Besides which, I don't have the key for the gun safe – but then, that never stopped me before. She'd practiced when no one was around just to see if she could do it and had experienced very little trouble; the safe was ancient. Jill crouched in front of the door, inserted the bar and pick, and gently felt for the tumblers. In less than a minute, she was rewarded for her efforts; the heavy door swung open, and there, in plain sight, was the stainless steel answer to at least one of her recent prayers.

"Bless you, Barry Burton," she breathed, lifting the heavy revolver off the otherwise empty lower shelf. A Colt Python.357 Magnum, six-shot with a swing-out cylinder. Barry had been the weapons specialist for the Alpha team and was a total gun nut besides. He'd taken her shooting several times, always insisting that she try out one of his Colts; he had three that she knew of, all different calibers – but the.357 packed the biggest wallop. That he'd left it behind, either by mis-take or on purpose, seemed like a miracle… as did the twenty-plus rounds in a box on the floor of the safe. There weren't any shotgun shells, but there was one magazine's worth of 9mm rounds loose in one of the drawers.

Worth the trip, at least – and with the picks I can go through the downstairs evidence room now, check for confiscated materials…

Things were looking up. Now all she had to do was sneak out of the city in the dark, avoiding zombies, vio-lent, genetically altered animals, and a Tyrant-creature that had proclaimed itself nemesis to the S.T.A.R.S. A Nemesis made for her. Amazingly, the thought made her smile. Add an im-pending explosion and some bad weather to the mix, she'd have herself a party. "Whee," she said softly and started to load the Mag-num with hands that weren't quite steady, and hadn't been for a long time.

AS HE SLOGGED HIS WAY THROUGH THE sewer system underneath the city streets, Nicholai found himself fascinated by the careful planning that had gone into Raccoon's design. He'd studied the maps, of course, but it was another thing entirely to ac-tually wander through it, to experience the arrangement firsthand. Umbrella had built a perfect playground; how unfortunate that they'd ruined it for themselves. There were several underground passages that con-nected key Umbrella-owned facilities to one another, some more obvious than others. From the basement of the RPD building, he'd entered the sewers that would lead him all the way to the multilevel underground lab-oratory where Umbrella had done its most serious re-search. Research had also been conducted at the Arklay/Spencer mansion lab in Raccoon Forest, and there were three "abandoned" factory or warehouse test sites on the outskirts of town, but the best scientists had worked in and under the city. It would certainly make his job much easier; moving from one area to another would be much less hazardous underground.

Not for much longer, though. In another ten or twelve hours, nowhere will be safe. The bio-organics that Umbrella worked with were kept sedated, grown in Raccoon but usually shipped elsewhere for field trials. With the operation in virtual ruin, they'd break out in order to find food; some had surely escaped already, and the majority would undoubtedly make an appear-ance once they'd missed a few injections.

And won't that be fun? A little target practice to clear my palate in between searches, and with the fire-power to enjoy it.

Holding the assault rifle in the crook of his right arm, he reached down and patted the extra mags he'd taken from Wersbowski; he hadn't thought to check them before, but the quick look before he'd descended into the sewers had left him quite pleased. U.B.C.S. soldiers were issued magazines of fully jacketed.223s, designed to shoot cleanly through a target; Wersbowski had loaded up with hollow points, rounds that ex-panded and flattened on contact for maximum damage. Nicholai had already planned to raid the lab's small ar-senal; with an additional sixty rounds of HP, he'd be walking easy…… unlike now… The cold, murky water that ran through the poorly lit tunnels came almost to his knees and smelled terrible, like urine and mold. He'd already come across several undead, most wearing Umbrella lab coats, though there were a few civilians – maintenance people, or perhaps just unlucky souls who'd ventured into the sewers thinking to escape the city. He dodged them, mostly, not wanting to waste bullets or alert anyone to his whereabouts. He came to a T junction and hung a right after check-ing for movement in either direction. As with much of his journey so far, there was nothing but the soft lap of pol-luted water against gray stones, the ripple of sullen yellow light against the oily surface. It was a dank and miserable environment, and Nicholai couldn't help but think of the A334s, the sliding worms. At the Watchdog briefing, they'd been listed as something like giant leeches that traveled by water in groups, one of Umbrella's newest creations. He wasn't afraid so much as disgusted by the thought of running into them, and he hated surprises, hated the idea that even now a school of them could be slipping through the dark waters, jaws stretching wide, seeking warmth and sustenance from human blood. When he saw the raised ledge at the end of the tun-nel, he was ashamed at the relief he felt. He quickly blocked the feeling, preparing himself for his meeting; a look at his watch as he stepped out of the water told him he was right on time. Dr. Thomlinson would be fil-ing her next report within ten, minutes. Nicholai hurried down the short corridor in front of him, annoyed by the faint squelching of his boots as he reached the door to the warehouse anteroom. He lis-tened for a moment and heard nothing; he gave a soft push at the door and it opened, revealing an empty break room for city workers – table, a few chairs, lock-ers – and, bolted to the far wall, a descending ladder. He crept in, gently closing the door behind him. The ladder went down into the small warehouse from which Dr. Thomlinson would report; a computer terminal was hidden behind some cleaning equipment on one of the shelves. Assuming Thomlinson would be coming from the lab, she'd enter via the small elevator platform in the comer of the room, if he'd read the map correctly. Nicholai sat down to wait, unhooking his shoulder bag and removing the laptop; he wanted to recheck his maps after the appointment with the good doctor. Thomlinson was punctual, arriving a full four min-utes before she was supposed to file. At the sound of the grinding lift motor, Nicholai trained the rifle's muz-zle into the corner, resting his finger on the trigger. A tall, disheveled woman rose into view, a distracted look on her smudged face. She wore a stained lab coat and carried a handgun she kept pointed at the floor; obvi-ously, she expected her checkpoint to be safe. Nicholai didn't give her a chance to react to his pres-ence. "Drop your weapon and step away from the lift. Now." She was a cool one, he had to give her that. Except for a slight widening of her eyes, there was no visible sign of alarm across her even features. She did as he asked, the clatter of the semiautomatic loud as she war-ily moved a few paces into the still room.

"Anything new to report, Janice?"

She studied him, her light brown gaze searching his as she crossed her arms. "You're one of the Watch-dogs," she said. It wasn't a question. Nicholai nodded. "Empty your pockets onto the table, Doctor. Slowly." Thomlinson smiled. "And if I won't?" Her voice was throaty, deep and alluring. "Will you… take it from me?"

Nicholai thought for a few seconds about what she was suggesting then pulled the trigger, obliterating her lovely smile in a sudden cough of fire. Really, he didn't have time to play that particular game; he should have shot her on sight, so as not to be tempted.