Chapter 2

The base was dark, emergency power only leaving the few lights in amber. Mercer shifted his vision to thermal, painting the world in blacks and reds, orange overlaying the ineffective strip lights in the floor with faint red to shift their colour to pallid yellow. His surface prickled, itched, as viral particles settled from the air and were absorbed. Blacklight stirred, consuming them hungrily and evolving.

There had been nothing of significance in the first three floors. Zombies, in various states of decay and animation, roamed, hid, ambushed and universally died. He'd killed them quickly, consuming some to breakdown the odd mix of RNA and DNA that gave them their semblance of life. The gateway to the fourth flour was blocked, double containment, separate life support, and as Wesker's memories told him, behind that door the real challenge would begin.

The Uroborous, nascent in their containment solutions, had to be taken out before he reached her. If not, and they managed to infect her, merge with her, well, the chorus of scientists disagreed on details, but they all thought it would be bad.

Ripping the door down would allow everything in there out, and Cross would get whiny if he drowned them in zombies. The air vent, if his memories were right, should let him out in the room where the samples were stored. There were three, in solution in glass containers, on benches just beyond the door. A primary target, as long as no zombies had broken the seals.

The containment measures had cut the vents off, inch thick steel plates dropping just inside the vents. Mercer tore through them off easily and saw the steel rotating blades, enough to stop an animal or a tiny intruder. He grinned, pushed his armoured arm into the way and watched them splinter on his armour.

Compacting his mass he writhed through the vent, through a space far too small for a human, and pushed out the blanking plate at the far end. Dropping to the floor in the absolute darkness beyond, pulling his biomass back towards a human shape, his eyes and thermal vision regenerated just in time to see the massive fist incoming.

###

Cross looked up as the trees began to shake. The sounds of a helicopter were quite clear. Over the roar he signalled for the lookouts to target it. They weren't expecting backup, and if Umbrella dropped something in -

The sleek black helicopter swung round, making the US army insignia on its side visible, and simply hovered.

"Captain Cross, reinforcements dispatched by Washington. Permission to land?" The voice crackled over his radio. They were asking. That was a good sign. Using his squad's channel wasn't, and babysitting a bunch of Marines in a hot zone was a distraction he didn't need. Still, when they got themselves killed, it was extra guns for his troops. Hostiles should just have started firing, or dropped one of their abominations on them by now.

"Detweiler, maintain the perimeter, Maxwell, guide them in. No sudden moves."

"Acknowledged." The pilot's response cut Maxwell's off. Cross moved back from his firing position and walked towards the shattered tarmac. The large transport helicopter was too large for the broken road, touching down on the grass by the Blackwatch aircraft. Troops began to pile out, immediately seeking cover positions. Experienced men then, who might actually be some use. A man in a suit jumped out behind them, looked round and walked unerringly towards Cross, keeping cover between himself and the gully.

"Special Agent Kyle Madigan, forces liaison. We're here as your backup. Two more transports incoming. Where do you need us?" The badge he was holding looked official. Putting aside the oddity of an F.B.I agent commanding military personnel, Cross nodded. The new troops' gear was heavy combat, but not bio-warfare compatible. It didn't matter. He couldn't be fussy, and if it came to it he'd shoot them himself.

"Pull your men back. Form an external perimeter around the site. Nothing gets out, nothing gets in."

"Understood." Madigan nodded to one of the troops, and they immediately began to move, taking position as ordered. Cross moved back to the perimeter, hunkering down by Detweiler.

"You trust them, sir?"

"Until our operatives come out with the hostage, I'll take what I can get." Cross said. The Blacklight position was defensible from both sides, and they wouldn't have to hold out long. If the reinforcements were from Umbrella, they hadn't brought anything capable of dealing with a creature that threw tanks across Manhattan.

