socalfunplaces Chapter 67 "Resurrection?"
Chapter 67 "Resurrection?"
Chapter 67 "Resurrection?" (First Update)
Altman was stunned.
This overwhelming amount of information shattered his worldview. A mysterious organization that transcends the government? The containment of supernatural forces?
"So what do we do now? Wait for rescue?" Altman glanced at the HRA on his shoulder; the glowing core seemed to have dimmed a little.
"This brings us to another piece of bad news."
Hendricks pointed to the core behind HRA.
"This thing is powered by a special Heidelberg resonance. Normally, it can wirelessly connect to the amplifier at headquarters for charging. But now that headquarters is out of contact, it's just a battery version."
"Its energy consumption is much faster than I expected. The signal from the Divine Seal is too strong, and the HRA is operating at full power to counter it."
Hendricks glanced at the tactical watch on his wrist, his tone turning serious: "At the current rate of consumption, the spare batteries we have will only last the two of us for 72 hours."
"After 72 hours, the protective shield will disappear. At that time, without those monsters lifting a finger, we will pick up spoons and scoop out their brains ourselves."
Hendrix suddenly grinned, a smile tinged with dark humor: "But on the bright side, there shouldn't be many survivors left in this base. At least we don't have to worry about our spare batteries being stolen. Our mission is simple: kill all the lunatics along the way before the batteries run out, find a way out, or send a signal to the outside world."
He patted Altman on the shoulder: "Doctor, welcome to the 'Striving to Survive Without Going Mad' club of PUBG. Now, pick up that steel pipe, we need to get going."
The internal structure of the "Black Rock" base is as complex as an anthill.
Normally, this place would be filled with the hum of machinery and the chatter of staff. But now, there is only a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional, chilling screams from afar.
Altman followed behind Hendricks, clutching a solid steel pipe he had taken from the shelf.
They had explored the area between Zones C and D, trying to find a passage to the submarine dock or escape pods, but the results were hopeless.
Damn it.
Hendrix stood in front of a heavy blast door, and the wolf kicked it hard.
The door remained completely still. Traces of metal welded at high temperatures could even be seen in the door seams.
"This is a physical blockade."
""
Hendricks checked the access control panel, which had been forcibly damaged.
"This isn't your average electronic lock. The moment the 'sarcophagus' program is activated, all the gates will automatically trigger thermite welding. Even if I had the director's access card, it wouldn't work unless we had tons of C4 explosives or an industrial-grade laser cutter."
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"You mean—we're welded to the inside?" Altman felt a wave of suffocation.
"Standard operating procedure for the U.S. military."
"To prevent the spread of a biological crisis, they preferred to turn the entire base into a giant metal coffin."
"As for the living people inside? They were a necessary sacrifice." Hendrix scoffed.
Altman leaned weakly against the wall: "Then what are we still looking for? We can't get out of here."
"Being unable to get out doesn't mean you can't call for help."
Hendrix turned around, a glint of shrewdness in his eyes. "We can't rely on the US government. They're probably preparing to send people over to destroy the evidence and retrieve the Divine Seal. But I still have a trump card."
"Hindsandwich?"
"The built-in beacon in my body."
Hendrix pointed to the back of his neck. "This is the last line of defense for FBC agents. I just activated the highest priority distress signal. This isn't your average electronic message. I don't know the exact mechanism, but just know that it works."
As he surveyed his surroundings, he whispered, "Although headquarters is out of contact, I remember not long ago, a task force from the department called the Rangers was on a joint mission in the Asian region. It seemed they were collaborating with the recently reorganized GOC (Global Occult Alliance)."
"GOC?" Altman heard another unfamiliar word.
"You can think of it as a magical version of the UN Security Council, but a bit more radical than our Control Bureau, preferring to solve problems with cannons."
Hendricks recalled the intelligence he had seen earlier: "They were dealing with an anomaly project called Abomination Flesh in the Siberian permafrost. That thing is also a contagious flesh plague that can turn people into monsters—tsk, it's exactly the same as our situation here."
"That mission is nearing completion. If that task force is still nearby, they'll receive my signal. With their equipment, cutting through these breach doors will be as easy as slicing butter."
"The premise is that we survive until they arrive."
Hendricks had barely finished speaking when a strange sound suddenly interrupted their conversation.
"Gurgle—pat—"
It was an extremely subtle, moist sound.
It's like someone wearing soaking wet boots stepping in mud, or like a butcher slamming raw meat on a chopping board.
"Shhh."
Hendricks immediately raised his hand, signaling for silence.
He instantly pointed his tactical pistol in the direction the sound came from, towards an open medical room at the end of the corridor.
The smell of blood in the air suddenly became stronger, carrying a putrid stench.
Altman held his breath and followed Hendricks's gaze.
A corpse lay on the floor of the infirmary.
It was a doctor in a white coat, his death gruesome; his abdomen had been cut open, and his intestines were spilling out onto the floor. He had been dead for half an hour; this was a confirmed fact.
But now, that corpse—is moving.
"He's having convulsions?" Altman's voice trembled. "He's not quite dead yet?"
"No—that's rigor mortis? No—" Hendrix's pupils contracted sharply.
The scenes that followed became a nightmare that haunted Altman for the rest of his life.
The corpse wasn't convulsing; it was reassembling.
"Kara—Kara—"
That was the cracking sound of bones breaking and dislocating.
The corpse's limbs were twisted at an angle with the joints reversed, and the muscles on its shoulders rapidly expanded, tearing through the white coat. Two sharp bone blades, transformed from ribs and arm bones, dripping with blood and yellow lymph, pierced the skin of the palms and extended outwards.
Its legs became long and twisted, and its feet were turned inside out, resembling the claws of some insect or dinosaur.
The once lifeless head suddenly lifted, the jawbone split open and hung down to the chest, revealing newly grown, ring-shaped sharp teeth like those of a lamprey.
"Ugh—" Altman could no longer hold back, his stomach churning violently.
"What the hell is this thing?!"
Hendricks was well-traveled; he had seen floating refrigerators, man-eating letters, and even humanoid monsters made of mold in the Control Bureau.
But the scene before him, this purely desecrating and violent reconstruction of flesh, still made his scalp tingle.
Hendrix gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger instantly. "It's not just driving people insane! It's recycling corpses! It's building an army!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Three large-caliber bullets whistled out and accurately struck the chest of the mutating monster.
The enormous impact sent it sliding backward several meters before crashing into the wall.
But the monster did not die.
It let out a chilling roar, a sound that was a mixture of human screams and wild beast howls.
Ignoring the bullet hole in its chest, it brandished its pair of sharp bone blades and charged toward the two of them at an astonishing speed, like a humanoid praying mantis!
"Hitting its head won't work! It's not human anymore!"
Hendricks roared, firing rapidly as he retreated, "Altman! Don't stand still! Prepare for battle! Either cut off its limbs or get sliced in two!"
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