I ran quickly across the ceiling, following the group that had gone ahead, because I didn't want to attract the attention of their Ghost, and I couldn't lose sight of them even if I wanted to. After passing through the П-shaped corridor, I stopped in front of the doors leading to the hall. Oh—and there was an interesting scene unfolding there: the fighters of this squad were engaged with the special forces mentioned by Nikolai. And judging by their insignia—and, more importantly, by the absence of corporate emblems—they were ordinary troops, not affiliated with the corporation. Great. Maybe here I can get everything I need—and also use my opponents to strengthen myself, accelerate regeneration, and gain knowledge.
"Oh, the times! Oh, the customs!" Wasn't that how it went? Yeah. Less than a day ago, I felt disgust for myself when I drank that girl, and now I'm cynically choosing whom to use for food and eyeing the clothes of a future corpse—and nothing. No remorse or anything like that. Just "lovely." I've hit rock bottom, but I don't feel like killing myself over it at all. I'm far more inclined to go inside and watch everything closely so I don't miss anything—and gain the necessary knowledge. The shooting down there is already dying down.
So, I was wrong. When I crawled into a huge hall—something like a reception room—I realized that the fight hadn't stopped but had moved up a floor. Right in the center stood a grand antique-style staircase, and the squad was now climbing it, with me following close behind. I was safely hidden by the next floor, which protruded from the sides and served as a convenient support point for me (the ceiling is everything to us). There were plenty of special forces corpses, and on the opposite staircase of the hall I even sensed one that was half-alive. Could it be that the Umbrella's fighters overlooked him? Or did they consider him dead because of his wounds and decide to let him suffer instead of finishing him off? Perhaps. But the corporation's fighters themselves hadn't suffered any losses—only the blonde's left arm was bandaged, which was interesting, since she was the only one carrying a first aid kit. How did the squad manage to expose their only medic? I'm certainly no expert on such matters, but shouldn't she be protected as the most critical asset for survival?
The upper level on both sides turned out to be blocked by steel plates, so the corporation's fighters went back down. Yes, the shortcut didn't work out. But why didn't they breach the door right in front of them at the top? Strange!
The Umbrella representatives who had descended turned left and headed that way. I breathed a sigh of relief—they didn't notice me; otherwise, they wouldn't have exposed their backs like that. I was now directly opposite the doors they were entering. More precisely, I was hanging above the entrance on the ceiling, while they'd gone in the opposite direction. Great. Time for a snack. Oh, so much blood—and all of it passing me by. It's almost suffocating not to drink it all right here, but if I get carried away, I might miss the moment. I've already missed one fight by being overly cautious.
Although—not one, but two. Even though they scattered the zombies deftly, despite the decent number of the living dead, it could still be considered a fight.
Shots rang out again from the neighboring room, but there was no need to rush there. There were only five special forces soldiers left. If these brave guys had taken out more than two dozen here, they could easily handle five more.
I crawled farther along the ceiling and, changing my angle, moved to the second floor. I couldn't help wondering why they hadn't gone straight through this door. I pulled the handle—it was locked. No, that wouldn't have stopped them. I twisted the handle harder and heard the lock creak. Done. The break-in was successful: the lock was flattened and twisted.
I tried to open it, but the door wouldn't budge, even though it should have opened that way. I pushed it slightly, and a rumble and clanging came from the other side. Clearly, there was another barricade. If they'd approached it with the same momentum as on the stairs, I would've had a hard time opening the door. The question was answered—but it was still unclear how they'd figured out so quickly that it was barricaded. Experience? Or specialized training?
Although, what difference does it make to me? On the other hand, it does make a difference. If it's a skill that can be taught, then I have a chance to learn it—at least in theory—while drinking the enemy.
I turned to the still-living special forces soldier lying in another part of the hall, directly opposite me. He was looking in my direction now, but he didn't even try to call for help—either because he mistook me for a human, or because he didn't want to draw other enemies here, or perhaps because he was no longer able to speak. Who knows? I was much more interested in how to get to him quickly but quietly. Because I have to cross the hall from wall to wall, and on the left side the Ambrela fighters were finishing up the battle. I could crawl, of course, but that would take too long, and the bastard might die. Crawling at full speed would be faster, but probably too noticeable on the Ghost's device. Walking across the hall would be suicide. Should I jump?
With acceleration, it would look like instantaneous movement to the Ghost's sensors, so in the heat of battle he might not notice. At the same time, we'd continue convincing the soldier that his equipment was malfunctioning. I just hope he isn't paranoid.
I took a slight step back and jumped at full acceleration. I flew almost to the opposite wall, exactly as planned, and the movement itself turned out to be even faster than I'd expected. Everything blurred before my eyes for a moment, but my reaction finally came close to the limits of my body's capabilities. Am I developing—or is the virus developing? The first would be a plus, but the second assumption makes me hurry up and find a scientist.