Resident Evil Black Ops III: Last Escape

by EpsilonChurchRVB

Very few had survived the destruction of Raccoon City. The Raccoon Trials would go on to last for years through intense unrest. Jill Valentine and Frank Woods were among the few survivors to be alive throughout the last days of the doomed city, all while being targeted by a relentless, powerful monster to silence them all. This is the story of their fates - of their last escape…

3. Chapter 3: Last Stand

Author's Note: Back with another chapter, and a pretty long one as well! It's a bit more action-packed, so expect some awesome twists and turns!

Recommended BGM:

1. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) & (Remake) - The City of Ruin

2. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) - Cold Hearted Soldier

3. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) - (SPOILER) Watch for BOLD TEXT below

Bonus Track: Red vs. Blue Season 12 Soundtrack - Soul Clef XI (Bold where most appropriate...)

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Chapter 3

They finally reached their destination ten before twenty hundred hours, and every soldier inside the transport began to line up to the dropout with their respective squads. The landing area was apparently a deserted lot near an underground facility owned by Umbrella; at least, that's what they'd been told at the briefing anyway.

Carlos slung his assault rifle over his shoulder, a Colt M4A1 Carbine, before hooking himself to the drop line and waiting for Hirami to open the door. Just before him was Murphy Seeker, one of the friendlier guys in his squad. The guy didn't tell him much about his past other than having been convicted of killing a group of gang members responsible for his siblings' deaths shortly after completing his tour of duty during the Gulf War. Umbrella had them recruited simultaneously, and they've become close friends ever since. Murphy glanced back at him and smirked before clicking his tongue slightly and making a mock gun with his hand, pointing at his chest. Carlos grinned and clasped his chest as if shot. It was pretty stupid childish stuff, but it was something he found rather amusing, which caused his nerves to calm down a bit after having exhausted himself into thinking about what exactly they would be dealing with.

Their squad leader finally opened the door. Two by two, the men in front slid down the rappelling lines, anchored to the chopper's body. As soon as Carlos could step closer to the opening, he squinted against the whipping wind of the helicopter, looking down to see where exactly he would be landing. The aircraft cast a long but dim shadow of itself over the ground, the sunlight barely visible in the late evening sky, and he could see men from other platoons on the ground, some of which were still landing from the other transports. When his turn came up next, he stepped out just a second after Murphy and began practically freefalling, feeling the thrill of dropping off in the air with his guts pushed toward his chest. The sky became a quick blur for a few seconds before his feet finally touched the ground, and then he unhooked himself from the line and hurried to line up with his squad right in front of Hirami.

Minutes passed, and after the last of the men had landed on the ground with them, all the choppers swung and buzzed away, leaving them deaf for at least a full minute after their fading noise started to dwindle away. Once the dust settled and the helicopters grew enough distance to become as small as the size of flies, silence struck Carlos straight away. The busy noises of a decent-sized city were nowhere to be found, not even a passing car nearby. Most of the lights around them were all but turned on, and they were lucky enough that the lot they were in had a few of them brightly shining their white shades some distance away, but enough to leave them with something to see as soon as the night began to settle in with them slowly.

Where is everyone in the city, then?

The loud commands of Mikhail Viktor, Delta Platoon's supervisor, rang the air around them, followed by the other supervisors of the other platoons, causing Carlos to become highly alert, putting his wandering thoughts aside for a moment. Hirami, Cryan, and the eerie Russian stood silent, listening to their supervisors with dead countenances on their faces. Once directions were ordered to the squad leaders, movement began to erupt between some of the men, their footsteps as normal as they could be but very unusually loud over a city that was supposed to be crawling with people and cars around them. Raccoon City isn't a huge city, but it definitely isn't the smallest, either. The lack of background city noises only made Carlos feel high on edge, almost like they had just entered a modern ghost town.

Maybe everyone's sick, stuck in their homes, or holed up somewhere…

Carlos looked around at some of the passing faces, all looking as though they were stepping on an alien planet, their faces reflecting the look he knew he wore among them.

