Author's Note: Managed to have everything caught up now! Still, I can't guarantee next month's upload will be around the same time as this month's, but I will attempt to do so just before Black Ops 6 gets released. That way, I can at least have time to enjoy the game and not have to worry about writing, at least for a while. As always, hope you enjoy!

Recommended BGM:

1. Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War - Cold War

2. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) & (Remake) - The City Without Hope

3. Resident Evil Outbreak: File #2: - Desperate Times (Police Station Theme)

Bonus Track: Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) & Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles - The Front Hall


Chapter 13

Adler heard a loud but distant motor from somewhere around the police station as soon as he'd opened the door out of the parking garage. It could've been any survivors driving away to safety, but it prompted him to be in their best hurry. He was confident enough to trust in Jill and Woods' survival skills, so leaving them behind wasn't a concern. In addition to this fact alone, he didn't mind them using the cable car without them. He and Sims could always find another way to the clock tower, assuming the same evacuation plan would still be in effect by the time they get there, which he doubted anyway.

When they hit the alleyway down the destroyed street, they stopped immediately, realizing that many dangers could be hiding in every dark corner. It was the only way to get to the RPD as fast as possible. Without further thought, Adler moved cautiously through the narrow path, Sims following right behind him, their footsteps echoing against the cracked, uneven pavement.

The alley was dimly lit by very few streetlamps, one of which flickered off near a door to the right wall, its feeble light barely cutting through the darkness up ahead. Trash and debris were strewn across the path, broken crates and shattered glass crunching under their boots. The smell was rancid—a sickly mixture of rotting flesh, spilled gasoline, and the unmistakable stench of decay that had settled over the city like a deadly shroud.

Dead bodies lay scattered around the alley like discarded dolls, their limbs twisted in unnatural angles. As the pair cautiously skipped over them, Adler noticed some of them were shredded and mauled, their insides exposed, and he tried his best not to keep looking at his surroundings as he focused his vision on the path ahead of them. But even through the corners of his eyes, he could still see some of the corpses bearing marks of bullet wounds, clean and precise—execution style, an unmistakable fact that Perseus had indeed been here before.

Damn bastards…

As he took it all in, Adler's mind wandered back almost subconsciously to the jungles of Vietnam. The scenes were eerily similar, the bodies strewn about, the acrid scent of blood and gunpowder filling the air. He could almost hear the distant echoes of gunfire, the cries of the wounded, the whispers of the jungle. Memories of men he had fought beside—some who had lived, some who had died—surfaced in his mind like unwelcome ghosts of his past. It was all too similar—the blood, the bodies, the sense of dread that clung to the air like smoke. Raccoon City was just another warzone, just like the jungle had been.

His grip tightened around his gun. He felt a chill down his spine, not from fear but from a bitter, deep-seated understanding that it all had come full circle.

A never-ending cycle, just like our endless curiosity, like our need to survive…

Raccoon was just another chapter in humanity's endless story of destruction—a different battlefield but the same damn war. The jungle or the city, it didn't matter. People always found a way to turn everything into a battlefield, a vendetta of petty violence.

"You think our contacts at the station are still alive?" Sims asked, breaking through Adler's thoughts, shattering the quiet but heavy silence. He sounded primarily uncertain but with a slight hint of trying to be hopeful.

Adler didn't respond right away. He kept his gaze forward, scanning the shadows dancing along the alley walls.

"Depends on how smart they were," he finally replied, his voice relatively flat. "If they kept their heads down, maybe, but if they were dumb enough to go looking for trouble…" He let the sentence hang in the air, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "Well, they're probably either dead or undead, just like the rest of them," he finished, nodding toward a nearby body slumped against a half-hidden dumpster, a pool of dark, congealed blood beneath it, before entering the door next to them.

"Right," said Sims simply, though with a somewhat cynical tone. "But I mean, with Jill and Frank still alive as part of the RPD's special forces, you'd think that…"

"Shh!"

Adler stopped him abruptly with a hovering hand. His eyes narrowed, and he slowly trained his rifle further ahead of them.

Tic. Tic. Tic.

The faint ticking sound reached their ears, sharp and irregular, like claws clicking on stone. It was distant at first, but it grew louder, a steady rhythm echoing through the alley. Adler shot a glance at Sims, who had already raised his weapon. They strained to see into the thickening shadows ahead as they stood underneath a buzzing fluorescent security lamp barely holding any power to shine some light on them.

Tic tic tic.

The sound grew closer, the ticking becoming faster and more frantic. His vision shifted in focus, and Adler slowly forgot to breathe, his senses high on alert. The air somehow felt colder, almost freezing, and a primal instinct gripped his gut—something was coming, and it wasn't human either.

"What the hell is that?" Sims muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

Adler kept silent, simply staring into the darkness ahead. His finger inched closer to the trigger as the ticking sounds grew louder, almost deafening. Claws scraped on stone, every inch passing by as the sound echoed louder with ferocity. Adler felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, the fear of the unknown growing by the second…

…and as suddenly as it began, the sound stopped.

An uneasy silence fell over the alley, thick and suffocating. Adler exhaled slowly, but his eyes were still fixed on the darkness ahead, waiting, listening. The stillness was worse than the noise itself…

…and the silence of the alleyway suddenly shattered with a piercing shriek, so loud and unnatural, it seemed to claw its way into Adler's bones, his body instinctively recoiling from the high-pitched cry, like tortured souls.

"ABOVE US!" Sims shouted, his tone sharp and frantic.

Before Adler could react, Sims lunged forward, shoving him forcefully to the side. Adler stumbled, crashing into a pile of debris as a massive dark shape dropped from the shadows overhead. The creature that landed between them with a sickening thud was unlike anything they had ever seen.

The hell is that thing!?

Adler's eyes widened in shock, frozen in horror and repulsion as he stared at the thing, its abhorrent body twisting as though scanning for its prey. It was a monstrous mutant of insect and nightmare, its glistening exoskeleton grotesque, rippling with muscular contractions beneath its surface. Its form was bloated, segmented like an oversized hybrid of spider and cockroach, with thin, long, jointed legs ending in razor-sharp claws that scrabbled across the ground with frenzied energy. Its head was the worst of all: a bulbous, rudimentary shape with tiny writhing tendrils flailing out, each ending in a fleshy, pink sucker that seemed to pulse as if alive. The face—or what passed as for one—was a tangle of mandibles and twitching feelers, its insectile eyes gleaming, its mouth a circular maw lined with rows of needle-like teeth.

Adler felt his breath quicken, and his hand shook as he reached for his dropped rifle. However, the creature had already turned its sights on his long-time partner - and in a sudden motion, it sprang forward, moving with a speed that defied its overgrown size. It rammed into Sims, knocking him backward, its limbs wrapping around him like a constrictor.

"SHIT!" Sims struggled, shouting as his gun clattered to the ground before he began to swing his fists, but the creature was relentless and powerful.

"Goddamn it!" Adler growled, attempting to aim, his mind racing, unable to get a clear shot…

…but it was already too late.

The creature's tendrils retracted and then shot forward, one of them finding its mark. A long, tube-like appendage sprang from the creature's maw, latching onto Sims' mouth and forcing itself inside. Sim's eyes went wide with horror, his muffled screams turning into a strangled gurgle as his body convulsed violently.

"NO!" Adler shouted, the bile rising in his throat at the sheer horror of what he was witnessing.

Knowing he would risk hitting Sims at the angle he'd been aiming, Adler made a desperate gamble and fired his gun wildly, hoping to hit the creature just before he saw the slimy appendage pulsing through Sims' throat as though something had pumped through it. The first shots went wide, ricocheting off the brick wall, but the second set of shots had managed to slam into the creature's thorax with a wet, sickening crunch.

The mutant let out a high-pitched, agonized shriek and spasmed, the tendril jerking back from Sims' mouth as the creature staggered. Blood and a foul, yellowish mucus sprayed out from where Adler had hit it, splattering across the alley walls. Sims rolled himself over to the ground, gagging and coughing violently, his hands clutching his throat.

Angered, Adler fired again, this time hitting the creature squarely in the head. It recoiled, screeching in pain, its legs flailing as it writhed on the ground. It seemed to struggle for a moment, its body twitching uncontrollably before finally going still, collapsing in a heap of twitching limbs and oozing slime.

And stay down…you ugly sonuvabitch!

Breathing more rapidly this time, Adler rushed to Sims as he picked up Sims' dropped hat along the way, his heart pounding as he knelt beside him.

"Hey, hey! Sims, can you hear me?" he called, grabbing his friend's shoulder and putting his green cap over his head. Sims was gasping for air, his eyes wide with pain and fear, his chest heaving as he struggled to say something back to him. There was a thick, slick trail of mucus coating his mouth and chin, his hands trembling.

"It… it got me," Sims choked out, wincing as he doubled over, his hands now clutching his chest in agony. His skin was pale and clammy through his dark features, with a contorted look of intense discomfort overwhelming his face.

Shit…

Whatever that thing did to him, it must've…

Adler didn't want to think about the horrifying details right now. All he knew was that they couldn't stay there for much longer and needed to find their way out.

"Come on—we've gotta get outta here," Adler urged him, pulling Sims up to his feet as the latter grabbed his dropped rifle. "Who knows if there are more of those things out here."

