GTAG Chapter 78 Excavation
No matter how hard the Sentinels searched, they could not find a single entrance into the Umbrella base. It was as if the passages simply didn't exist.
Frustrated, the Sentinels' tempers grew violent.
Finally, they abandoned the idea of searching and began digging their own way down with their hardened tentacles.
Excavation was nothing new to them.
From the moment of their creation, their first purpose had been to carve out and expand the undersea temple—cutting through rock as tough as steel.
Now, as their metallic limbs hammered into the earth, even Wesker, watching from deep below, could no longer sit still.
What were these things?
At first, he had thought they were just mutated sea creatures, maybe jellyfish or some kind of cephalopod. Dangerous, yes, but not beyond comprehension.
But after seeing them wipe out Umbrella bases one after another, Wesker's unease turned into dread.
Their combat power was absurd, beyond reason. Not even Umbrella's most extreme bioweapons could match them.
And now? These creatures were tunneling?
Stone that should have been impenetrable was carved away like tofu beneath their limbs.
Worse, the excavated rock wasn't discarded randomly—it was cut into nearly uniform cubes.
What was this? Construction? Were they planning to build something with it?
This went far beyond anything Wesker could rationalize.
If these creatures could so easily dig tunnels, the base was no longer safe.
Damn it.
How had the base been exposed? Were these things under someone's control? Who had created them?
Reluctantly, Wesker realized he would have to awaken his superior for guidance—even if he doubted that his boss would have a solution.
In the end, they might truly have to abandon this installation.
As for the wealthy patrons slumbering in cryogenic pods within the base… their lives were meaningless. Nobody cared.
Meanwhile, the Sentinels dug with ruthless efficiency. A massive circular tunnel, two hundred meters across, stretched downward.
Along its walls, they even carved a spiraling staircase, making the transportation of rubble smoother.
By the time the first Blade reached Raccoon City, the Sentinels had already tunneled a full kilometer down.
At this pace, they would reach the base in less than three days.
The Blade, seeing the excavation in progress, glanced at its massive scythe-arms and shrieked with excitement before leaping into the tunnel.
Its landing shook the ground, sending rubble tumbling. Sentinels near the bottom barely avoided being crushed.
But the Blade reveled in its new "toy," carving stone with its twin scythes. Each swing shattered rock into fragments.
The Sentinels adapted, hauling the broken pieces back up to the surface.
Yet frustration gnawed at them. Unlike their own neatly carved stone blocks, much of what the Blade left behind was jagged and useless. Too small to reuse, reduced almost to sand.
Still, they salvaged what they could, cutting usable chunks into "bricks" nearly two meters wide and discarding the rest.
With the Blade's raw power added to their precision, the pace of excavation multiplied several times over.
Before the second Blade even arrived, the true location of Umbrella's hidden base was in jeopardy.
Along the way, they tunneled straight through remnants of the Hive. But the Blade's indestructible scythes shredded the ruins like paper. Neither it nor the Sentinels noticed anything amiss—though a few Sentinels noted that an unusually large amount of dust and sand had been left behind.
When they finally breached the Umbrella base, the Blade stared at the narrow passage its scythe had cut and hesitated.
Too small for it to enter.
That was when the Sentinels slithered forward.
Like a viral swarm, they poured into the base, spreading through every corridor and chamber, seizing anything that matched the criteria of the "Overlord's" command.
Zombies and bioweapons tried to stop them, but to the Sentinels they were nothing more than gnats, a minor annoyance.
Godzilla had given strict instructions: no suspicious object was to be left behind. Not only vials and samples, but even strange-looking plants were to be harvested.
Linked to both the Blade and the Sentinels, Godzilla observed everything they saw, watching carefully for anything of value.
Midway, he paused.
Rows of humans slumbered in cryogenic pods.
Through one of the Sentinels, Godzilla stopped to study them.
Encased in glass, preserved in artificial cocoons, they reminded him of pupae. Waiting for transformation.
But what would emerge when they awoke—something reborn, or something else entirely?
Regretfully, Godzilla had no time to dwell on their fate.
After his assault, whether or not the base survived, Umbrella would never trust it again. These people would be abandoned.
Their lives didn't matter. Not when cloning technology made replacing them trivial. In Umbrella's eyes, authenticity was whatever they declared it to be.
Godzilla left the pods and their power systems untouched. Perhaps, in the near future, he might see these humans awaken.
If they did, would they be terrified?
Or would they die in an explosion triggered by Alice before they ever opened their eyes?
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