"'A'! With me! Double-time!" Hirami called, and even his voice of command seemed oddly hollow, but Carlos pushed it out of his mind as they started jogging after him. All of the now separated platoons would cover different areas of the city. According to the briefing, if his memory served him right, his platoon was heading directly into the city's heart, right toward downtown. However, a couple hundred yards later, his squad was now separated from the rest of the other units, now on their own. As they moved deeper into the city, all of them were now inside an industrial site not too different from the one back at their field office: run-down lots with trash dumped everywhere, patches of wild weeds overgrown in many areas, fences ripped apart, few trees sprawled here and there.

"Eugh…" Carlos scowled, his lips parting out his quiet but frustrated voice over the smell of infected cheese on a hot plate full of dead fish.

Murphy stepped back to rush alongside Carlos, looking at him curiously. "You say something?"

"Huh? Oh, just that… something stinks," Carlos muttered. "You smell that?"

Murphy chortled and then nodded. "Yeah. Thought that was you."

"Look who's talking," Carlos smiled serenely. "Last I heard, you ate six tacos before we got to the briefing."

Murphy grinned back at him. "All right - you got me. Guilty as charged."

"Hold up!" Hirami shouted abruptly as he put a hand up without looking back. "And can it, back there!"

There was immediate silence. Carlos looked around, and for the first time since leaving the landing site, he began to notice that the entire town had been entirely abandoned. There were even cars parked in the middle of the roads, some of which had their doors wide open. Others were RPD patrol cars and SWAT trucks emptied with smears of blood on some of them.

The sounds of reverberating beats of boots hitting pavement could easily be heard some blocks away from where they were, but that wasn't the only thing that kept echoing through the silence of the foul air around them.

Moans and groans came from a destroyed barricade that was ahead of them. The faint echoing voices grew steadily louder, like a group of possible injured survivors of whatever happened inside the city. However, the bittersweet smell was growing ever so steadily as well.

"Oh, Jesus…" Murphy whispered, his face giving up all color he once had, and Carlos knew that he must've caught the growing smell too, knowing exactly what it was that had plagued Carlos since joining up the resistance back where he was from.

Could it really be?

Death. Rot — the horrible smells of a dead human body baking under the hot sun.

But this was different. It was too overpowering, much worse than what he was used to smelling inside the jungles of Brazil. In front of them, Hirami lowered his hand with profound uncertainty, unable to look at his squad for even a second. The haunting, wordless voices resonated louder, the sounds of wailing pain coming closer in their direction. Finally, after what seemed to be a minute turned to an hour of silence, Hirami turned around, seemingly to speak something to them…

…when gunfire demolished the eerie silence nearby, most likely from one of the other squads, and between the loud automatic blasts of shots ringing the early night air around, Carlos could hear men screaming and shouting in fear and confusion.

"Line!" Hirami shouted, holding up both hands with open palms aiming at the sky, his voice almost completely drowned out by the hail of bullets ringing in the air.

One straight line, five facing front, five back the way they'd come. Carlos hurried to get in position, facing front as his mouth suddenly began to dry up, his hands sweating over the grip of his assault rifle, his fingers slightly twitching in response. The sounds of various bursts of automatic fire were just north of their position, but no one could distinguish what kind of threat they were facing or where it was coming from. To make matters worse, Carlos was able to hear the soft, clattering pops of gunfire hitting their targets somewhere from the closest blasts. Whatever was happening out there, it seemed like all of the UBCS were fully engaged.

The M4 was closely fixed in front of him, aimed and ready, searching through the empty street that stretched out in front of them and split at a dead end just three blocks ahead. A fully automatic rifle loaded with a thirty-round mag, one would seem to hold the power to overcome just about anything in their way, something that should not be anything to scoff at. However, Carlos was still feeling the fear overwhelm his senses. The reason why he was afraid, he had yet to know.

What are they still firing at? What is taking so many bullets? What the hell is…

KABLAM!