Sims nodded weakly, and they staggered forward together through a couple of winding dark corners up the alleyway, quickly being able to notice two more of the same nightmarish creatures lying dead further down the path. Their greenish, shiny shells gleamed in the faint light, and Adler felt a cold sweat on his forehead, confirming his fears that there could be more lurking elsewhere in the shadows…

…and another shriek echoed behind them—a fresh, hungry sound that sent a jolt of dread through Adler's lurching mind and stomach.

Gotta move, and fast!

"Let's go!" Adler barked, practically dragging Sims along as they sprinted toward the only door at the end of the alleyway. The sound of claws scraping against stone and brick grew louder, closing in behind them. He could feel the ground shaking under their feet, hearing the sound of their own breathing echoing in his ears.

Sims stumbled beside him, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, one hand still clutched tightly to his chest. Adler spared a glance at his friend—sweat pouring down his face, his eyes half-lidded with pain and exhaustion.

"You're gonna make it—don't quit on me now!" Adler shouted, slamming into the door with his shoulder before swinging it open with one hand on the handle just as the sounds behind them reached a fever pitch of nightmarish alarm and horror.


The world was fragmented, like a memory half-forgotten, yet somehow vivid.

He woke up—though he wasn't sure where or who he was. Everything was hazy, a swirl of sensations and broken images. The sky above was blood-red, the ground beneath littered with debris, and the air thick with the acrid smell of smoke and spent gunpowder. He stood in the middle of a warzone, a battlefield, somewhere indistinct, as if pulled from another place at another time.

Soldiers moved around him—men he thought he knew, though their faces were blurred, voices muffled under the weight of something dark, something ominous…

He tried to focus, to make sense of it all, but everything seemed disjointed, slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers…

…and a name whispered through the chaos.

Perseus.

It echoed like a spontaneous apparition, pulling at the edges of his mind. He knew that name. It was tied to something. No—someone.

The man looked around, seeing various shapes of vaguely familiar soldiers. One of them, whose face looked deeply scarred, had been scanning the horizon with cold, calculating eyes, issuing commands over the others. Among them was another guy in a green cap, eyes half-hidden as he aimed his rifle toward an advancing militia, following the former's orders. Another was wearing a green bandana, his face grim as he gritted his teeth during an active knife battle against opposing forces. Another man moved with relative pace to the one armed with a knife, proving that both operatives were an effective duo within the perils of the battlefield itself. Not far from their location was a relatively younger woman, dark-haired and good-looking, her smooth features betraying the enthusiastic nature of an assassin's desire to strategize and kill as she moved swiftly with ease, equipped with a silenced pistol.

The buildings around them seemed American, the streets of a war-torn city, but some parts felt out of place. Crumbling brick structures sat next to Soviet-era barracks, and military jeeps were seen abandoned beside burning wreckage. The more the man tried to ground himself in reality, the more it slipped away.

He stepped forward, and the ground beneath him changed—no, shifted—entirely.

The fuck's going on?!

The urban chaos became a dense, stifling jungle, the humid air suffocating him suddenly. When he glared back at his surroundings, figures emerged from the trees—more soldiers. He recognized some of them: comrades from back during the peak of the Cold War, men who had stood beside him in clandestine operations worldwide, but something was wrong.

Their eyes—dead, lifeless, their milky-white eyes glowing with hidden evil.

The man's entire body chilled at the sight, horror overwhelming him as he saw their skin beginning to rot, peeling off in ragged strips as they pushed through the thick brushes, their bodies decaying before his eyes. He recoiled as their jaws hung slack, teeth gnashing at the air as they shuffled toward him—soldiers, friends, people he had trusted, now grotesque, undead monsters, their complexity of critical thought gone, only simple, voracious hunger for raw, human flesh.

The man staggered back, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. His entire body trembled in fear as his shaky hands reached for a weapon—anything—but found nothing on him. As the legion of the undead closed in, the stench of decay hit him like a swinging hammer, and he felt bile rise in his throat. His legs moved on instinct, turning him away from the advancing horde.

And then he saw her

Is she…?

No…

Ahead of his path was another zombie—the corpse of his late sister; her eyes, once warm and filled with life, were vacant and hollow. Her clothes were torn, her skin pale and mottled with the same grotesque rot as the others, her mouth stained with blood and bile.

And even though he could not remember his own name, he could somehow remember his sister's name by heart…

…and a cry caught in his throat, a scream of unfathomable sorrow unable to let go of him.

He wanted to call out to her, to find any hint that she was still herself somehow, but the sight of her staggering corpse—his once innocent little sister—kept him frozen in place, even his very own thoughts. She turned toward him, her white, empty eyes locked with his, and for a split second, he thought he saw a glimmer of recognition, a glimpse of the person she once was, but it was a quick yet simple deceit of denial.

She opened her mouth, and a guttural moan escaped; nothing human left.

"No… no, no, no," he muttered, stumbling back as tears welled in his eyes, his thoughts rushing back to him, slowly remembering. "No, no! This can't be real! You're NOT my sister! NO!"

Unable to focus on the flashing pieces of recollection of events that led to his sister's death, he spun around and ran, the sound of shambling feet and low, mournful groans following him. His feet burned with agonizing passion, his legs trembling in motion as he ran for an entire minute, beating himself down with guilt, the heavy burden slowly overwhelming his ability to move at will. He had to escape—had to get away from the living nightmare, push himself out of this hellish reality…

…but as he continued to run, the world around him shifted again as though preventing him from escaping his own nightmarish prison.

The jungle melted away, replaced by cold concrete walls: the sterile hallways of an old Soviet bunker.

A disembodied voice echoed within. He could not tell who it belonged to—if it was somewhere in the dark hallway ahead or at the edges of his fragile mind.

"We've got a job to do."

"We've got a job to do," his lips repeated in a whisper as though it didn't belong to him.

It echoed in his mind like a command he had heard a thousand times before, and though he could not remember who that voice belonged to, he had a strange feeling that he somehow already knew before his mind could even follow the thought. His legs beneath him weakened, causing him to drop to one knee, grabbing his head as it throbbed with pain, the sound of the voice only growing louder.

"Do you remember your name?"

His name…?

The question twisted in his mind like a cruel riddle. He dug his fingers into his scalp, gritting his teeth, trying to remember.

My name…

His thoughts were a blur, the concept tickling at the back of his mind. A maelstrom of broken memories hit him, pieces he could not assemble.

"I'll protect you no matter what."

"LEAVE HER ALONE! NO!"

"The only reason I've taken on this mission is to get closer to my sister's murderer. One way or another, they're all gonna pay in the name of a greater Russia!"

"See you in hell, fucker…"

"I'll do my best, sir; I'd do anything for you."

"No. That's Perseus' call, not yours."

My name…

He whispered the words again, barely audible at first, then louder, more frantic as his memories pressed on. The images flashed before him, violent and fast—his sister lying lifeless, her body torn apart in a KGB assassination, blood staining the cold ground. His mind reeled as he saw Arash Kadivar's face, the same man who shot him and sold him out to the CIA's little experiments.

My name…!

He muttered it again, the words sleeping from his lips like a plea as more memories came in a rushing flood, pouring into his skull as if they had been locked away for too long.

"You look familiar - have we worked together before?"

"Guess you, me—we aren't too different, aren't we?"

"I'm…struggling to recall Da Nang. I can't remember much."

"Hudson has no faith in me, but I can prove him wrong."

"You seem calm, considering the gravity of this mission."

"You guys are legends. It's an honor to serve with you two."

"Heads up, Woods! On your six!"

'Take care, Lazar."

"No! We're gonna make it! All of us!"

"I…You used me. I trusted you! I trusted you all!"

"Why let me go? Why are you helping me?"

"We'll meet again…I can assure you."

"Umbrella? A pharmaceutical company?"

"The Commander's not to be trusted. He got Kuzmin killed; I just know he did. Having Perseus involved with Umbrella…it's not by coincidence. He's a selfish bastard. He isn't doing this for Perseus or the Soviet Union's benefit. No—he's got his own reasons. I don't know what, but it's definitely not for anyone else's own good."

"Roger that, Commander. Doctor Birkin will be dealt with as soon as Alpha Team secures the samples."

"Shit, a BOW has broken loose!"

My name…

Suddenly, he could see the dark streets of Raccoon City in flames, the monsters that stalked him and his dead partner, Roman Gray, the bloodshed of his teammates and the Umbrella Security Service, the pictures of STARS members who had fallen or gone missing, Woods and Mason among them. He saw the tall creature, a modified T-103 tyrant codenamed Nemesis T-Type. He could feel its terrifying scream inside his veins as it tore everything in its path.

His mind was in overdrive, the pain intensifying, his head feeling as though it was about to split in two. The voice grew exponentially closer in his head and right before him.

"Your name! Give me your wretched name!"

My name?!

He turned his head toward the imposing figure. Standing before him, out of the shadows—the same deeply scarred man from before.

And he remembered the voice's true identity.

"Adler," he muttered, his migraine incapacitating him further as he groaned in agony.

Adler's cold eyes burned with the same calculating stare he had remembered from the start in his shattered memories: the same person who had molded him, who had brainwashed him, who had torn him apart and rebuilt him as nothing more than another weapon for the CIA's convenience. Adler's presence towered over him, gleaming with a broad, pestiferous smile.

"You're broken, kid," Adler's voice was steady, mocking. "You've always been broken. You're nothing."

