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Released: Whenever the phone rings in the middle of the night. I know someone's dead who wasn't dead the day before. Happens all the time. Except when it's a wrong number. Like this totally drunk woman who thought I was her long lost lover. Or the idiot who tied up my line with a long monologue in Portuguese.
I've had this late-night fear of the phone for five years now, ever since a state police chaplain called me at two a. Their vacation van had been crushed by a runaway big rig. The coroner had to ID them through dental records, they were mangled so bad. Even though I'm assigned to S. A lot of felonies are perpetrated at night. Most people are sleeping, so there usually aren't any witnesses around. A violent crime can go unreported for hours.
Which means that when I get there, the victim's usually stiff as a board. Like a half hour ago. I was having my favorite dream, the one where I'm a rock star besieged by adoring female fans, when I got a call from Billy, my best friend from school. Normally, I like hearing from old friends, even in the middle of the night. But this was not a normal call, not unless they'd started installing cell phones in coffins. Billy, you see, had been dead for three months. My old buddy had been an up-and-coming researcher for a large local outfit called the Umbrella Company.
Then, about three months before, he'd suddenly been transferred to Chicago to work on some hush-hush research project. He'd left Raccoon City aboard the Company's corporate jet on what seemed like a routine flight. It turned out to be anything but routine. An hour after takeoff, ground control lost radar and voice contact with the aircraft.
The day after the jet's disappearance, a fishing boat found several pieces of the plane's wreckage and the bodies of eight passengers floating in the Great Lakes. Billy and 12 other passengers were never found, and searchers finally concluded that their bodies had mysteriously sunk into the cold depths. Case closed, except for the memorial service for Billy, and some bittersweet memories of a good friend I'd never see again or hear from again.
This call had to be some kind of twisted joke. This time I listened closely to the caller's voice, zeroing in on his tone and inflection. It sure sounded like Billy.
But I wanted to hear him speak another couple of sentences before I made up my mind. Twenty minutes after the Company jet took off, it landed at a private airstrip in the next state. I was taken off the plane and driven right back to Raccoon City.
I no longer had any doubt. The voice belonged to my old friend. Why would the Umbrella Company go to all the trouble to fly you somewhere, then drive you right back? And why didn't the Company tell your family and friends that you were still alive? I don't get any of this. I sat up in bed and looked at the luminescent clock on my nightstand. It was one a.
I'd only been asleep a couple of hours. No wonder I was still beat. And the drinks I'd thrown down earlier in the evening weren't making me any sharper. You understand. I put on the same clothes I'd taken off two hours before, grabbed another bottle of spring water from the refrigerator and swigged down half in one big gulp.
The other half I poured over my head on the way to my car. If I had to hit the road in the middle of the night, I figured it was better to be wet and awake than dry and dead. Hell, in a Shelby, you can get halfway to the moon in 40 minutes. I took an S-curve at twice the posted speed, then eased back on the pedal and thought about Billy.
He and I had been practically inseparable right through high school, despite that we were considered the "Odd Couple" of our class.
Billy was a straight "A" student who never got in trouble, while I barely made passing grades and spent half my life in the principal's office. After we graduated, Billy enrolled at M. T, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Knowing I wasn't ready for college yet, I enlisted in the Air Force. We didn't see each other much for the next four years, although I'd get a letter from him every six months or so.
I'm ashamed to say, I never wrote back. A month after he'd finished gradate school, Billy went to work for the Umbrella Company in Raccoon City. About a year later, I returned home to join the S. Billy and I quickly resumed our friendship, and saw each other frequently before he announced he was being transferred to Chicago. Now that I thought about it, it did seem odd that he wouldn't have written to me at least once in the past year. At the time, I just figured he was busy.
But now I knew there was another reason and, to judge by Billy's terrified voice, a far more sinister reason, why I hadn't heard from my old friend. What that reason was, I hadn't a clue. I cut through the deserted downtown section of Raccoon City and turned onto a two-lane secondary road running north as straight as an arrow.
There was nothing else on the road this early, not even farm tractors, and I pressed the accelerator down hard. The Shelby's big V-8 responded with a throaty roar and I felt my shoulders slammed back hard against the seat as the speedometer climbed to MPH. Five minutes later I spotted the first hills ahead and eased back on the accelerator. I've always gotten a thrill out of mountain driving, and I speed-shifted down to third, then second as the Shelby whipped through the first hairpin turn.
The road became steeper as it climbed the mountain, and the curves turned into a series of hairpin turns. My arms were beginning to ache from whipping the wheel back and forth. Then, just as I started powering through a sharp curve, a woman suddenly appeared in my headlights.