A single shot cracked through the air around them, sharp and deadly. Timed seemed to slow down as Carlos' gaze snapped toward their leader, Mitch Hirami, who had been standing a few feet away. Hirami's face had frozen in a state of shock, the bullet lodged cleanly inside his skull, his mouth's wordless "O" unfinished before his body crumpled to the ground, dead.

"Contact! Rooftops! Northeast quadrant!" their teammate, Olson, yelled next to Carlos, his voice tinged with panic. "Suppressive fire!"

Carlos's heart sank as he turned his attention upwards, squinting into the shadows. Dark figures began to move from above, shifting like phantoms between the shadowy structures. Trained instincts took over, his fingers moving on their own as he joined his teammates to return fire, the rattle of bullets adding to the chaotic symphony around him.

Who the hell are these guys!? Are they responsible for all the gunfire on the other side?

There was almost no time to think, let alone grieve for their fallen leader.

His mind raced fiercely. Hirami was gone, and now the weight of leadership had fallen onto his shoulders, a burden that threatened to crush him if he didn't do anything to keep the whole squad alive through this mess.

KABLAM!

"Third floor, second east window!"

One more had fallen victim to another hidden sniper inside the east building up north, one of them being Olson, whose body immediately crumpled after a single bullet pierced straight into his chest, a red bloom staining his green uniform, his lifeless eyes staring back at the darkening sky in a frightful terror of last-second realization.

An agonizing cry punctured through the cacophonous screams of automatic blasts in the air.

Mierda!

Murphy had also been shot, though some of the suppressing fire their team had been giving out, caused whoever had tried killing Murphy to lose his aim, piercing his leg instead.

Quickly acknowledging that staying out in the street any longer was a death sentence, Carlos swiftly made his way toward his stumbling friend, giving him a helping hand as he turned his head to face the rest of his squad, all of them still firing at the shooters with grim determination on their faces.

"Everybody, fall back to the alley! FALL BACK!" his voice resonated with enough raw urgency that not even a couple of seconds later, their whole squad scrambled and ran inside the nearest dark alley. One by one, they sprinted towards the relative safety of the alley, and Carlos, with the help of Carmichael, the medic of their squad, assisted in helping Murphy get to safety as fast as possible.

The alley was dimly lit, the fading twilight casting long shadows that danced like glooming specters on the walls.

As the sounds of gunfire continued elsewhere in the city, the remaining soldiers inside the alley slowly settled in position, all of them on guard as they began to hear voices from somewhere nearby, though none of them could interpret what any of them were saying.

Carlos didn't know himself, but all he knew was that they needed to do something fast, as sooner or later, the shooters could end up deciding to finish them all off from above if any of them were on top of the buildings next to them.

"We need to stop the bleeding," whispered Carmichael calmly, his hands working almost in automatic mode as he worked to create a makeshift tourniquet for Murphy's wounded leg.

Carlos continued to watch silently, trying to reassure himself that Carmichael knew what he was doing as he switched his gaze toward Murphy's bleeding leg. Uncertainty was still looming and gnawing at his restless mind, and the wailing voices of people probably having been shot by the unknown shooters were still coming in closer to their position. Still, there was nothing to indicate whether they were victims themselves or the same perpetrators that had been wounded in battle.

He took one last look at the bodies of both Hirami and Olson. Both of them seemed like the fearless type, and seeing their lifeless bodies sprawled on the asphalt quickly made him grow renewed determination to survive and help others go through whatever mess they had now been stuck in. This city was no longer an ordinary one. It had become a battlefield, a battlefield that had been overtaken by unknown forces, possibly dispersing whatever chemical had made people go insane, and he hoped it wasn't anything related to the Nova Six gas reports he'd read about years ago.

"We can't stay here for long," said Carlos immediately after returning to face Carmichael and Murphy again. "Whoever's out there, they'll come looking, and we'll be sitting ducks here by the time they arrive to finish the job. We'll carry Murphy if we have to."