The man convulsed beneath a mountain of pain and despair as he lay on the ground, and Adler stared down at him, inches from him, his eyes filled with deep contempt.

"Do you even remember your name anymore?" Adler's voice dripped with immense cruelty. "What a waste…"

The man's heart blazed in hatred with each pump he could feel, his mind spiraling into an abyss of misery. He could not—will not—let Adler win. He was wrong. Adler had always been wrong…

…but something new began to stir inside him.

There was a flash of defiance. The man could feel a single thread of truth pulling him back to complex thought. When his head slowly stopped throbbing altogether, he was able to pull himself together, clench his fists, and rise to his feet. His ragged breaths were gone. His confidence was slowly returning…

…and renewed determination overtook his senses.

As he leaned back against the wall, his head hung for a moment, regaining his physical and mental strength. Adler's sneer deepened, but the former stood taller, his muscles tightening, eyes burning with fury. A new revelation was now at hand.

"My name…is Konstantin Obolensky," the man's voice grew colder, more confident as he glared at Adler, the fog in his mind gone. The pain still lingered, the memories sharp and painful, but now…

…he remembered. He remembered everything.

"And I remember everything," he finished, his voice steady now, heaped in a vengeful tone.

Adler's expression shifted, his sneer faltering, but before he could react, Obolensky lunged forward. The two clashed in a brutal fight, exchanging violent punches and elbow strikes. Obolensky fought like a man possessed by demons of hatred, fueled by years of suppressed rage, of a man who had endured living under the rubble of shattered memories from his stolen identity. Each fist connected with Adler's astounded expression, with each hit bringing Obolensky closer to something he had longed for—freedom.

Adler grunted, his attempts becoming futile as he quickly became overpowered by Obolensky, shoving him with a kick against the wall.

Obolensky, exhausted yet exacerbated, moved closer to the latter before quickly using his elbow to drop Adler to the ground forcefully, the entire pressure applied against his skull. Obolensky then picked up Adler's dropped pocket knife on the ground next to him and looked down at him with intensifying disdain, making his final decision on his ultimate fate, the same man who had tormented him for so long.

"No more…" Obolensky growled, his voice distant yet poisonous.

He raised the knife, ready to strike the final blow…

…and for the first time in his life, he saw Adler's eyes flash with a kind of fear he'd never seen on him before, turning Obolensky high on elation. The knife swung violently into his chest, twisting it before Adler gave up his final breath, silencing him forever.

Obolensky stood there, breathing heavily, staring at Adler's lifeless body. The anger drained from him slowly, replaced by an overwhelming sense of complete exhaustion. He stepped back, his body trembling, the burden of everything he had endured crashing down on him, barely having the strength to keep himself controlled from the heavy emotions stirring inside him. The hallways seemed to narrow their walls closer to him, but Obolensky felt strangely numb from anything his mind tried to play tricks on him.

He walked forward, leaving Adler's body behind him, trying to focus his mind to understand the steps he was now taking. After a minute of wandering through the empty hallways of a dilapidated facility, he arrived at an ancient, heavy steel door. He pushed it open, his legs barely able to carry him forward, and stepped inside a small, dimly lit space: a familiar meeting room.

Oh God…

Why is this happening to me?

Obolensky didn't have the time to ponder about his surroundings as his body finally gave out, slid down against the door, his back pressed against the cold metal as he collapsed to the floor, trying to keep himself from going insane by his restless mind and racing thoughts.

As he sat still on the ground, his eyes slowly began to scan the room. A wave of familiarity washed over him, pulling him further into a past he was desperate to forget.

It was that same meeting room he'd decided to describe to Adler all those years ago—the plans, the discrete conspiracies, the works, everything to help them implement their plans to skewer the West's influence and usher in a new era of control under the Soviet regime.

Only this time, the metallic walls were covered with rust, mold, and slime. The faint lingering smell of cigarette smoke filled the thick air, mixed with the reeking moisture of rot from the long wooden table stretched out in the middle of the room. Documents, papers, and old posters lay scattered over its surface and surroundings, mostly a bunch of Soviet propaganda that never came to fruition, like ghosts trapped in a realm of failed possibilities. Chairs were mismatched and worn, scattered haphazardly around the table, some seemingly thrown against the walls and left to rust, frozen in time. In the center of the table was an ashtray, still holding the remnants of half-burnt cigarettes, the kind that his original leader had smoked during that fateful meeting.

Perseus was originally a response to their government's failure to do enough to shift the balance of power between the Americans and the Soviets. They were the ones who gathered intel from the Manhattan Project, and if it weren't for Perseus, the Soviets would never have had their hands on any nuclear device on their own. Its true purpose was to be a ghost around the refusal to accept any kind of Western influence, to forge and do what must be done to preserve their ideologies.

For years, it worked in their favor as a phantom organization. The world feared them, yet their existence was never confirmed…

…until Kravchenko had somehow snuck into their ranks and slowly rose to power, even getting the trust of their previous leaders, which would prove to be a fatal mistake, not just for Perseus, but for the rest of the world.

And he got all of us involved with Umbrella in the end—everything for his own selfish ego.

Tears filled his eyes, falling silently down his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands. The images of the people he had killed in his life, the faces of the innocent lives he had taken away, the lifeless eyes of his sister staring back at him accusingly haunted him unforgivingly.

The memories. The pain. The betrayal…

…everything was bearing down on him like never before. It was all too much.

Obolensky let himself break down in the darkness for the first time since he was let go by Adler, feeling helpless, isolated, and defeated.

It wasn't long until Obolensky felt the ground tremble beneath him. The low, subtle rumble grew louder. Dust began falling from the ceiling, and his heart raced as he wiped away any remaining tears, trying to focus his vision on his rumbling surroundings. He stood up, scanning the room; his instincts told him that something was horribly wrong.

What's that?

The rumbling grew more intense. He knew something was coming.

Before he could react, the ceiling in the center of the room caved in, debris raining down as a massive figure broke through. The hulking humanoid slammed into the ground, crushing the center table under its immense weight. When the dust cleared halfway, it revealed the creature's true identity: the grotesque T-103 Nemesis Prototype, its murderous gaze locked onto Obolensky.

Oh shit…

It stared at him momentarily before letting out a bone-chilling growl, screaming its twisted and unnatural monstrous voice.

"SSTAARRSS!"

Obolensky froze, terror gripping him. Deep down, he knew what this creature was—what it had been created and programmed to do—a relentless bioengineered killing machine designed to eliminate and kill everything in its path. STARS or otherwise, it did not matter. It would kill him regardless of his affiliations with them.

Without further hesitation, Obolensky turned, pulled the steel door open, and crouched immediately as soon as he heard the monster dash for an incoming attack, narrowly avoiding its terrifying punch as it slammed the steel door off its hinges, knocking it to the ground without effort.

Don't look back. Just run!

He kept repeating the words inside his mind as he ran for his life, the sound of the tyrant's heavy footsteps following close behind, hearing it hiss that spine-chilling cry of murder, screaming for his blood.

The hallways of the old Soviet bunker stretched endlessly before him, twisting and turning in a maddening loop as he ran, blood pounding in his ears. The tyrant's sounds grew more distant, almost as if his gaining speed was too much for it to follow, though he knew better than to stick around and find out if it were actually true…

…and just as he rounded another corner, the T-103 crashed through a wall in front of him, blocking his path. It stood there, towering over him, almost like it was playing with its prey. Then, it roared that horrifying scream again.

"SSTAARRSS!"

Obolensky's eyes stretched wide in terror. This time, it wasn't the scream that frightened him, but something else that he saw what it was holding…

You've gotta be joking…

He remembered Woods, Jill, and that other girl running from it when it had the same absurdly oversized weapon. He knew what it was planning on doing, what it would do to him the moment it started to raise the rocket launcher, aiming directly at him slowly…

Go back! Go back!

Panic surged through Obolensky's veins as he spun around, ready to flee back where he came from…

…but slammed face-first into a wall—a barrier that hadn't been there before. He was trapped.

It's a dream. It's only a dream. A nightmare. It's not real!

Obolensky turned to face the Nemesis again as he leaned his back against the cold concrete wall, ready to accept his fate. The creature loomed closer, its glowing eye fixated on him, the enormous launcher ready to fire. Time seemed to slow as Obolensky realized there was no escape from this awful reality. This was it. The years of suffering, the endless nightmares, the treachery, and loss—maybe this is how it's supposed to end for him.

If I die now—what awaits me? The same thing I've gone through just now? A never-ending loop of nightmares? Am I trapped somewhere out in Raccoon? A hospital? An old gulag?

Am I being someone else's guinea pig?

Obolensky closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. He welcomed it.

The last thing he heard was the deafening sound of the rocket launcher, the explosion consuming him in a blinding flash of heat and fire…

…and then, he woke up again.

Obolensky's eyes shot open, gasping for air as he raised his head somewhere in the darkness. His memories were still intact. He could remember his name, past experiences, and everything that had happened up to this point. It was a miracle, yet only short-lived.

As he tried to move around, a jolt of pain shot through his muscles as he found himself restrained by his wrists and ankles, bound in handcuffs to a metal bed frame, though at least there was a mattress for him to be lying on. He was stripped of his weapons, cloak, and half of his uniform, only wearing his dirty white undershirt with his uniform pants still intact, though his boots were also missing. In the darkness, he could still make out some of the wounds and bruises he'd endured over the night, most notably the ones that Woods had caused him before he passed out. His mind was still spinning from the vivid nightmare he had just managed to escape, but as he lay there in restraints, there was one question that lingered in his mind now.

