Jimi sweeps in a wide arc around the corner, maintaining his distance and focus near the opening. The Red Zetsu's bioluminescent eyes eliminate any element of surprise as it beelines after the Marine Contra; he throws the flesh-eating ghoul against the reception desk, leveraging its momentum. His boot crashes down upon the mutant's face, eliciting a distinct crunch, yet the Red Zetsu is back on its feet within seconds. He enhances his fist with chakra before driving it through the zombie-like creature's celiac plexus. Jim follows up with a left hook and abdominal strike, then slams his fist into the abomination's face, fracturing its skull. He snap-kicks the Red Zetsu's floating rib and jaw before twisting its neck 540° with a devastating tornado kick.
The flesh-eating ghoul convulses and squirms on the ground, somewhat immobile. Lethargic groans from within the building draw Jim's attention; a group of mutant soldiers reanimate and arise behind the reception desk.
'At least they're the slow ones,' the fugitive surmises as they shuffle after him. More Red Zetsus rush the gates after shattering the reinforced windows but are kept at bay by the metal barrier. He closes the hall using the rolling shutters in the doorway; a Red Zetsu from behind the stairs staggers toward him. He shoves its forehead, knocking the abomination off balance, then continues past a dysfunctional elevator up the stairwell to the second floor. Due to the wreckage and burning debris, the upper levels are inaccessible. Jim uncovers the telltale signs of fūinjutsu on the second floor's entrance.
The war criminal's PDI scans the barrier, breaking the obstacle down to its essential components while downloading the sealing tag's schematics. He decodes the algorithms, discovers how the fūinjutsu seal works, and how to manufacture functional duplicates if necessary. However, his PDI detects a key card on the first floor. He vaults over the handrail, avoiding the Red Zetsu shuffling up the stairs after him. He searches a corpse sitting against the stair wall and finds the key card; the mutant tumbles over the railing, flopping on the floor behind him. He turns around; the cannibalistic fiend tries grabbing him, but he drops into the splits.
"Huhoogh!" Jim howls, launching his fist into the Red Zetsu's groin.
"Toasty~!"
The mutant doubles over; its glowing eyes burst from their sockets. The mass murderer sends his foot crashing into the abomination's chin, heaving its feet off the ground. Jim Roundhouse kicks the zombie-like creature's jaw before sending the Red Zetsu spinning through the air via a tornado kick. The mutants breach the rolling shutters; he dashes up the stairs, unseals the entrance, and collects the fūinjutsu tag. The Contra enters a small lounge before propping a soda machine between the entryway and the wall. He follows the arrows toward the double doors pointing to the medical and radio rooms.
A corpse lies on the floor in the infirmary with chunks of flesh missing from its body. An appreciable amount of blood is on each bed, yet one distinguishes itself from the rest. Jim creeps towards a desk, uncovering a skeleton near an overturned bed. The ribcage is in pieces. Its limbs hang over the sides from the bed straps, the skull is missing, and the blood appears fresh; clear signs of a struggle are evident.
There's little to scavenge; the cabinets and drawers, including the desk safe, are vacant. Moreover, the broken terminal's hard drive shows corruption and damage, which renders its documents useless. Besides a Red Herb sitting on a windowsill, Jim's search for medical supplies falls short. He reaches for the red plant, but a sound akin to a sharp air intake draws his attention. Beside the desk, droplets of blood trail behind a window curtain. The noise persists following a quick snap at irregular intervals. He pulls the cloth, expecting a small animal. Instead, a severed head greets him, chomping at the air.
The skeleton near the bed is moving; the hands open and close. The spine lay quivering on the ground as the rest of the bones twitch and squirm—each appearing to have minds of their own. The long-drawn-out groan of the corpse getting up from the ground steals Jim's attention. Its glowing eyes lock on him the moment it turns around. The Red Zetsu's mouth opens, appearing unhinged; it staggers toward the fugitive, reaching for him with its outstretched arms. Its decomposing face is unrecognizable, but he recognizes the name badge on the mutant's combat uniform.
Jim remembers a report regarding one of his Lieutenants being Missing In Action during the quarantine. The subsequent ASF invasion spread the SSR's military even thinner across multiple fronts, thus preventing him from allocating the necessary resources and personnel for a proper investigation. His eyes trail to the clipboard at the foot of the overturned bed. He learns the patient's name, which matches his Lieutenant's.
Jim sighs, "Perhaps some cases are... better left unsolved," he sidesteps, then subdues his former subordinate before removing the dog tags. After harvesting the red herb, he exits the medical room and props a chair against the door. A silhouette with glowing eyes appears on the room's reinforced window. The Red Zetsu's hands run down the glass, smearing blood and rattling the structure.