"No, I — I-I can walk…" said Murphy, squinting at the pain he was undoubtedly feeling all over his leg. "It hurts like hell, but…"

"Hey-hey, take it easy," warned Carmichael, trying to keep him from standing up. "You're stable for now, but that doesn't mean you should be careless either." - he looked back at Carlos directly in the eyes - "We could spare a minute before we move on, just to make sure his leg doesn't get any worse."

Carlos nodded silently, not wanting his friend to suffer any more than he currently is.

A few seconds later, a sudden rustling noise echoed through the alley. The remaining squad froze, their weapons instinctively aiming at the shadows that seemed to move from further inside.

"Huh?" muttered Murphy in confusion, holding out his assault rifle with one hand in the direction everyone else was facing.

"Shh!" Carmichael hushed him quickly, not taking his eyes off the dark shadows of the alley.

For another moment, no one moved or spoke a single thing until a shambling figure emerged from the shadows, a man leaning on a pair of garbage cans, his head down as though he were struggling to walk.

One of the soldiers in front of Carlos, Ignatius, if he remembered his name correctly, slowly took the courage to check on the hobbling survivor. If anything, the man could be one of the shooters from before, pretending to be injured as a way to lure one of them with him — but as Carlos remembered the wailing cries of pain they'd all heard in the distance, it was another possibility that it could simply be one of the locals who were hurt as a result of an unknown tragedy that might've enveloped inside the city.

As the man emerged from the shadows, the dim light around them revealed that he was not wearing any military gear, nor did it seem that he was armed or a threat of any kind. The man wore a flimsy, brown jacket, his blue jeans ripped on one knee as dried blood had made its way out of what seemed to be an untreated gunshot injury, with gangrene forming around it. How it was possible for the man to be still standing was up for debate, but it was clear that he needed help as he gave a helpless, low but guttural moan.

"Hey, man, are you alright?" Ignatius called out, his voice carrying a mixture of caution and concern. He slowly lowered his rifle as he approached him carefully. "It's okay. We're from the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. We're here to help."

The man almost fell into Ignatius' arms. He barely caught the guy, guiding him up by gripping him on either side of the head. The man's gaze slowly darted on him, revealing vacant eyes that no longer seemed to retain any color of life, nothing that seemed to spark any sort of recognition of his surroundings, his skin in a sickly hue.

What really happened to him? He looks paler than anything I've ever seen…

Carlos was feeling slightly apprehensive. Something didn't seem right about him.

The man's lips parted again, emitting another guttural moan as if trying to form words that no longer had meaning.

Ignatius seemed almost unperturbed and continued to use his gruff but calm voice, trying to soothe the guy into making him feel safer with their group, considering recent circumstances.

"Don't worry, alright? You're safe with us. You seem to be in some sort of — AAAH!"

Ignatius began to scream in pain, so suddenly, Carlos barely had the time to register what just happened in the heat of the moment. The man had turned his head so unexpectedly that he sank his teeth into Ignatius' right hand, right between his thumb and index finger, with a strange ferocity that defied logical reason.

"Get off of me!"

Out of pure instinct, Carlos rushed to help his teammate as Suarez behind him did the same, trying to shove the man away from Ignatius, pushing him with all their strength. The guy had some kind of iron grip; it seemed almost inhuman, something otherworldly-like, his decaying skin as cold as his disregard for human life.

Grabbing him by the jacket this time, both Carlos and his other squadmate swung him away, tossing him to the ground.

Carlos glanced at the man in distress before turning his attention to Ignatius, who held his hand in shock and pain.

"Jesus… are you okay?"

He tried to grab at his shoulder as a form of reassurance, but Ignatius quickly shoved his approach, seemingly in anger, confusion, and fear at once.

"He… he bit me, man! Took a good chunk right outta me! So you tell me — how the hell do I look okay?!"

"Let me see," Carmichael called out as he stood away from a terrified Murphy and took a quick look at it. "Damn… how did he manage to bite you like that?"