Who the hell has me locked up here?

The silence in the room was overbearing, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. He could feel parts of the cold restraints biting into his wrists as he tried wriggling around in vain. Someone had to have known the type of danger he'd posed if they went through the trouble of taking him to safety yet still held him in shackles as though he were being held prisoner. Somewhere, deep in the shadows, he swore he heard a faint voice whispering his name.

Konstantin…Konstantin…

As his muscles slowly tensed and ached, he waited silently, hoping the disembodied voice could reveal itself before falling asleep from exhaustion again.


The chase was over, and although he was still high on adrenaline, Adler stood frozen in shock and horror as he watched Sims stagger, gasping for air and struggling to stay on his feet. It was surreal—entirely gut-wrenching—as all he could do was stare at his friend, hunching over in agony, his face contorted in pain, his body wracked by whatever that vile spider-like creature had done to him. There was a rising panic growing within, and Adler's mind raced to think of something to help him, to ease his suffering somehow. This wasn't just your ordinary infection. If it was what he thought it was, then…

No! I won't let that happen!

Sims grunted, trying to force words through his clenched teeth.

"We…we gotta keep moving…get to the RPD," he managed to mutter out the words, slurred, yet somehow firm. His hand clutched on his stomach. "But…if it gets worse…and I happen to—"

"No," Adler cut him off, the sharpness in his voice masking the gnawing fear inside him. "That's not gonna happen. I won't let that slide. Not now. Not ever."

What am I supposed to do - go back and ask the others for help?

Damn it! We don't have enough time!

He walked around in circles, thinking hard with one hand rubbing over his messy hair, his panicked state unable to let him think clearly…

…until he remembered something.

He quickly rummaged around his utility belt until he found his small canteen. Inside was an herbal concoction he had almost forgotten since arriving at the city—his grandmother's old remedy she had passed down to him as a kid. Much of it is made out of herbs that, according to his grandmother, are native to the Arklay region, back when Raccoon City was a mere small village in the late nineteenth century. As urbanization grew in the sixties, the Arklay herbs were cultivated nationwide, and more people became aware of their powerful effects against infections and diseases. The brew had helped Adler through various injuries, illnesses, and even some diseases in some of the worst conditions he'd ever faced.

Not a cure, but should at least help in the meantime.

He quickly unscrewed the cap with shaky hands, thrusting the canteen into Sims' hand.

"Drink this," said Adler, his voice now softened. "Herbal mix my old gran passed down to me before this city ever existed. Might not be much, but should ease the pain until we can get you more help."

Sims glanced at the canteen, his expression strained but grateful. Without thinking twice, he took it and downed its contents in one gulp…

…and almost instantly, a sharp grimace twisted his features as his body convulsed again. The canteen slipped from his grip, clattering to the ground as Sims doubled over in an excruciating spasm. Adler, not knowing what else to do for him, could only watch in sheer horror as Sims clutched his chest and stomach, gasping as his skin became paler than before.

"L-Lawrence?" Adler stepped forward, his eyes wide in terror.

Sim's face became warped in pain, grunting, feeling desperate to end the pain somehow.

Did I make it even worse for him? Oh, shit…

A quick moment later, Sims lurched forward, collapsing to his hands and knees. His chest heaved violently before he began retching, a sickening, gurgling noise escaping his throat. Adler recoiled as a stream of bile spewed from Sims' mouth, splattering onto the ground in a mess of vomit and small, writhing shapes. Greenish parasites—tiny, wriggling creatures that had taken root inside him—hit the ground in the pool of bile, some still alive, squirming toward Adler with grotesque persistence.

Gross!

Repulsed at the sight, Adler did not hesitate. His boot came down hard, crushing several of the minute creatures quickly, their fragile bodies popping in green and yellow liquids beneath the weight. The sight of the disgusting critters beneath his feet made his own stomach churn, but he kept stomping, killing as many as he could before they got any closer to him or back again with Sims.

With the last parasite crushed to death, Adler looked back at Sims, who was still gasping for air, his body continuing to tremble, but the worst seemed to have passed. His violent coughs eventually subsided, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to sit back against the door of a wrecked cop car, his chest heaving as he wiped at his mouth.

"Jesus…that was…" Sims coughed again, spitting out the last remnants of the bile. "That was fuckin' disgusting." He looked up at Adler, still winded but thankful. "I owe you one, man."

Adler thought about picking up the canteen from the splattered bile but decided it was best to leave it on the ground in case there were any potential diseases to catch from it. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his rumpled hair again. His heart was still racing from everything that had just happened, but he managed a tight smile.

"You saved my ass just a few minutes ago," said Adler, offering Sims a hand to help him stand on his feet. "We'll call it even from here."

Sims chuckled weakly, apparently still feeling the pain inside his body, yet he grabbed his hand firmly and slowly stood up again. "Fair enough."

Bam! Bam!

Before either could finish processing everything, the distinct, sharp sound of two consecutive gunshots echoed through the air. Both men tensed, their heads snapping in the direction of the sound. If their ears didn't deceive them, it came directly from the RPD.

Civvies? Cops? Perseus?

Adler was sure it was a nine-millimeter weapon. It could've been anyone shooting at anything. His gaze quickly hardened, his instincts kicking in as he held his rifle firmly. He glanced at Sims.

"Rest here for a bit. I'll check things out," he suggested, his tone filled with intensifying determination.

When he took a few steps away from him, he heard Sims wince behind him, forcing himself to keep his balance without trying to lean on the car next to him.

"I'm fine," Sims reassured him, his voice poised with confidence. Adler turned to look at him again, his face still showing signs of pain, but his expression was unmatched by his will to continue their mission. "Not gonna lie to you - still aching like hell, but I can still move on my own." He held his rifle with both hands, ensuring it was still loaded, and nodded at Adler. "Let's go."

Sims slowly jogged closer to him, and without another word, Adler nodded internally, and the two of them rushed toward the main gate of the RPD, neither knowing what awaited them nor who had fired those shots.


The vehicle rattled violently as it rolled over debris-strewn streets, a twisted landscape of carnage and chaos outside the smudged windshield. Kravchenko gripped the wheel tighter, his gaze hard and cold as he scanned the city's ruins. Fires burned in the distance, casting their raging glow over the devastation around them, feeding from the wreckage they were born from. Corpses littered the roads—soldiers, police officers, firefighters, paramedics, civilians, even some of his own men, all piled beneath wandering creatures feasting on their rotting bodies, some burnt beyond recognition, faceless casualties in a dead city.

Kravchenko barely blinked at the sight. These people…were all insignificant. Weak. Fodder for something larger, something greater than themselves. They didn't matter. None of them did.

None were ever built for survival.

The RV swayed again, and he steadied it, barely registering the rumble beneath the tires as they rolled over what had once been someone's pathetic life—a reanimated UBCS trooper, a dead officer, it didn't matter. To him, they were as good as expendable grunts, destined to fall by their own incompetence. The chaos around him was mere confirmation of what he already believed in, that the world was filled with nugatory worms waiting to get crushed underfoot.

As the city's wreckage flared before him, Kravchenko's mind shifted back to Nikolai…

…and a sneer crept across his face.

That fool…

He could still hear Nikolai's disbelief. He could even taste the despair in his tone as he thanked him for the RV and coldly dismissed him, letting him know he was no longer part of the equation. The silence that had followed when Nikolai started to search for the missing supplies was delectable, a rare moment when Kravchenko had heard a flicker of vulnerability in Nikolai's arrogant voice. He'd trusted Kravchenko once, naively believing that their interests aligned, but Nikolai had been mistaken, and gravely so.

Nikolai Zinoviev was a parasite, like the rest of Umbrella's goons. Nothing more could satisfy him than a pile of cash thrown to his face, his vision confined to the narrow world of money and contracts. He always thought small, even back when they had initially crossed paths during their Spetsnaz days, always predictable, never escaping from his simple-minded beliefs—things like money buying power, that wealth would shield him from life's ruthless cruelties.

But I know better. Hunger for money is just another way of coping with your own weakness and insufferable insecurities.

True power wasn't bought with money—it was taken, earned through dominance, through absolute control over life and death. And in that, Nikolai had always been one step behind, grasping at the scraps while thinking of himself as king.

And his obsession with profit will be the death of him.

The image of the man came into his mind: the pitiful eyes of a businessman who thought of human life as a currency unit in exchange for meaningless pleasures, assets to be exploited, discarding those who he deemed unprofitable. But in this city, in this wasteland of death and destruction, none of his mercenary instincts mattered. All the money in the world couldn't save him from what was coming.

Kravchenko thought back to how easily Nikolai had trusted him—trusted anyone—when it came to making millions. The Umbrella grunt had assumed he could play both sides, thinking he could walk away with the goods unscathed, pockets lined with blood money. Irony had beat him when Kravchenko played him like a puppet, pulling the strings just enough to get what he truly wanted. Now, the strings were cut, and Nikolai was left dangling, just another doomed soul in the decaying city.

Kravchenko mused at this.

He could already picture Nikolai's fate in vivid detail: maybe it would be a horde of zombies tearing him apart, limb by limb, or one of the bioweapons turning on him, gutting him where he stood as he carelessly salivated for money over test data when getting in their way. Either way, Nikolai's end was inevitable.