###

The thing's hammerblow knocked Mercer back. He rolled with it, claws changing to a blade that should have disembowelled it as he swung it across its torso. The giant roared, dodged, and the edge merely scored through its armour. Mercer growled in frustration and charged. The creature spread its arms to grapple, and fists that crushed concrete closed only on writhing tendrils as Mercer's body split apart. Feeder tentacles dug in, the T-virus-ridden flesh dissolving, and the giant struggled blindly. Tearing at the black mass that had been its chest with arms that were rapidly liquefying, it threw itself into the walls, cracking the concrete, tearing through desks and computers like paper as the tentacles extended into its legs and reduced it to a thrashing formless blob on the floor. It felt like something half rotten, already decayed, and converted all too smoothly.

As Mercer began to compact his new biomass, to take his own shape back, he felt something moving in the new mass, infected that as well. A second mind? A parasitic second mind? What the hell had Umbrella been doing down here? It was as easily broken down and consumed as the rest, offering a vague way to enhance neural cells. It was of little interest to him. He broke it down for biomass, reached for the human brain within his new memories-

- wife, woman's face, smiling, sunlight, screams, smothered, steel chains, flesh changing, growing, trapped-

-and reeled. These giants were still conscious, a human mind trapped and screaming. Memories he now shared. He wished fervently he had made Wesker suffer more.

Pulling his mass back into his normal form, he approached the containers. The Uroborous things were still in liquid solution, deceptively tiny inside the glass tubes. Injected, or airborne, it would be a nightmare. Blacklight was more quickly fatal, but he was designed to infect DNA, not RNA. He was a proficient virophage, he could absorb it, but that would delay him, and if it fought he might not win. Memories surfaced as he dug through stolen scientists' memories for a solution. Acid washes were impractical, so instead he lifted the glass samples case, took it back to the break room, and took the time to thoroughly microwave each one. Then he cracked the vials and poured bleach and ammonia into each. The chloramine mix irritated his biomass, sending ripples of agitated tendrils down his arms, but what was left of Uruborous squirmed and died.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he enveloped the mess of chemicals and dead virus, absorbing it into his hand. Ignoring the chlorine burning his biomass away, he broke the fragments of the dead virus down in a crude version of a vaccine, tearing the secrets from the dead virus. Uruborous had a few useful qualities, better regeneration and a trick for absorbing dead flesh more efficiently that he'd have to try.

Hearing shuffling ahead in the dark, he reformed his burning hand into a whip and lashed out, impaling the zombie and reeling it in. Just the thing to get the sting of chlorine out of his biomass.

###

"Main door sealed, sir." Simons reported as he and Durrant slid through the undergrowth the report to Cross. "Live virus was detected, area was near saturation levels. Area was made safe. Suggest a post-op burn." Durrant nodded his agreement.

"Slashed, burned, and sealed with copper thermite. Won't hold though sir. Doors are rusted."

"How long's it good for?"

"Two weeks, best guess."

"Understood." Cross silently cursed Umbrella with every epithet he knew. Those doors should have been galvanised, negative pressure reinforced, titanium or ceramic, not something that rusted after a few months. He grimaced, acutely aware of the presence of strange guns at their back. "Levels on your gear?"

"Made it safe, sir. Bleach spray until it was at non-detectable levels." Cross nodded. Blackwatch's gear was sealed, but the Marines wasn't. Having his troops spread the virus to them would just be embarrassing, and he wasn't in the business of giving Umbrella samples.

"Check their perimeter, correct weaknesses, and report."

"Sir, yes sir," They were smart enough to read between the lines to his real instructions: get a sit-rep and tactical layout in case their new 'friendlies' weren't. Once the pair had moved off he quietly vented his own frustration.

"Cheap grade steel. What the hell were they thinking?"

"Probably that after a few months, it wouldn't matter...Captain," Winder added, belatedly realising Cross was listening. "They'd have their guys out and if there's an outbreak, Blackwatch comes in and handles it."

