to stay up there Wesker?" He'll inquire then with a small twist of his lips into a visible frown then.
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl's stride into the field stopped when he heard the hold-up order. He paused and then turned around to look at them both. Hearing what they said his eyes went to the Church and then over toward the apartments... Those kind of worried him, there could be other survivors in there that might not be too friendly toward them in all this gear, let alone the deadheads.
"Lets move then." He said quietly to Kirov and then glanced at Wesker. "You get cornered, you're gonna be up shit creek without backup. Watch yourself." And with that out of the way he turned to the apartments and started in that direction.
|Albert Wesker||Wesker nods to the sage advice-- it's rather foremost on his list, truth be told. The high-powered rifle is stowed anew, traded for his fighting knife. "If anyone's alive down there, tell them to stay locked in for the moment. Once the noise starts, I wouldn't say no to a keen scope covering my approach." Neither of them is wrong to be apprehensive of the prospect, after all. The Captain just intends to stack the deck.
"Won't take long." Wesker answers, starting on lithe, patient footfalls off into the campus, "So long as I don't get caught." The smirk is hidden by the helmet, and before long, he's swallowed by the night and the cover utilized on his approach, designed to strategically kill as many of the outliers in his way as humanly possible, by all appearances.
|Andrei Kirov||"Right.. well, you know, just keep ringing then." Andrei responds then as he turns to make his way away from the man, casting another quick glance over his shoulder then towards Wesker. "Don't die. Yet." He'll offer very cautiously then as he moves then further and further, making his way behind Dixon and chuckling softly as he goes. "Well this is going to go bad." He'll mutter then more to the wind than to Daryl directly.
After he'll make it inside, for the most part, Andrei isn't looking to poke the bear. He'll make his way as high up as he can in the complex, check his ammunition in his loaned revolver, and set to watching.
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl followed along with Andrei, except he was hanging back a bit, glancing inside doorways and checking around for anything that looked useful. Dead bodies laying around, lots of toppled furniture and discarded junk... blood stains and body parts, the places stunk pretty fierce too. A cat even hissed at him when he looked into one open apartment, then it ran off toward the kitchen.
Daryl wouldn't let Andrei get too far ahead though, because separating was the worst thing you could do in these situations. He drew his knife out of its sheath and kept it close to his crossbow.
|Albert Wesker||Unfortunately, or fortunately depending how one looked at it, the efficiencies have largely been looted, and some, upgraded from that to ransacked. Here and there one of the undead is trapped inside a unit, and there are two lingering in the parking lot, but Daryl and Andrei encounter no meaningful resistance and attract little attention as they recon the rally point. Several of the efficiencies are, however, securely locked and even quiet. At least... they are just now.
Similarly, ominously peaceful is the view of the campus-- rifle scopes or sharp eyes will see zombies lingering near the perimeter here and there, and sharp ears the sounds of the bedlam that exists further onto the university grounds, but the rentals prove an eye in the storm. It's not exactly relaxing, but on days like these one fast learns to take what they can get; if they don't want to lose their shit.
It feels interminably longer than it actually takes, in all likelihood, for the university chapel to begin playing its familiar, now somewhat ironic, uplifting melody-- and then start tolling like it's thirty-seven o'clock. Swarms of the groaning, moaning, starving undead shift their migration up the city streets eagerly, surge from one side of campus... to the other.
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei for his part just takes up his spot near the window, carefully now sliding his fingers along the barrel of the swift justice, looking it over and soon unloading it to count the ammo and slowly, but surley reload it as he looks outside. When he hears the sounds of 'music' echo over the room, he'll look around the room for Daryl who should hopefully be in the buildingright ?If not the same room? Regardless, he'll offer them simply, "Looks like we'll have to see if the glorious leader makes it out now.."" He'll mutter then, not moving to stand in the window for fear of attracting more attention, but keeping an eye out to watch the hordes make their way.. away.|
|Daryl Dixon||"He's a damn fool." Daryl said, coming out of the looted kitchen with a disappoitned air about him, he'd hoped to find some beer or hotdogs or anything... but it was stripped clean.
At the sounds of the melodic tunes, Daryl went to the windows as well and looked out of them. "He's runnin' around out there like this is a Rambo movie. Playin' like that is gonna get him feasted on by these skinwalkers." Darl set the butt of his crossbow down on the table beside him and leaned it against the wall, then sheathed his knife and went for the small flask of water he had on his belt.
|Albert Wesker||The bell tolls, and tolls, and tolls, and the horde eagerly responds. More than one unusual shriek, screech, or wrathful roar rings through the night from this point or that around the campus, or the residences nearby. For some moments Daryl and Andrei would be treated to an intermittent parade of inhuman creatures, though thankfully, none of the truly terrifying ones come up that street, just now. They pass the efficiencies by-- all except the eddies of that tide that gather on its far side, slamming into the opposite bank of apartments as some decide that, somehow, bashing their way through will be the faster way to go.
It's some interminable minutes after that, demanded by drama to be right around the time Dixon and/or Kirov conclude that Wesker -probably- got swallowed up by his own mad plan, that the pair catch sight of their fearless leader killing a zombie via involuntary interface of the ear canal with the fighting knife, before cradling its body close and backing patiently towards the apartments, as others rush eagerly past. As Wesker comes closer, it becomes clear that the man's custom armor is utterly -drenched-, literally head to booted toe, in the viscera and fluids of the infected. It -reeks-. As he climbs the stairs to the rendevous, his 'hostage' is tossed over the rail and discarded, the knife wiped clean (perhaps as an ironic gesture) as he steps around onto the terrace to join the others.
"Our way in should clear out, now." All in a day's work, really. Albert Wesker: Veteran and officer of Law and Order. "We'll hold here for twenty minutes, make sure everyone's moved their asses." Beat. "And I go check if the water heater in this place has anything left in it."
|Andrei Kirov||Andrei just gives a small nod in response to Wesker as the man eventually returns. He isn't exactly going to go out to look for hm, instead waiting patiently for the man to just pop up.. and perhaps unexpectedly, or all according to plan then.. there he is. "I've got nowhere to be, Wesker. I'mf ine watching.. finally a chance for a time to sit down and relax, if nothing else." He'll mutter then before looking to Daryl then to lift his shoulders. "Less risky than walking outside at least."|
|Daryl Dixon||Daryl was watching Wesker make his approach covered in that filth and he was shaking his head slowly back and forth, while biting into an old stale ritz cracker he'd found. "Pretty much what I expected, except he's still alive." He muttered.
Once Wesker was up and joined with them, Daryl was seated on the arm of the sofa inside the living room and he just shook his head at the man. "Nice trick." He'd say, but otherwise stay silent until it was time to go again.