And if he somehow survives…

The idea didn't faze him. He was more than capable of dealing with Nikolai personally if it came to that. A bullet to the head, a knife in the back—it wouldn't matter. The most satisfying part would be seeing into his eyes before snapping the life out of him one way or another.

Doubt I'd ever have to go through the trouble after all…

just like with that pitiful cop.

Kravchenko's smile widened, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the pathetic cop he had chased down earlier.

He had tracked the cop down after finding one of his fallen soldiers, who'd managed to record audio logs before dying, mentioning how a pair of cops had been close to investigating Umbrella's connections with Perseus. In his agent's pockets was a Polaroid image drenched in sweat and blood, revealing one of the cops' true identities.

They had known too much, seen too much, and Kravchenko had moved quickly to capture them when he'd found the man wandering across the streets near the RPD.

He'd almost had him, too, but fate, or perhaps sheer stupidity, intervened.

The cop had panicked, running blindly, scrambling like prey, only to trip into the arms of a mindless zombie he had failed to notice. Kravchenko hadn't had to pull the trigger. The bite alone had done all the work for him as he watched from the shadows impassively, signing his death warrant.

When the cop had attempted to get up and run away again, Kravchenko thought of chasing him again before realizing the man had dropped something during the struggle. Intrigued, he'd decided to grab it and return to the RV, using a decrepit laptop he'd found earlier to check its contents.

Upon looking at the files, he saw a lot of it to be quite enlightening. Most of it hadn't been your typical data or dirt on Umbrella, at least not the kind he'd been expecting. It was evidence against the hospital's leading researcher, one of Umbrella's key scientists. His experiments had apparently been rumored to be quite… unconventional, though even Umbrella wouldn't have cared in the slightest if it produced results.

But what intrigued him the most wasn't the standard police documentation or the trail of conspiracy theories but the work that Dr. Bard had done on one of his patients. Kravchenko knew it had to have been about Woods and his unique abilities, as it was stated to have been reported as something profound.

A pathway to immortality.

Woods had become a failed experiment on his own, evident of his enhancing infection, but if the good doctor had truly discovered a way to extend life beyond its natural limits and exploited it at its finest…

then I, and I alone, would be the one to take it.

He didn't care for the petty squabbles within Umbrella or the corporate warfare that had led to all of this. But immortality? The ability to live forever, to rise above the limits of human frailty? It was something worth pursuing. Something powerful. Something priceless.

And Kravchenko wanted it.

He glanced at the destruction outside the window, unmoved, his cold eyes flickering toward the crumpled map beside him on the dashboard, tracing the route to where Bard was supposed to be hiding. He didn't know if there was anyone left in the city to go after him, but that didn't matter. He would get there first; he would find Bard, and if the doctor had truly unlocked the secret to immortality, then Kravchenko would be the one to claim it.

He allowed himself a brief, cold smile as the RV rolled onward through the city of death, the final pieces of his plan beginning to fall into place. He would seize Bard, torture the information out of him if he had to, and then…no one would stand in his way.


"AAGH!"

The distant scream of someone in agony pierced the night air, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Adler and Sims as they paced faster toward the main gates, followed by a guttural growl, unmistakably the sound of an infected. Boots slammed against the pavement, rushing nearer, hoping they could help or at least catch a glimpse of what was happening around the RPD's front courtyard.

Ahead, through the building's streetlights, they saw a man in his blues running frantically across the courtyard, his movements erratic and desperate. Whether it was one of their contacts, Adler could not tell. Trent never specified or showed what they looked like, other than the fact that their names were David Ford and George Scott.

He could still help us locate them even if he's not one of them. Gotta catch him.

The cop clutched his midsection, blood oozing from a wound, leaving a faint trail behind him. For a split second, Adler caught sight of the cop's face. He looked pale, almost a clear purple through his dark skin, wide-eyed with terror, as though fleeing from death itself. His wound seemed to have been made by something having taken a chunk out of him—a deep tear formed through the fabric of his uniform soaked in a crimson-red texture.

Was it a zombie he shot? Or did he encounter something worse?

Adler didn't think twice and called out to him.

"Hey!"

Sims was quick to follow Adler's train of thought.

"You over there!"

"STOP!" Adler raised his voice in a shout, more authoritative this time.

"HOLD IT! NOW!" Sims echoed.

But the cop showed no sign of slowing. If anything, it caused him to sprint faster, away from them and further inside the building, as panic seemed to consume him. As they saw him slowly disappear inside the main hall, Adler noticed its large steel doors were barely hanging from their hinges, blown apart as if something had smashed or blown through with sheer force.

"Damn it!"

An ancient-looking M870 was wedged tightly between the wrought iron hoops of the courtyard's main gates. It looked somewhat battered, the wood scuffed, but still in good shape. Adler reached out, trying to yank it free in a frantic attempt to get through…

…but it refused to budge.

Adler cursed again under his lips, attempting to kick down the gates with all his force, yet it held firm and tight. Whoever had wedged the weapon in between had made sure to keep it wrapped around the frame tightly. He tried again, but the thing remained firmly lodged, unmoving.

"We're wasting time!" Adler hissed, frustrated as he glanced up, the cop now gone through the shadowy depths of the destroyed RPD lobby.

"Adler!" Sims' voice echoed from the other side of a broken barricade. "Found a way in—side gate's open!"

Adler rushed through the side gate, boots crunching against the broken barricade's wooden and metallic materials, skipping over dead and broken bodies of various cops and civilians alike. By the time he entered through the side gate, he saw Sims crouched near a low wall, gripping his weapon tightly, eyes fixed ahead.

"What's the hold-up?" Adler asked.

Sims didn't answer right away. His expression was tense, eyes locked further ahead through the courtyard.

Adler followed his gaze, and his eyes narrowed across a small field of corpses as he saw it: a lone zombie growling as it shambled closer to the RPD's facade beneath a flickering streetlamp. The white light illuminated its outlandish form as it turned towards them, snarling with a heavy guttural cry of hunger, its lips smeared with the fresh blood of its prey, most likely as a result of its recent attack on the cop they'd seen running for his life. Its messy, spiky hair was disheveled, almost greasy-looking, and it was wearing a torn, bloodied yellow uniform, an insignia barely visible from a distance on its sleeve, but couldn't tell what it was precisely. The zombie's right kneecap had been shot through multiple times, the wounds still oozing. Adler guessed the cop had tried to stop it in its tracks, perhaps recognizing it as someone he once knew but was too hesitant to deliver the final shot.

But the most disturbing part was the gaping hole through the monster's mouth. Flesh, bone, and muscle seemed missing altogether, and the back of its skull seemed partially blown out by something he would rather not try to think about too much. Whatever had caused it, the zombie kept moving, defying what should've been a permanent death for the former man it once was.

Adler took it all in with a grim frown. Even after staying in a city for what seemed to be a lifetime now, where the dead come back alive, nothing could ever get him used to the overwhelming sight of death itself. The creature's vacant, hungry eyes locked onto Adler and Sims, and it growled another deep, guttural sound that sent a cold chill through his veins…

…then, without warning, the zombie lunged forward with an unsettling, unnatural speed, faster than any of the other shambling corpses they'd encountered thus far. Its powerful agility caught them both off guard, its decaying hands outstretched, reaching for them with a feral intensity.

The hell?!

"Fucker's fast—Watch out!" Sims warned him.

Adler didn't wait for him to repeat himself when he moved in sync with his partner. Both men began firing their rifles at the snarling creature, rounds violently tearing through its chest and limbs, sending chunks of rotting flesh flying in all directions. The undead beast stumbled yet kept moving, snarling with every step as it closed the distance between them.

When it was just a few feet away from them, their shots became more accurate, making sure to do more damage toward its head…

…and the zombie finally collapsed, spraying dark blood over its wounds as it slumped against a small iron fence, spasming before finally becoming still, motionless.

After a moment of making sure it wasn't moving, Sims exhaled deeply, grabbing at his chest from the pain he must've still been feeling from the parasitic critters from earlier, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Jesus…our entire mags drained just to put it down. Why was this one any different from the others?"

Adler ignored the comment, his mind already shifting gears. His eyes narrowed as he approached the slumped body, nudging it with his boot to make sure it was really dead. The creature did not move.

Crouching down, he began searching through its bloodied uniform, methodically patting down its pockets, trying not to think how appalling it was to be rifling through an infected's dead body.

Quit your yapping. You've done this before. Why stop now?

Except he'd only done it when the person wasn't an undead, infected with a zombifying virus before their death, his mind half-expecting it to come back alive somehow and bite him on the arm, hand, or shoulder.

After managing to shut off the thoughts altogether, his fingers suddenly brushed against a small, hard object through one of the packs strapped to the corpse's waist. He pulled out its contents, a few spare nine-millimeter rounds, and something more.

A wallet.

Adler opened it, flipping through the old, stained leather.

STARS?

Inside, a STARS ID card caught his attention, the photo of the same man, alive and well, wearing the same uniform that now hung in tatters on the man's corpse. He glanced at the uniform's sleeve for the insignia, confirming that the man had actually been part of the STARS team. He slid out the ID card and read it more clearly, holding up the card to the faint light shining over them.

POLICE

Raccoon Police Dep

S.T.A.R.S.