"Clearing up any trace they were here along the way." Cross nodded, peering upwards as he heard aircraft approaching. Another transport, flanked by an Apache escort. Someone was putting some serious boots on the ground. He wished he knew who.

###

Dropping down the elevator shaft, the roof of the lift dented under the impact. The inspection hatch was broken beyond use, but two swift claw strikes ripped the metal open. He dropped into the cabin and forced the door. This had taken too long already.

The lights were on. Air circulated, free of the virus particles he had grown used to on the higher levels. Thermal vision was of little use here, and he switched back to normal. No zombies, no blood, no gore, No carpet. No decayed wall notices. He paused, detecting the faint smell of burning. A layer of grey ash coated the floor.

He crouched, advancing slowly, expecting an ambush but suspecting anything that could harm him was already dead. Thermal vision - a flash of human orange ahead, darting back out of sight.

"Hey?" There was no answer, but he knew where she was, or where answers were. Fuck it, he could kill anything that came for him. He jumped, landed by the end of the passageway and the door to heavy containment.

Reaching through stolen memories, he dug the right keycard from the bundle he'd accumulated and swiped it. The door grated, briefly stuck, then slid open. Beyond on the floor, a pile of grey ash lay undisturbed, the floor scorched round it. The person's shape was quite clear, fingers reaching for the door, the metal of the frame warped where it had gripped with burning fingers. Mercer grinned. He knew he was getting close.

"Aya?" he called, not worried about being attacked. The only thing here he couldn't kill was someone he'd call close to a friend.

The cells at the back were brightly lit, floor to ceiling glass designed to ensure the occupants were visible, a small drain at the back and a recessed slot for water and pills the only concession to human decency. Black and red rippled down his arms in agitation, too many memories of Gentek for comfort. Two of the cells were empty, but in the last a woman stood, one hand against the glass, staring at him. Her mouth moved, but no sound came through the thick glass.

"Back," he said, exaggerating the word as he raised the blade. She stepped away from the glass, shielding her face as he sliced the plexi-glass effortlessly. It peeled into cubes and fell away. The woman stepped out, brushing cubes from her shoulders.

"Aya, It's me."

"Mercer?" she said, puzzled, and then: "I'm not Aya, I'm Eve. My sister died." That was a shock, but now was no time for condolences, and she obviously agreed. "You have an extraction plan?"

"Top floor goods entrance." Mercer scowled. Had Kyle been playing him? It didn't matter, he guessed. Eve should be a high enough rank to get Cross out of trouble. If this really was Eve and not some Umbrella ploy, because she had grown up far too quickly since he saw her last.

"But the containment?" she protested, still sounding like the child he remembered.

"Blackwatch perimeter. Nothing's getting out."

"But the people in here?" He gritted his teeth. She was a hell of a lot softer than Aya, that was for damn sure.

"Dead. Walking corpses." Alex scowled. A fighting retreat through zombies with Aya was a known quantity. It might even have been fun. With Eve, he had no idea. "Zombies all over the upper levels."

"There are no human survivors?" Her voice sounded regretful, but not scared. Not what he'd expected from someone who looked like a seven-year-old last time he'd seen her.

"No." He fought down annoyance at her repetition.

"And the Uroborous samples?"

"Microwaved." She nodded, her eyes fluorescing as the blue of the iris was flooded with green, the whites lost as the colour expanded edge to edge.

"Then I can stop holding back. Stay close."

###

The zombies crowding the level four entrance burst into flames. Mercer watched, then shrugged as they walked through the upper levels. It was a new trick, but he'd seen Aya do something similar. It was Eve's distracted air that was inhumanly disturbing, even to him. Even Elizabeth Greene had shown emotions while she was tearing the city down. Once the fires started, Eve, or Aya, as she'd said he should call her, had seemed like a different person, gently oblivious to the deaths her presence was bringing.

"I will need to get the temperature higher to burn the virus out of the air," she said, her attention elsewhere. She turned her head to a blank wall and he heard something scrabbling beyond it frantically. Then it fell silent.