As Carmichael tried his best to treat their second wounded soldier while the rest of the squad stood on their guard, the crazed man rolled over before slowly standing back up again, hobbling over with unnatural strength that even his knee injury could not prevent him from shambling ever so closely to them, his dead eyes set on his craving for more human flesh.

"Stand down!" Suarez spoke in an authoritative voice as he aimed his sidearm at him, a UBCS standard-issue SIG Pro SP 2009 that hadn't been released to the general public yet, firmly determined to protect his team from the unbelievable threat in front of them.

The man didn't listen and continued to stride toward them with an inhuman snarl of deep hunger, his mouth giving away a heavy foul of death and rot.

"Last warning! Stand down!"

"He's already lost his goddamn mind…" one of their squad members said, his voice carrying the weight of the horror all of them were now indeed feeling circling inside their veins. "We should put him down."

"No, wait!" Carlos exclaimed, not willing to believe the man was beyond saving.

Maybe they could still come to their senses, right?

"What if — maybe there's a way to save him?"

"Carlos…" Murphy called out to him. Carlos turned around and saw him slowly shaking his head, still sitting against the brick wall with his wounded leg resting on the ground almost limply. "The guy looks like someone from the Night of the Living Dead. There's no going back. I mean, just think about it…"

Unfortunately, he was right.

Carlos and Murphy had seen the movies together not long ago. The man wasn't sick. He was a zombie, the walking dead, and for a moment, his brain wrestled with accepting this as reality, accepting what he was seeing, and in an instant, he remembered what Trent had told him about the dark hours ahead, of the unknown horrors he was about to face…

…but then, who were those people that tried to kill us all?

"I mean it!" Suarez spoke the words almost in a loud, shaky chant, swaying Carlos off his busy mind as they all continued staring at the shuffling man in terror and perplexity. There was almost no point in bothering to exchange any words with him. The guy was undoubtedly part of the undead, and his cataracted eyes showed this as proof of this terrifying reality.

The man still moved steadily closer, oblivious to anything being said to him. Suarez shook his head in disbelief and fired a shot straight into his chest, having already sunk in the understanding that they were too far gone.

But he was still standing…

There was no scream of pain or suffering, let alone the quick vanquish of life itself.

"What?!" Suarez exclaimed in shock, quickly becoming speechless as every other soldier in the area echoed the same sentiment, all shaken to their core.

The man stumbled slightly, now showing his teeth that were all stained in Ignatius' blood as it snarled with renewed determination to get a grip on Suarez, who was now the closest.

A second step later, he fired again, three times in the same chest area, and the man still kept going, the shots barely fazing him…

…and over a dozen bullets rained on the man almost instantly all over his body, the tattering shots from someone's assault rifle joining the dwindling echoes of gunfire still let loose in the distant air of the city streets itself. This caused the inhuman man to be sent flying almost several feet back, sprawling into some of the fallen garbage bags, seemingly now dead.

"I–I-I shot him in the chest," Suarez stuttered in disbelief. "Four times! A-and he was still standing… taking it like it was nothing…"

Carlos looked back and saw Ignatius' gun smoking out of the end of the barrel, finally lowering his rifle with a disgusted look on his face, his hand already bandaged up by Carmichael. Ignatius looked back at Suarez, his revolted expression unchanged.

"Fucker isn't standing now."

Still wholly shaken up by the idea that zombies actually exist now, Carlos went to check up on the blood that had been smeared on the ground due to the zombie getting shot.

Coagulated…

…dead, of course, but somehow alive. What exactly kept him alive anyway?

What happened to this poor town?

Before he could assess the situation with his team, there was more movement further up the alley, silhouettes moving almost menacingly across the other side. Carlos whistled at his team, putting up a hand gesture as a signal to aim their weapons up ahead, to be ready for anything.

All of them had their weapons raised and ready, with the exception of Murphy, who was still on the ground as he took out his sidearm and mentally prepared for any possible threats around them.