Special Tactics And Rescue Service

Name: Brad Vickers

Signature: Brad Vickers

Position: Alpha Team, Rear Security

Chief of Police: Brian Irons

"Brad Vickers," Adler muttered, the name somehow familiar. His mind raced, trying to connect the dots.

"That thing killed our pilot, Brad Vickers, right in front of us, and… and it's coming for us next."

It must've been the same man that Jill had mentioned before. Adler stood up and looked back down at the corpse again, feeling more sympathy for the man that Jill and Woods may have personally known before this whole nightmare began. At least he was now put to rest for good, although Adler did wonder how he managed to come back as a zombie and if that massive, tall creature was capable of killing and infecting its victims with whatever virus it had to turn them all into zombies.

There was a shiver down his spine as he thought about it, the implications horrifying, before Sims quickly snatched him back into reality again.

"You alright, brother?" he asked quietly, feeling concerned for him.

Adler hesitated again, his mind still lingering on Brad's fate. He considered lying, brushing it off, but something in Sims' tone made him pause.

"Yeah," said Adler after a beat, nodding slightly. "That zombie…he was the same guy, Jill mentioned back at the warehouse near the parking garage. The one their giant stalker killed—Brad Vickers…"

Sims' expression darkened, noticing their situation wouldn't get better either.

"So that thing…did it really…?" Sims' voice trailed off as if he didn't want to finish the thought, and Adler knew what he was thinking next.

If the "tyrant" thing could infect its victims before killing them, that would complicate things more than they already were. It could've been partly responsible for what happened in the city, and the idea of such a creature creating more monsters like it did with Brad… didn't sit well with either of them.

Could also explain Woods' condition if the tyrant creature from that mansion had also done the same thing to him, though at a varying different level somehow…

Sims cleared his throat, shifting slightly as if to shake off their dread.

"So…do we keep looking for our contacts, or do we go back, make sure Jill and Woods made it to the cable car safely? Sims asked, his voice laced with even more concern than before, especially after knowing Brad's fate.

"If Trent was telling us the truth," Adler quickly responded sharply, "we can't risk letting any of the data they've got fall into Perseus' hands. Or anyone else's, for that matter."

Sims nodded curtly. "Right. Guess we should keep moving. Maybe that other cop can help us out—give us something about the officers we're looking for."

Adler knelt down one last time, deciding it would be best to keep Brad's STARS ID in case it could help them access anything locked inside the station. He snatched it and put it inside one of his packs before catching up with Sims, who was already across the other side of the courtyard. Once arriving at the RPD's destroyed main entrance, Adler's mind raced with pessimistic possibilities.

That thing's still out there. It won't stop until everyone from STARS is dead. How long before…

He couldn't shake the feeling as much as he wanted to, still being able to hear that terrible, murderous scream inside his head like a horror record on repeat.

He tried to focus more on the main lobby's grandiose of the police department. As they stepped through the battered doors into the RPD's main hall, the scene before them was both majestic and horrifying.

The station spoke details from what had once been a grand building, its odd and unique architecture somehow similar to an old government facility in what used to be West Berlin, perhaps, or a courthouse in Saigon—places that soon also fell into chaos when their missions had gone awry…

…but this—despite its similarities, it all felt different.

The bases of the towering marble columns were smeared with streaks of dried blood. The elegant arches over the entrance were chipped, burnt, and broken, and the grand staircases leading to the upper floors seemed subtly cracked, not of age, but by something else entirely. Debris were scattered across each step they took. The RPD's iconic seal had been partially blown apart, with jagged pieces of burnt tile lying around it as though a small-yield explosion had detonated at its base, leaving a small but compact crater. His eyes traced the damage—a brief firefight maybe, or something worse.

Hospital equipment lay abandoned all over the enlarged space, empty, blood-smeared gurneys, broken IV stands, and blood-soaked bandages, creating a surreal contrast between the sterile medical world and the bizarre violence that had unfolded here. Bloody footprints trailed aimlessly in all directions, some smeared, others erratically splattered as if people had been either dragged or chased by creatures of the damned. Faint bloodstains were over the walls to their left, suspiciously more fresh-looking than all other bloodstains inside.

Could be the cop's we just saw?

Adler swallowed slightly, his gaze carefully moving across the remnants of desperation that had overtaken this place. In his mind, he tried to picture the initial moments of the outbreak—officers scrambling, injured citizens being dragged in for treatment, all while the infection spread like wildfire. Whatever order had existed here had broken down completely, turning the entire RPD building into another slaughterhouse for the dead city to house.

His eyes locked onto the third floor above, spotting a small area with missing railings, hinting at someone—or something—breaking through and either falling to their death or something powerful had smashed through it. As Adler stood there, taking in the astounding scene, memories of Saigon and Berlin flooded back in his mind: war-torn buildings shattered in ruins, caused by violent forces of chaos and disorder. It was all coming full circle again for him—everything caused by man-made destruction.

"Adler!"

Adler blinked, breaking his thoughts as Sims pointed toward a computer terminal that sat at the far corner of the receptionist's desk. It was still on, showing an unusual green glow through the grand hall's faint lights. The two approached it cautiously, stepping over fallen debris and dried puddles of blood, forgetting about the cop from earlier.

Sims leaned in closer, his trained eyes darting over the computer's keys as he began doing what he usually did better than Adler.

"Let's see if we can pull up any security feeds…Aha!"

"That was fast," Adler acknowledged, tugging a soft smile.

"Isn't that why you brought me along?" Sims smirked. "So…what are we looking for here?"

"Check for any survivors," Adler suggested. "We see anyone left alive, there's a chance they could be one of our guys."

Sims pressed the keys to switch around the camera sets, each displaying four grainy feeds around the station. Some showed empty hallways, flickering lights, and overturned desks and furniture. Others showed far worse—bodies strewn across the floors, bullet holes riddling the walls, and signs of struggle and chaos in every corner.

Adler felt his heart pounding louder as they scanned each camera, each feed showing the remains of a massive massacre, each time proving that Jill may have been right all along…

…then, on one particular feed, something moved.

"Stop!" Adler shouted abruptly with a hand in the air, and Sims also saw movement on the same display.

They narrowed their eyes, focusing on the erratic motion. At first, it was difficult to make out—something on all fours, scaling the walls with unnatural agility, the dark shadows hiding its true form. It moved too fast for Adler's brain to register what type of creature would move so haphazardly like that. The strange animal soon leaped onto the ceiling, clinging like some twisted predator, waiting for its prey, its hidden shade a dark, sallow slime over its anomalous bony structure. A long, monstrous tongue shot out, whipping violently through the air. Adler could hear the gunfire in his mind, the flashes of light from some unseen shooter trying to fend it off desperately.

Just as the creature made its move, launching toward the camera with terrifying speed, the feed cut out abruptly. Static filled the camera's display.

Adler's heart began to beat louder, pumping blood close to his ears. He turned to Sims, the last flickering images of the creature still burning in his mind.

"Where did that happen?" he said, his voice tense yet calm.

Sims leaned closer to the screen and studied it for a moment, his fingers already tapping on the keyboard.

"First floor—west side of the station," he muttered quickly, glancing over at Adler as he keyed in a command. The faint sound of machinery echoed from the west side of the main lobby, followed by the creak of gears grinding against metal. "I just opened the shutter leading to the reception area. We can get through now."

Adler took off toward the reception area without a second thought. He couldn't shake the feeling that one of the survivors on the feed could be their key to finding their contacts as soon as possible, prompting him to push forward through the wooden door without waiting for Sims even as he heard the echoing call from behind.

"Adler, wait!" Sims' raised his voice, barely registering in Adler's mind. There was simply no time to waste.

The reception area was mostly empty and surprisingly clean. However, Adler didn't focus much on the state of the environment, at least not as much as he scanned for any movement, his boots pounding against the polished tiles as he hurried to the other side of the room. Around the corner, he saw what he could only assume to be the door leading to the western side of the station, barreling through and shoving the door open, unwilling to think about what he might find further inside.

Eugh! Oh Jesus Christ… What the fuck…

Blood. Dark and crimson. And there was lots of it.

The air was so thick with its overpowering metallic smell it made him choke and cough from the horrible stench it had left behind, even managing to sting his eyes. There was no active light inside other than its barricaded and shattered windows, shedding what little moonlight there was beside the streetlamps outside, the rays of weak light shining over the blood-soaked walls and floor, smeared as though people had been dragged around violently while injured, like poor tormented souls.

As soon as he managed to hold onto his composure, Adler stopped dead in his tracks, his boots sticking slightly to the ground where congealed blood had pooled like a dark, oily sheen. He caught a glimpse of two cops struggling to deal with something unseen around the corner of the blood-bathed corridor.

Shit. Can't let them die!

"Hey!" he called out, his voice choked by the continuous stench of copper, rot, and death as he ran forward, but it was too late.

The carnage was already in progress as the first cop was slammed against the wall by what looked like an outstretched, razor-sharp tongue, shredding part of his face with a deep laceration, causing him to choke on his own blood before sliding to the ground, dead.

NO!

Adler's breath caught in his throat, the word unable to leave him as he continued to dash forward, their location almost seemingly far away, but once again, he couldn't do anything to help the other cop.

