A Star's Descent

Chapter Three: Lurking Horror

A Star's Descent

By evolution-500

Disclaimer: House of the Dead and Resident Evil are properties belonging to SEGA and Capcom respectively. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Three: Lurking Horror

Enrico Marini crept forward with his officers at a steady and cautious pace, his sidearm raised protectively.

Currently, they were in an area within the train that could have been reserved for train employees and perhaps the conductor him or herself. Every move he made was slow and deliberate, his eyes darting back and forth around the room for any potential survivors or traps. The only sounds that could be heard were the harsh pattering of rain and the deafening howling of the wind, which shook the train walls slightly.

The lights were somberly lit, giving the room itself the feel of a funeral parlor.

Finding nothing, they proceeded toward the rear door.

Marini tapped Aiken on the shoulder before gesturing for him to take point, the Samurai Edge raised to eye level to provide covering fire. Together with his team mate, they flanked both sides of the rear door. Grabbing the handle, they slid the door open slightly, barely an inch of the way open. Sullivan peeked through the crack.

"Holy shit," he silently muttered with stunned awe.

"What it is it?" Marini asked.

The Bravo looked up at him.

"It's better if you saw it for yourself, sir," he replied uneasily.

Curious, Marini changed places with the younger officer and peered through the crack. Upon seeing the sight that awaited them, he pulled back, his face hardened, the weapon raised back to eye level. "Prepare to breach on my mark," he whispered.

The officers shifted into position. After five seconds, the order came.

"Move in!"

The Bravos slid the door open to the side and rushed in, their Samurai Edges readied for action. While Aiken and Sullivan checked corners for hostiles, Marini took in all of the details of the new setting that they were in.

Greeting the Bravos was another long hallway with a large cluster of passenger seats, but what took their breath away was the condition that it was in. It looked like a warzone, everything in complete disarray. Thankfully, there were no signs of any serious hazards save for bits and pieces of broken glass on the carpet and on nearby seats. The train lamps had either short-circuited or were smashed during the ensuing attack. Some of the windows were missing noticeable portions of glass. From the few fragments still hanging within the frame, some of them appeared to have been dissolved. Holes and burns of varying sizes covered various parts of the roof and floor, allowing rain to enter freely. Bodies were strewn across every surface in a multitude of positions.

One corpse in particular caught the Bravo Captain's attention.

Barely three feet ahead of him off to the right was a man in his sixties, wearing a pair of wiry frames and black trousers. From his coat, he was a Yankees fan. His face, with its soft and round contours, would have probably given him an avuncular appearance when he was alive. In death, it became a sort of parody. Its mouth hung obscenely open, the eyes rolled upward gazing into his own skull. Water dripped freely onto his forehead and into his receding hairline.

Marini felt his blood turn cold.

Part of him wanted to go back and beat the living daylights out of that creep in the red coat, but that died down as he surveyed the casualties before him.