I'm doing seventy-five and she's close enough to be a hood ornament. I downshifted and slammed on the brakes, but I could see I was still going to hit her. So I did the only thing I could. I yanked the wheel hard and plowed the Shelby into the bank bordering the road. The engine cut out when I hit, and for several seconds I sat there in the sudden silence feeling for broken bones and wounds.
Fortunately, there were none, and I turned my attention back to the girl. She had apparently collapsed during the close call, and was lying on the pavement about ten feet from the car.
I got out and hurried toward her. As I neared, I noticed with horror that her entire body was covered with gaping wounds. I came real close to heaving at that point. I mean there were bones sticking through her skin and little geysers of blood where arteries had been torn apart. I fought back my nausea and knelt by her side. She raised a hand weakly and I took it in mine. I forced myself to look down at the rest of her mangled body, and gasped at the sight of her lower torso.
A huge section of her stomach had been ripped out -- as if a Great White shark had bittenn through her middle--and her internal organs had popped out onto the road. My hands and arms were covered with sticky blood by now and I could hardly breathe, the air was so thick with the stench of reeking intestines.
Then, when I thought this nightmarish scene couldn't get any worse, a terrified scream split the night. I turned in the direction of the cry and spotted a late model convertible pulled over with its top down about fifty feet up the road. In the moonlight, I saw some kind of huge animal leap into the open car. At first I thought it was a big black Newfoundland.
Then 1 realized this thing was at least twice as big as a Newf. The driver started screaming again, and I could see his arms flailing as he tried to fight off the beast. Then, suddenly, he was quiet. I grabbed my Beretta automatic from under the Cobra's dash and ran toward the convertible.
Fifteen feet away I stopped and aimed the pistol skyward. At the sound of the gunshot the beast whirled and fixed me with a terrible glare. It had hellish red eyes, as if the pupils were oozing blood, and yellowed fangs that looked as fierce as a saber-toothed tiger.
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Resident Evil , known in Japan as Biohazard , [a] is a Japanese horror video game series and media franchise created by Capcom. The franchise follows people trying to survive outbreaks of zombies and other monsters created mainly by the pharmaceutical company Umbrella Corporation. The game series consists of survival horror , third-person shooter , and first-person shooter games. The franchise has expanded into a live-action film series , animated films, television, comic books, novels, audio dramas, and other media and merchandise. With Resident Evil 4 , the franchise shifted to more dynamic shooting action; it influenced the evolution of the survival horror and third-person genres, popularizing the "over-the-shoulder" third-person view.
Resident Evil Archives [Bradygames Official Guidebook].pdf - Free ebook download as PDF File .pdf) or read book online for free.
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Released: Whenever the phone rings in the middle of the night. I know someone's dead who wasn't dead the day before.
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Each page of this curated collection of artwork is designed to capture the vintage look and feel of the 's. Take a gander at the game's traditional hand-drawn frame-by-frame animation. Peek at the early concepts, production work, and early ideas that went into the making of Cuphead's characters, bosses, stages and…. Set in the beautiful and rugged landscape of the Pacific Northwest high desert, a global pandemic has wreaked havoc on everyone and everything in sight. Now, former outlaw biker turned bounty hunter Deacon St. John must fight for survival against all odds. Witness the creation of Deacon's epic adventure with The Art….
Пальцы совсем онемели. Беккер посмотрел вниз, на свои ноги. До апельсиновых деревьев не меньше ста метров. Никаких шансов. Боль в боку усилилась. Сверху слышался гулкий звук шагов, спешащих вниз по лестнице. Беккер закрыл глаза, стиснул зубы и подтянулся.
Тогда она осторожно двинулась в направлении Третьего узла. Подойдя поближе, она увидела, что в руке Хейла зажат какой-то предмет, посверкивавший в свете мониторов. Сьюзан сделала еще несколько шагов и вдруг поняла, что это за предмет. В руке Хейл сжимал беретту. Вскрикнув, она оторвала взгляд от неестественно выгнутой руки и посмотрела ему в лицо.
Она не выглядела взволнованной. - Новая диагностика. Что-нибудь из Отдела обеспечения системной безопасности.
I've spent the last few weeks lurking in a Discord called The Resident Evil Podcast, a channel dedicated to discussion of Resident Evil lore.Natalie A. 21.06.2021 at 11:04
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Artbook of the Resident Evil series. Book page image. x, x, x, x, x Resident Evil Archives: Umbrellas Virus Uncovered.Baimarrana 22.06.2021 at 18:19
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