There is something truly eerie about Umbrella’s endless corridors, far worse than if they were the catacombs of Red Hook. It is a chemically scorched, chilling horror, where you can easily mistake your own pulse for a burst of automatic gunfire.
Leon ducks into the first door he comes across and drops into a hallway. The doors are all locked, except for a single blast door—heavy and ominous, like a slab sealing a laboratory tomb.
A room resembling a radiologist's control booth, except the amount of equipment rivals the Zvezda Service Module. The air smells of ozone and rubbing alcohol. The only light in the semi-darkness comes from neon quartz lamps, buzzing with pure malice.
Driven by sheer momentum—and given a kick of false courage by the door slamming shut behind him—he slips toward the center of the panoramic window, like a sparrow caught in a hailstorm.
There is a man out there in the dim light, collapsed into a slumped heap. Barely visible, almost blending into the angular shadows.
Ginger hitches up his glasses. Unlike in the movies, this cluster of colored buttons actually has labels. Not because anyone cares about helping the staff find the right one faster. Rather, the cost of a mistake is simply too high to play these buttons like a drum machine.
: : // @rookieinglasses // : :
Leon slowly wakes up, pushing himself off the ground. It seems he is drugged, again. He is always drugged here, but he stopped asking why a long time ago. They always know best. They care about him.
Why the hell is he on the ground? Why did the nice ones not come for him? He has so many questions, but they are pushed down by the drugs. He instinctively looks around, but his vision is off, had he just been in surgery?
He looks around, not really able to see anything in the dark room, especially with his blurry vision. He can't see through the window on his side, so he has no idea he's not alone, although he does know there's a camera in here and he's being watched, though there's a camera in every room, so this is nothing new.
Leon walks on shaking legs to the operating table and sits down, waiting for someone to come in and tell him what to do. He doesn't call out, which isn't surprising for him, but he doesn't try to escape, either.