Carlos' senses were now on high alert once again, almost completely forgetting about the shooters they had to first deal with before arriving in the alley for safety, which, by now, already seemed like the worst idea they could've come up with. For a moment, he exchanged a quick but tense glance at Ignatius and Suarez, their grim countenances silently acknowledging that they were no longer safe again.

With the dark shadows slowly looming ominously, Carlos noticed their movements were disjointed and erratic, something no ordinary human could ever do in their right mind.

They're definitely not survivors…

The shuffling grew louder and closer until the first one suddenly emerged into an isolated feeble light ahead of them. Its bald, decaying head shined from afar, open red sores covering half of its hidden face, skeletal hands becoming outstretched to reach its detected meal. A second one lurched out behind him, followed by a third, fourth, fifth — suddenly, a dozen plodding, stumbling figures popping into their field of vision, coming their way.

"Shit! On our six, too!" Carmichael whispered loudly.

Carlos turned his head around and saw at least ten more reeling toward them, appearing as if out of nowhere, with one of them already feasting on Hirami's corpse, followed by a few others that caught the scent of Olson's freshly dead body, their guts being ripped apart by their gnarly teeth, gnashing on them in the most brutal and unforgiving manner. None of the UBCS squad had ever seen or heard anything like it. Their strange cries were loud and clear, their unnatural moans creating a spine-chilling chorus of the damned that kept echoing inside the alley.

"They're everywhere…" Suarez added, already stating the obvious in a trembling voice, though more of a rhetorical statement rather than anything else. "Man, they're everywhere!"

Carlos' mind raced, his beating heart hammering against his chest tremendously, trying to find a quick escape strategy, but as much as he thought about one, he simply couldn't. They were trapped like animals, and if they took so many bullets to kill, they would indeed run out of ammo quickly and become victims themselves by whatever tragedy had unfolded inside Raccoon.

Carlos soon felt the cold, emaciated hands from behind, from the same man, or zombie, who had been shot multiple times previously. The zombie got the jump on him, his body riddled with bullet holes, courtesy of Ignacius, and immediately, Carlos' quick thinking made him grab him by the head and twist it with all his might until he heard the loud snap of brittle neck bone. The zombie fell limply to the ground again, no longer making any effort to move anymore.

His breathing almost stopped, time slowed for a moment, and he began to realize one thing…

Destroy the brain. Sever the connection. Kills'em instantly. Just like in the movies…

Carlos closed his eyes, took one huge breath, and opened his eyes again, yelling at his team to fire in both directions, ensuring they all aimed for their heads.

---

Nikolai and Wersbowski were the only two from B to make it this far, and only because both had taken advantage of the chaos that ensued following the ambush against the UBCS from the rooftops. Somehow, they managed to lead several hordes of those creatures onto the streets in a calculated manner. Nikolai knew many of his fellow UBCS members would not make it from the very beginning. This fixed mindset had helped him overcome his human emotion, seeing his "comrades" only as mere casualty digits. This necessity would prove useful once he got his hands on everything he needed to get started on his report about their performance.

Wersbowski, on the other hand, knew almost just as much as Nikolai knew how to survive in a situation like this, despite the fact that he was not a Watchdog himself. When push came to shove, both had fed a couple of their squadmates to those creatures - Nikolai had thrown Brett Mathis into the grasp of one of them when it had gotten too close, buying himself a few precious seconds, which allowed him to escape. He'd seen Wersbowski do the same; only he had shot Li's left leg, incapacitating him long enough to cause a few seconds' worth of distraction for the closest virus carriers, opening a window of opportunity for him to escape as well.

Running a few blocks away from the whole mess, they managed to make it to an apartment building's fire escape. Gunfire was still ongoing, tattering erratically as they climbed the rusty steps, but the hoarse screams of dying men were already dwindling down, lost to the guttural cries of the shambling damned.