"Don't burn me." His claws twitched at his side, tempted to impale.

"I couldn't if I wanted. They have DNA. You don't. Aya told me." Mercer thought back, into memories that were for once entirely his own.

"Anything with mitochondrial DNA?"

"Yes," she said, eerily. "Wesker thought he was very clever, using male scientists. If I can affect rats, I can affect males." There was a contemptuous edge to the voice that belied the usually childlike attitude. "So strange. I can't sense you."

"And Uruborous was a threat?"

"In its base form, there is no DNA, just RNA." She looked at him, smiled too knowingly. "If it had taken a host, then it would have become mine. And died." The zombie crawling towards them rolled over, burned beyond animation. Mercer stepped over it. Eve followed, more delicate. "Would you like me to leave you some?" she offered distantly.

"I already ate." His own biomass was untouched, but the heat radiating from hers was enticing. Instincts said to consume it, to evolve, but experience reminded him that his last attempt to consume one of the Brea sisters had not ended well. She tilted her head, looking up towards the ceiling.

"There are humans outside the door."

"Blackwatch's perimeter."

"Some of the larger creatures are fleeing upwards. I cannot burn them without catching the soldiers in my range," she said, still inhumanly calm. An echoing clang rang through the base. Mercer cursed, picked her up, and began to run.

###

The dull thud reverberated through the clearing. Cross's finger tensed on the trigger, eyes locked on the door. Zeus could hit that hard, but he wouldn't need to.

"Incoming!" He heard Winder shout. A second blow, and the door jumped in its frame. Against his better judgement, he found himself wishing for Mercer's return. The frame of the door bent, juddered and the huge steel door fell forward, crashing into the undergrowth. Framed in the doorway, the thing filled it from side-to-side, stooping its huge head. He opened fire immediately. The thing, the thing that Mercer had shifted into in the cargo bay, launched forward into the crossfire, barely slowed as the Javelins impacted. It covered half the gully in a single charge as Blackwatch poured fire into it.

There was a deafening roar and a missile streaked overhead, thundering into the thing's chest. Cross threw himself down as the back-blast flooded across him, burning hot even inside his armour. The Tyrant was knocked back, ablaze but not down, catching itself on the door with a clawed hand and recovering impossibly quickly, snapping off part of the door frame and throwing it at the hovering aircraft. The Apache evaded, driven back as it circled, trying to get an angle to fire into the bunker without getting into range. Blackwatch resumed their covering fire, Winder's Javelin striking the thing as it lumbered forward, ready to charge.

An angled black blade bit into the burning Tyrant's side, and it roared, turning behind it but hampered by the smaller doorway. A kick sent it staggering aside and a woman in a blue uniform rolled through the gap and ran into the gully. Cross jerked his gun up just in time to not shoot her, remembered the Apache too late. Mercer kicked the Tyrant down, put a foot on the Tyrant's back, yanking his blade free as he ran, caught up with her and jumped them both clear. The fire and thunder of the missile hit. The bunker entrance was engulfed in flames. Cross' troops ducked back into cover as the blast of heat washed over them, chunks of concrete from the destroyed entrance raining down.

He raised his head cautiously to see a figure in the fire, aimed a gun on reflex. It was too small to be the Tyrant. Mercer had gone back, was standing in the ruins as if the fire did not bother him, standing on the door and sweeping a blade down to cut into something that was still moving. The woman turned, raised a hand imperiously, and the thing blazed brighter and fell still. Mercer turned away, lifted the remains of the steel door as if it weighed nothing and settled it back in place to block the entrance as best he could. He paused as he released it, turned to face Cross and jumped the distance in one easy movement.

"Any more?" he asked.

"That was the last," the woman replied, focusing on thin air. An instant later Madigan had jumped the make-shift barricade and was holding her tight.

"E- Aya! You're OK?"