The second guy kept fighting for his life, firing his gun desperately into the darkness of the hallway's corner, each shot a frantic attempt to stop the unseen threat, the muzzle flashes revealing his expression of complete horror. In an instant, Adler caught another brief glimpse of the creature's strange tongue, slithering through the air before it wrapped around the officer's body with alarming speed, yanking him forward with brutal strength.

The cop's screams filled the narrow space, the sound twisting into something unrecognizable before the sharp, horrifying sound of impalement abruptly silenced it. A slick, wet crunching echoed through the corridor from the other side.

"Goddammit…" he cursed under his breath, his hands tightening around his weapon as he hugged the wall next to him, barely being able to hear Sims' hushed whispers from where he had come from.

"Dammit, Russell!"

But Adler didn't wait again. He couldn't let whatever creature it was get away—couldn't let it keep hunting and eventually kill their contacts if they weren't dead yet.

His training quickly took over, his instincts driving him to deal with the unknown threat.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around the corner swiftly, expecting the nightmarish creature to be there, waiting for him…

…but the thing was gone, vanished, having somehow slipped away back into the shadows from whatever hellish realm it had come from. All that was left was the gruesome aftermath of its brutal attack.

For a good minute, his eyes darted around, his weapon aimed at the darkness ahead with barely any visible light coming through the windows, but there was nothing else that could potentially be a threat to them.

Adler's eyes fell on the second cop's hanging body in front of him, recoiling slightly, his stomach churning at the sight. His face had been struck through a broken pipe in the ceiling, barely being able to tell his frozen expression had been filled with horror. Blood was pooling beneath him, his uniform slowly soaking in red as it drooled over. His chest had been torn open, revealing glistening flesh and muscle, and Adler could no longer force himself to look at the poor cop any further, turning around from the disturbing sight…

…but then his eyes curiously laid on the first cop he'd seen. Sims had crouched beside him, inspecting the cop's wounds. The lifeless body was crumpled against the wall where he had fallen, a deep laceration across his left cheek so severe that the muscle and cheekbone hung loosely altogether, still oozing blood.

"Ugh…Oh God, what the fuck, man…" Sims commented at the disturbing sight as he gently moved the cop's head to examine him more closely, the glistening gash bleeding further as it kept tearing apart the more Sims tried to move him. "Shit, this…this is way worse than anything we've ever seen—anything I've ever seen…"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Adler responded, each second disgusting him the more he kept staring at the dead cop and their surroundings. "Compared to this, 'Nam seemed like a cakewalk, huh."

"You don't say," said Sims, quivering as he looked away from the cop's deep gash. "Rather deal with sleepless nights at a jungle filled with mosquitoes and a militia of commies any day over—hey, what's that he's holding?"

Adler stepped closer to him, watching as Sims cautiously reached out over something wrapped around the cop's stiffening fingers. Above the arm, there was also a small chunk of flesh missing, a dark, almost black substance oozing out of it, the wound apparently the size of a human bite - a zombie bite.

Poor bastard was a goner either way…

A crumpled piece of paper, stained with blood and sweat, slipped free from the dead cop's grip.

Unfolding it cautiously, Sims straightened the fragile note, and he and Adler began to read the scrawled words written in a shaky hand.

If you're reading this, then I'm most likely dead.

I can feel it—the infection creeping through me. It's only a matter of time now, but I need to get this down before I lose myself. Someone out there needs to know what we've found.

Ford and I… we've been looking into Umbrella ever since the STARS disbanded. More than we should have. What we uncovered—it goes deep, deeper than anything we could've imagined. Not just the bioweapons or the monsters in the streets. It's much worse…

They've been watching us. They know everything. It was never a conspiracy…

An old man approached us. Called himself John Trent. Said powerful people are watching our every move. He knew what we were doing, what we had on Umbrella. He didn't seem threatening - in fact, he seemed to be here to help us, or so we thought.

He warned us—said if we kept digging, they'd come after our families, paranoia stuff like that, but considering what we were dealing with, we didn't think much after that.

We weren't given much choice. The old man said we had to gather everything we had on Umbrella—every shred of evidence—and get it delivered to two of his private agents, Cryan and Malone. Apparently, we had to take the word of a man who looked like some old conspiracy theorist and that they were the only ones who could help us now, the only ones who could make sure to get the truth out to the right hands—that they'd also get us out of Raccoon before it all went to hell.

Ford and I talked about it for a while, and we both agreed to it, unwilling to gamble on the lives of our families.

Sims turned it over, finding more writing scrawled hastily on the back. The letters in the words became more inconsistent, almost unreadable.

He was responsible for collecting everything: the files, the documents, all photo scanned and digitized into a USB stick… He entrusted me to keep it safe.

But the city was falling apart. People were panicking. I thought the agents would come. I really did.

Then, the siege happened.

Umbrella's monsters came through the windows, broken doors - even the vents.

Ford…

Ford sacrificed himself to save the rest of us. I watched him die, and I did nothing. I just ran like a coward. I couldn't even stop to help him from the monsters tearing him apart… I've lived with that guilt every second since.

It's been—hours? Days? I can't even tell time anymore, but those agents… Cryan and Malone… they never came. Everybody's dead. I've lost all hope. Thought I'd be better off leaving this place myself, but as soon as I stepped outside, it all went to hell again.

A man, cloaked and relentless, came after me. He knew my name. How the hell did he know my name? He chased me through the streets. I tripped, fell—landed right in the arms of one of those things. That's when it bit me—right on the arm. I should've been killed then and there, but I got away. Barely.

The USB…

I lost it somewhere in the chaos. I don't know if the cloaked guy could've been one of Trent's guys, but he probably has it by now. God knows what he'll do with it. Everything we had on Umbrella… all gone.

Forgive me, Ford… I failed you once, and I failed you again…

Whoever finds this…you've got to understand. This data… could be our only chance. Our last hope, or maybe… our doom. I don't know anymore.

All I ask in return is forgiveness…

The words trailed off, the final words growing faint and smudged with blood.

They both stood there, the bloodied note crumpled in Sims' hand, before Adler turned around in a blind rage, his mind slowly becoming a red fog of anger.

"Goddamn this whole place!" Adler muttered loudly. "Scott…that cop was our only lead - before…!" He then pieced it together, cursing under his breath as he did so. "That cloaked bastard—he could've been anyone from Perseus, maybe Bell or Kravchenko himself. They all wear those damn cloaks to keep their sorry asses hidden."

Sims shook his head, wiping the sweat away from his brow, still staring at the note. "Maybe Umbrella already knew of our presence, and by sending us late to the party, they thought we'd be dying along with the rest of them."

Adler nodded sharply, trying his best to calm himself down as he looked at Sims in the eye. "With Perseus involved, it's almost like they'd also expected all of us to kill one another; two birds struck with one stone. Fucken bastards…"

Sims was silent for a moment, clearly thinking.

"But that doesn't explain how the hell does Trent know so much about Umbrella and Perseus."

His voice dropped to a whisper suddenly, almost like he was afraid the blood-drenched walls were listening.

"You think he used to be one of them?"

Adler shook his head, dismissing the idea. "Doesn't matter what he is. He could be the devil's son for all I care. Hudson himself doesn't trust him half the time, but from what he's told me, most of the information Trent sent to him had saved him, Woods, and Mason on multiple occasions in the past. That's good enough for me."

Sims sighed, pocketing the note.

"What's next, boss?"

Adler's jaw tightened, cutting eye contact with him altogether. "The map said the STARS office is on the second floor above us. If Woods and Valentine had potentially overlooked anything like the cops here, we could salvage any information we can before we go."

Sims nodded, the two of them exchanging grim looks.

"What about that other cop we first saw back there?"

"None of our concern now," said Adler grimly. "We came here to look for two cops that are now dead. If he's been bitten, there's nothing we can do to help him now. C'mon—let's hurry so we can catch up to the others as soon as possible."

Without another word, Adler turned on his heel, making his way through the bloodied hall, his thoughts swirling with glooming possibilities.

What the hell was on that USB anyway? Chemical research? Experimental drugs? More data on bioweapons?

Damn that cop and his carelessness…

"Grraaaa!"

A violent, inhuman shriek caused Adler and Sims to pause mid-step, their ears picking up a faint but guttural growl echoing through the dark hallway.

Adler shot a glance at Sims, who had frozen in place, his expression shifting to one of unease. The sound was distant but unmistakable—a primal, monstrous voice cutting through the stillness of the station. Neither of them had the courage to question each other whether or not they heard the same noise, the strange growl that sounded nowhere near the STARS stalker they had heard before.

The hell was

Moments later, a loud smashing thud reverberated from somewhere further ahead. The sound was deep and visceral, as though something had just been hurled against a wall with immense force. Adler's breath had practically gone away, dread overcoming his senses

and another sound followed—a sickening, wet squish. The noise was faint and distant, yet relatively close by. Adler was quickly able to tell it was the sound of flesh being torn apart, bones crushing, and something far more gruesome happening beyond their line of sight. The horrific noises lingered in the air, almost as if the blood-stained walls were telling the story of what happened inside the dark hallways.

Adler's pulse quickened, and he pressed a hand against another wall, hugging a dark corner of the corridor itself mid-way through, the hallway still stretching further ahead that led to a right path at the end of it. If he could've guessed, it sounded like the unknown long-tongued creature had encountered the growling being but had been beaten to death by it. Whatever it was killed by, it definitely wasn't anything remotely human, either.