Two Red Zetsus scraping and pounding on the radio room entrance redirect their attention to the neighboring corridor, then shamble after Jim. He focuses chakra on his feet, walking up the wall's surface around the abominations. He ensures his distance, buying himself time to deactivate the room's security apparatus before entering and slamming the reinforced door. He proceeds to the main desk and discovers the operational surveillance network, "status report."
"The Red Zetsus surround the administrative towers; millions are bearing down upon the Gates of Fort Firestorm. The middle and lower levels are inaccessible due to a containment breach; however, the upper floors are relatively secure."
"Are the targets in position?"
"Affirmative, you'll have a clear vantage point from the rooftops."
"Excellent. Lower the exterior draw bridges and have all containment protocols within the facility ready for nullification on my command."
"We're well aware I'm only a shadow clone, which renders my PDI and any other complex equipment on my person inoperable, Vega Contra."
"Then use what's available to enable and encode a new frequency to maintain radio contact! I'll authorize the encryption for my jammer."
"I assume that—thing is also in position then?"
"Approximately thirty meters within the Substitution Jutsu's maximum range at sector fifteen. I've calculated the area's circumference and checked the diameter; the trajectory on both radiuses should coordinate with the enemy's position."
"A bait and bleed pincer ambush to encircle and eliminate the enemy?"
"More or less—once I neutralize the Hyūga, their line of sight will suffer considerably. They'll inevitably triangulate my relative position. Regardless, by flanking the enemy, they'll have no choice but to separate. Divide and conquer; it's as simple as that."
"I'll reroute power to the lounge elevator; it'll be a straight shot to the rooftops."
"Then I'll take my leave and bid you farewell… Oh, and by the by." Jim hands his shadow clone the fūinjutsu tag from the stairwell, "Seal the entrance and rig the room with explosives. I'd rather not get a taste of what the Anbu Black Ops has in store for me if they catch you."
The radio room's heavy sliding door opens; a metal pole impales the flesh-eating ghoul's torso out of the darkness, knocking the abomination off its feet. Jim's boots slam into the adjacent mutant's face, crushing its skull against the floor. He grabs his Bo Staff before running to the lounge elevator. The double doors swing open; he readies his staff as the Red Zetsus approach, but the elevator closes before the abominations become nuisances.
As the rundown metal box ascends, the distinct moans of the wandering dead increase; hundreds crowd the floors. The ghost-like whales and groans drown out the whirring machinery and rusting steel, which does somewhere along the lines of "jack and diddly-squat" to alleviate Jim's uneasiness over the potential death trap. He suppresses his chakra, remaining quieter than a mouse and still as a statue, yet almost leaps out of his skin as a loud crash thunders behind him.
Jim sidesteps a Red Zetsu, swinging its sharp, bone-like arm at him. He slams his elbow into the mutant's ribs before maneuvering behind the abomination, then hammering it with a sidelong kick. The cannibalistic fiend lunges its arm forward; the war criminal redirects and traps the inhuman appendage under his shoulder. He seizes a revolver from the Red Zetsu's trench coat, then fires, severing its arm. Jim empties the cylinder into the mutant's torso before impaling the abomination's skull against the wall with its arm. The zombie-like creature flails around, bumping into the floor buttons; the elevator slows.
Jim leaps through a maintenance hatch before the mutants rush in; their numerical advantage turns against them as they bottleneck the opening. He keeps his distance from the flailing extremities, "Lightning Release: Synergistic Sabre." The Contra grabs the support cables and disconnects the elevator; the elevator plunges with the Red Zetsus inside. The lines yank him in the air; he releases the wires, allowing the momentum to alight him onto the roof access floor.
The red hue from the crimson moons glints from the storm clouds. Jim readies his rifle, resting its stand on the ledge. He locates his shadow clone several meters away, signaling him in the opposing skyscraper.
'In position; ready on your kill,' the shadow clone gestures.
After surveying the area, Jim spots his prime target and another shadow clone on standby. The mass murderer focuses the image, then locks onto his target's center mass, 'Target acquired,' he signals back. 'The number of survivors is an unfortunate surprise; nevertheless, they are where I need them to be. Given the angle, a one-shot three-kills scenario is plausible if the round rips through the juxtaposing enemy's skull before impacting the other's center mass in tandem.' Jim adjusts the rifle's telescopic sights; he zeros in on his mark (accounting for elevation, wind, then parallax adjustment) and exhales.
The rest is history.