"Yes?" she said uncertainly, and then shook herself and replied more confidently. "I mean, yes I am."

"Seal the doorway." Cross ordered automatically, part of his training insisting he should have the two civilians shot as infection vectors. Detweiler was already scanning the pair with a viral detector, and Cross kept his finger on the trigger in case. Their new backup had come equipped, and a squad of troops had rushed into the gully. Welding torches were hastily applied to the door, sealing the metal into place.

"Viral levels safe," Detweiler reported.

"Details?"

"T-virus below contagious levels, and Blacklight residue, non-infectious." Cross acknowledged the report, standing up from his firing position and turning to Madigan. His finger was still on the trigger, but he wasn't worried. The new arrivals had an Apache. Cross had Mercer.

"We're calling in Blackwatch to sterilise the place," he informed them. The woman nodded.

"Do so. The town is out of range and uninfected. Quarantine and lock-down for two weeks after the base is destroyed should suffice."

"And exactly who is giving the quarantine orders?" Cross asked. The woman looked at Madigan, raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"The Joint Chiefs, in about ten minutes." There was an unshakeable confidence in the man that would have been arrogance if Cross didn't suspect he could back it up. Madigan didn't say more, strolling all too casually towards the virus.

Mercer was standing silent against the chopper, surveying the controls with naked covetousness as the pilot looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Well, that call was unexpected. I guess we finally have something you want?"

"I need a favour." Mercer didn't look happy at the admission.

"Get Kherber off your back?"

"Get Kherber off Cross's. I don't need to lose an ally." Mercer gravelled. "And look after Dana."

"We're not really in a position-" the virus bridled, as Madigan continued smoothly "-to say no."

"We wouldn't anyway," the woman said, and what was she, Cross wondered, some politician's relative? Another bio-weapon like Mercer? His instincts said she'd caused the Tyrant's immolation, and they rarely let him down. "We still want you onboard. Could you work with us?"

A beeper went off in Madigan's pocket. He checked his phone and shook his head.

"We don't have time to discuss the details now."

"When's the next outbreak due?" the woman - Aya, if he had heard Madigan correctly - asked, tensing. Cross's attention caught the word 'outbreak'. If this was an outbreak, why the hell didn't Blackwatch know about it?

"Nine hours, thirty-eight minutes," Madigan replied. "West Coast. Lykanstrata Theatre." The blonde nodded.

"You clear up here," she ordered. "We'd better move. Blacklight, you're with me." Cross expected Mercer to argue. No one ordered the virus around. The best Cross could do was point him in a direction and hope, but all Mercer did was turn his head curiously. "Think Empire State only worse." To Cross's surprise, the virus nodded and walked round to the side of the helicopter.

"If you're taking Mercer, better take the Blackwatch troops onsite here. Kherber's being an ass." Madigan didn't seem to have a good opinion of the General. Cross agreed with him, and if there was an outbreak Blackwatch didn't know about, he wanted to be on top of it. The woman nodded.

"Fine. Captain Saddler, MIST holds the perimeter here until we get back. Cross, if you have a Blackwatch squad you trust, call them in to burn out this mess. You're with us," she ordered.

"Sir, yes, Sir." The officer with the new arrivals snapped straight to attention. Cross noted both the lack of ID, and the name MIST down for later reference.

"Kyle?" she continued.

"I'll co-ordinate here. Captain Cross, use my name as the point of contact." It was well-practiced, Cross saw, every one of them knowing what was expected. What it wasn't was F.B.I. These were combat troops taking orders from a civilian. What his team had got into was, unusually for Blackwatch, way over his head.

"With all due respect, ma'am," he said, ramrod straight, "we still don't know who's giving the orders."

"That's me." Mercer sounded far too smug.

"Joint Chiefs said so, sir," Detweiler confirmed, cringing slightly as he saw the look on Cross's face. Mercer looked back at him, and Cross could tell the virused bastard was loving every minute of it.

"Get in the fucking chopper."