The plan was simple run-and-gun; much as they had done in Raccoon City and the surrounding territory, they weren’t concerned with much other than stopping the spread.
Countless numbers of werebeasts prowled in the area, all of them predators. Satellite recon had picked up humanoid versions of wolves, tigers, snakes, hawks, bats, bears, black panthers, and almost any other imaginable vicious predator. Every one of them was infectious, and even in their human guises, gave no indication that they were anything but extremely cunning, but cruel and savage. Worse yet, they didn’t need any full moon to change, but it seemed to make them stronger, hungrier when it was around.
Their scientists were already working on cleaning up the mutagenic pollutants (left not by the NSA, but by Umbrella under numerous guises). All that was left for the moment were the beasts in the area of contamination.
Michelle’s infected blood was useful in constructing a makeshift anti-biological agent. Without completely tainting the cells, the best that could be offered was a bolstering of the white blood cell count and efficiency. The scientists estimated that anyone exposed would have about an hour before they turned completely. Success relied on keeping a tight formation, and staying keen and alert. Failure meant death, or worse yet, joining the enemy.
As the stealth chopper (piloted, thankfully, by anyone other than “Chickenheart” Vickers) whispered toward the drop zone, Captain Barry Burton looked over the S.T.A.R.S. Omega Team under his command, knowing that he would most likely not be bringing them all back, either alive or human…
Felicia Grady, a scant 20 years old, polishes her knife as she idly watched the flowing terrain below. Her dark brown hair is kept cut purposely short, and her olive, Grecian complexion is covered thoroughly by survival armor and weapons holsters. She is the team’s best marksman, and isn’t shy about showing it.
Christopher Bell, age 29, runs final algorithms on his mini-laptop computer. His primary specialties are in communications and infiltration, and he has already confessed eagerness to cracking this Umbrella security. Judging by the was sweat is beading down his blond crew cut and making his dark, thick glasses slip from his dark-skinned face, Barry wonders if he’s developed cold keys.
Zach Kenyee, age 30, shadowboxes in the back of the hold, prepping himself once more for the combat that fuels his life and, seemingly, every vital function. He shaved his head long ago, for both combat and premature thinning purposes. The scarred Australian powerhouse grits his teeth and shakes the necklace holding his departed brother’s dog tags as he punches, readying himself for the mission that could cost him more than his life.
Aniko “Annie” Toriyama, age 26, sits in a quiet, contemplative lotus position, preparing mind and body for the rigors ahead. Her black hair, worn long in a single braid, sways gently with the chopper’s movements. Her emerald green eyes remain closed in quiet contemplation; her portable Med-Pack rests at the ready by her side. The Medical Officer specifically volunteered for this mission after Michelle had been brought in, claiming that she may know of a way to “tame” the werebeasts within the old Umbrella facility if she can study them. Many pray she can; more will fear her if she succeeds.
Gunther Parks, age 38, spends a few last moments surveying his electronics tools and diagrams of Umbrella equipment. As the team’s machinesmith and saboteur, his job is to make broken things work long enough to accomplish their mission, and then break them for good afterwards. He reties his black bandana over his thinning grey hair and rubs his sparse goatee in deep thought, working a kink from his strong quadriceps muscle as he does. He seemed skeptical about the team’s chances for survival, but as always, he kept it to himself.
Last, but certainly not least, was the girl known only as Michelle. She was an infectant, doomed to become one of the werewolves patrolling the compound in a mere few hours’ time. Barry asked her along (despite protests from his team, and superiors) partly to assist in the assault, and partly in hopes of finding a cure for her within this madhouse. He looks over her sad, lost face, remembering what her had to use the silver munitions in his clips for should she lose control or turn.
“Captain Burton?” It was the voice of Greg Walker, their pilot. “We’re almost over the drop zone, sir.”
“Excellent. Everyone gear up.” He stood, leading the contingent of Felicia, Zack, Christopher, Annie, Gunther, and Michelle in readying their weapons, gear, and chutes. He and the other S.T.A.R.S. donned their gas masks (including Michelle; Barry insisted she wear one, to delay acceleration of contamination) and readied themselves to disembark.
“Meet at the rendezvous point in five minutes!” he shouted through his plastic face shield and over the din of the blades as the rear hatch unlocked and folded open.
The group made their H.A.L.O. exodus, scattering about the forest around the compound. The jump was timed well enough to allow them to land in teams of two.
It was not, however, timed well enough to escape the notice of the prowling werebeasts amidst the trees below. As they land, two of the intrepid soldiers are unaware they are being watched, and sized up for purposes most diabolical…