The tunnels smelled like death.

HUNK moved swiftly but with a predatory caution, his senses honed to the blackness ahead, which felt more like a beast than a pathway. The walls around him were slick, dripping with sludge and remnants of what might have once been creatures—or people. His boots hit the ground with a dull squelch, the only sound that seemed almost alive in the stifling silence.

He’d trained for this, or at least he thought he had. Umbrella’s “Grim Reaper” was well accustomed to darkness and rot, but this place…it was different. It wasn’t just shadows; it was what moved within them. He’d lost two men in the past hour, and he couldn’t even remember their faces. You didn’t make friends on these missions; you made body bags.

Focus. His mind snapped back to the mission details, breaking down the steps with clinical precision. Get in. Retrieve the sample. Get out. Simple on paper, but the sewers made everything a fight for survival.

A low growl sounded from up ahead, and HUNK paused, instinctively pressing himself against the wall, the cold slime seeping into the fabric of his gear. A flash of movement—a tail, a massive one—whipped through the water a few meters ahead, vanishing beneath the murky surface.

Gator. He’d heard rumors about the experiment, something about bioengineering reptiles for “urban warfare.” It was laughable now. They’d created monsters, and now he had to live among them. HUNK checked his ammo, his fingers running a quick assessment over the magazines strapped to his vest. Five rounds short. Damn. They’d barely dented the creature before it had barreled through the tunnel, taking Clark with it, snapping the man’s bones as though he were made of paper.

He’d watched, of course. You didn’t help a fallen comrade; you studied them. He hadn’t flinched then, and he wasn’t about to start now.