Nothing here could even be considered a part of nature itself

Sims' voice was low, barely audible over the growing tension as he stood beside Adler. "What in the hell…was that about?"

Adler shook his head, his face pale.

"I don't know…but I think we should…"

Sims grabbed Adler fiercely by the shoulder to the dark corner closest to them, pulling him next to him as he covered his mouth frantically, silently telling him not to make a single sound, his eyes showing immense trepidation. In that instant, Adler knew he must've seen the growing shadow of the monster coming closer around the corner, its footsteps heavy, too heavy to be human, but lacking the sluggish, erratic shuffle of the zombies they've encountered by far. Whatever was coming toward them was large, powerful—and steady enough to be a serious threat.

Adler pressed his back against the cold stone wall, unable to feel anything but a chill running across his entire body, his mind racing for any possibility, good or bad. Was this creature just another by-product of the dead city? Was it sent here to kill survivors? To kill police officers? To kill them?

Have to see for myself…what it really is…

He dared a glance around the corner, his heart pounding in his chest as he peered into the dark corridor.

The first thing he saw was the shadow. The dim streetlight outside cast it long and menacing across the floor. The shape was all wrong—too large, too distorted. The shoulders were broad, unnaturally so, as though something had forced them apart. One arm was massive, overgrown, hanging down low, the muscles bulging and twitching with bizarre strength. The other arm seemed smaller in comparison but still looked grotesquely abnormal. Its overall form was hunched, almost humanoid, but twisted, its back bulging as if something nasty was just beneath the surface. The head—its silhouette was human, yet not. Something began to shift unnaturally near its melted skull.

Adler could only catch the vaguest outline, but it was enough to chill him to the bone. It was moving slowly, deliberately. The power in each footfall echoed through the hallway as though it was searching for its prey, searching for somebody in particular…

…and then it spoke in a guttural strain, almost pleading, yet monstrous at the same time.

"Sherrrrrryyyyy…!"

The name echoed off the walls, making Adler's hairs on the back of his neck tingle with dread. The voice was horrifying, yet tragic in a sense as if something deep inside the creature was clinging to whatever humanity it had left, trying to break free.

Who's Sherry? An officer? A Perseus spy? Someone that isn't Umbrella's favorite?

Maybe someone they might've known before?

The creature turned slightly, its massive form blocking more of the light. For a moment, Adler feared it might spot him, and he immediately retracted his head back into the shadows…

…but instead, the thing seemed to retrace its steps, lumbering slowly back the way it had come, the echoing footfalls slowly fading away.

The duo remained frozen in place, and Adler felt his heart wanted to break free off his chest. He looked over at Sims, whose wide eyes mirrored his own shock and disbelief. They didn't move a muscle until the heavy footsteps finally faded to a mere silence.

"Did you hear what it just said before?" Sims whispered, his voice barely audible.

Adler continued to stare further into the hallway, unsure whether they should continue in the direction where the monster had headed, his mind still reeling from what he had just seen. He couldn't produce a single explanation. The shadowy figure seemed more terrifying, more alive, and more aware than anything they'd faced so far. It wasn't like the mindless undead or even the STARS killer with a single thought to kill a specific group, but this one seemed to have more…human awareness, a fragment of its former humanity stuck in a form so monstrous, Adler couldn't dare himself to face it if he could help it.

Finally, he managed to speak, though his voice was low and strained.

"I don't know what I heard, but…" Adler was having trouble fully grasping what kind of creature it really was and whether or not this "Sherry" wouldn't become a problem for them later on. "Whatever it is…at least it ain't here for us."

Sims nodded, swallowing hard.

The two of them remained in the shadows for another moment longer; the memory of the creature burned into their minds. Finally, they shared a glance, silently agreeing to move on, walking cautiously as Adler tried to focus his mind on their destination rather than the monster that had just passed by them, hoping it remained unaware of their presence inside the police station.


Nikolai walked along the cold steel tracks, the silver light of the moon reflecting off the rails beneath his feet, unbothered from exposing himself as he plodded east. His boots made a faint metallic clink with each step, but he barely noticed, his mind still clouded with fury. He was in a position where he could see anything coming and kill it long before it reached him. His mood was foul, his hands itching to wrap around something, anything, to squeeze the life out of it, human or otherwise. Kravchenko's betrayal burned in his chest, the thought of it gnawing at his pride. The man had mocked him, used him, and discarded him like he was nothing. Nikolai clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he felt the rage rise again…

…but he forced himself to breathe, slowing his pace. His anger had abated slightly—just enough for him to think clearly. Kravchenko was a fool, that much was certain, but Nikolai's plans hadn't changed. His goals were still the same, and he would continue to hunt down the rest of the remaining Watchdogs. Four people were unwittingly waiting for him.

After the doctor, there were the soldiers - Chan and the Sergeant from Platoon Bravo - and the factory worker.

When they were all disposed of, Nikolai still had to collect their data, arrange a report to Umbrella, and 'copter out somehow.

There was plenty to do, yet he couldn't help feeling cheated by the circumstances.

As he mulled over the details in his head, Nikolai came to an abrupt halt. He cocked his head to one side. He heard a crash, sharp and distant, an impact somewhere far to the northeast, perhaps even a small explosion muffled by distance. A second later, he felt the faintest rumble beneath his feet, the tracks' metal vibrating under his boots, a subtle tremor that brought a smile to his face. He had nearly forgotten about Perseus' tampering with the cable car as he'd already wished he could've stolen it first, but after the initial thought, it made him high on ecstasy.

Has to be them… Mikhail, Oliveira, Miss Valentine, and Woods. Something must've gone wrong with the cable car's engine; perhaps the brakes malfunctioning, or…

Or he didn't know what, but he was suddenly sure that either they had encountered trouble or had already met their demise. His smile widened as he imagined the carnage it might've caused. The thought of them meeting their downfall made him feel lighter, energized with delight. Even if they'd survived, none would get far.

Perhaps we will meet again. Anything's possible in a place like this.

The resounding crash reinforced the positive feeling that he was the one with skill; everyone else was forced to rely on luck, and not all luck was good.

As if summoned by his thoughts, an infected appeared ahead of him, shambling slowly toward him from across the sidewalk between an office building and a fenced lot, a gurgling moan followed by another on the far right.

Three infected shuffled their way out in the open, ten meters or so from where he stood, drawn toward him like moths to a flame. They were too far away to make out their true details under the waxy moonlight, but Nikolai could see that none of them were in good shape; two had missing arms, while the third had half its right shoulder missing, their legs somehow been cut down by the lower thighs, so that it seemed to be walking on its knees, each stumping forward, creating a noise like someone smacking their lips.

"Uhllg…" the closest wailed, and Nikolai shot it through its rotting brain. Two more shots and the other two joined the first, the crack of the gun echoing in the night, and one by one, the creatures fell, crumpling to the asphalt like discarded rags in wet thuds.

He felt a surge of satisfaction as the last of them dropped, the rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. Each shot, each kill, had wiped away a little more of the foul mood that had lingered over him since Kravchenko's betrayal. With each dead zombie, Nikolai felt himself come back into focus, the awareness filling him with a new energy.

Valentine, Woods, Oliveira, Mikhail—they were already dead in his mind. All that remained was Kravchenko, Bell, and the rest of their pathetic band of men—whatever was left of them anyway—and Nikolai would make sure they fell, too.

Nikolai broke into a trot, his steps quicker as he continued along the tracks in the middle of the main street. The future was his to seize, and he intended to take it—overcome whatever challenge came next.


Author's Note: Lots going on here so I will try to summarize what happened here.

In case you weren't aware (or don't know if you never played the Resident Evil games), one of those drain-deimos/brain suckers did you-know-what to Sims, similar to what Jill went through in RE3 Remake just before entering their nest at the power substation. Thankfully, Adler had one of them, "mixed herbs," to help him out, though it is a bit different than how the RE games describe the herbs to be used as. Later, they encounter Marvin, he gets away, and they put down zombie Brad (whose body will later be discovered by David and Claire). Remember, this part of the story is still taking place a day before the previous story's events, which is also why the mutated William Birkin is still wandering around the station, looking for Sherry. Don't blame me for the confusion, though. Capcom pulled the exact same thing with RE3's story, so it is what it is.

So, they find out their contacts are dead, and Kravchenko now possesses whatever info they had, which has led him to believe that Dr. Bard has managed to do more than just some simple experiments with Woods. As for Bell, well, he is still trying to cope with his broken mind, even in his own nightmares, brought upon by his brainwashing side effects and the unfolding events within Raccoon City. More of his side of the story will be explored in the future.

I've already mentioned a couple of references for you already, so I'll leave the rest for you to find. ;)

Next chapter will mainly focus on our other group of protagonists. We'll get to see whether or not they have arrived at their destination...

And one final thing...

OG RE3 is finally releasing tomorrow on GOG as of this chapter upload date! Now, the entire classic trilogy will be available to play on modern PCs by then! At least under some official capacity, that is, hahaha.


Review Responses:

am6231291 - I wish I had the time and money to go on vacation across the world, but I obviously don't. :P And I don't think we should even talk about Concord. The game died so early on in a matter of weeks or even days. It's sad, too, since it was in development for seven years apparently, and somehow, it failed miserably.


See you all once again in the next chapter!

P.S. Friendly reminder: Never shy away from reviews! They're always a big help, positive or otherwise!