He staggered again, the sudden weight around his knees throwing him forward, but he didn't fall, catching himself again on the remains of the car, fingers biting into the steel.

"Down," he sneered, as he might have to one of his dogs, pulling hard against Aunamee's grip, working one leg free enough to kick, to stomp down on the back of the man's neck. Driving him down against the pavement like a hammer to a nail.

Then again, boot slamming between his shoulder-blades. And again, a blow low across his hips.

Bone snapping and popping.

Wesker had watched infected drag themselves for miles by the tips of the broken and bloodied fingers, mindlessly chasing long-gone prey, their bodies useless. Spines snapped, legs broken. He'd watched one for hours once, Umbrella's satellite's tracking it's progress, one slow inch at a time, as it hauled what remained of it's corpse along the street. Half an adult male, the stomach it so longed to fill tore away and left behind with its pinned legs under the car.

He would see Aunamee crawl.