Weighing his remaining options as they scaled the fire escape, Nikolai thought to himself quietly. Just as he had predicted previously, John Wersbowski was a skilled survivor, and obviously, this meant he had no issue doing whatever was necessary to survive and remain alive, almost worse than Nikolai had led to believe. However, it was also possible that he could still prove to be a valuable asset to have a man like him to watch his back.

And if we're surrounded, he could be my key for a way out…

Nikolai frowned as they reached the rooftop, staring at Wersbowski as he watched over the streets three stories high. His sacrifice plan was a two-way street, for neither can live while the other survives. The idea of keeping him lingering around wasn't feasible enough as Wersbowski wasn't a complete idiot or as trusting as either Mathis or Li had been. He hated to admit it, but this was going to be the first difficult step in his journey to becoming a millionaire.

…unless they don't hurry it up and rendezvous just as planned.

Nikolai took a quick, impatient glance at his watch, and it was about to hit twenty hundred in about thirty. The guy he was supposed to meet with should've arrived by now, but as far as he knew, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Zombies…" Wersbowski muttered, clutching his rifle as though it were his child.

Nikolai stood beside him, looking back to where their squad had made its last stand, at the collapsed bodies that littered the pavement and asphalt, with the creatures hovering over most of them, feasting on what was left of their team. Nikolai couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed; they'd all died in minutes, but the initial assault was necessary after all. A few of them had to scream in pain or become fresh dead bodies for the hordes of creatures to take notice. Even then, they all hardly put up a fight against the undead…

"So what's the plan, sir?"

Nikolai wasn't stupid enough not to detect the subtle sarcasm behind his tone, though it was probably meant for him to take notice if Wersbowski knew him at all. His expression showed a combined state of amusement and disgust all at the same time once he turned to face Nikolai. It was apparent enough he'd seen him offer up Mathis as prey to the moaning creatures. It was written all over his countenance when Wersbowski connected his emerald eyes to him.

Nikolai sighed, almost feeling quite ashamed that he hadn't realized what he had yet to do.

"I don't know," he said softly, and when Wersbowski looked back at where they'd fought, Nikolai raised the M4 carbine in his hands and squeezed the trigger.

A group of rounds impacted Wersbowski's abdomen, knocking him down against the low cement ridge.

Immediately after, he held his aim directly at one of Wersbowski's shocked eyes, firing one last time, even as the flood of comprehension rushed over the soldier's flushed face, an awareness that he'd committed the fatal mistake of letting his guard down for a mere second.

In under a single moment, it was over, and Nikolai now found himself alone on the rooftop, staring at the lifeless body of his former comrade in a blank state of mind. There was no feeling of guilt or empathy, and it wasn't like it was the first time, either. Back in his homeland, he'd heard of the word "sociopathic" before, but it held no meaning to him. He simply could not understand why people thought it was perceived as something negative. He supposed it was people's weak-natured feeling of the empathy thing. Why it was wrong for someone to have the inability to "relate" was beyond him.

But unlike most, nothing bothers me. I do what must be done. In the end, opinions do not matter. Nothing wrong about caring for results.

It was true. Results were the only thing that defined a person's usefulness. Feelings and emotions only got in the way. Discipline, that was the trick. He mastered this within a year after the Soviet Union's collapse. He didn't even think in Russian by that point. After becoming a mercenary, he'd trained twenty-four-seven, night and day, with every weapon possible, testing his skills against even the best in the field. No matter who he was up against, he'd always won because no matter how sagacious and vicious his opponents were, having no conscience meant a guaranteed win, just as much as it meant a guaranteed loss for those who kept a conscience.

And it has kept me alive, kept me as the sole survivor. Valuable asset, is it not?

Wersbowski's corpse gave no answer.

"Thought you were going to keep us with a babysitting job for a second," came a muffled voice from behind.

For a moment, Nikolai didn't bother to turn around to face the person coming from the shadows. They were late, but it also had been his own mistake for bringing Wersbowski with him to the rooftop. He was surprised that Wersbowski did not question why they were heading directly into the heart of the ambush. He might've thought it was somehow safe since most of the snipers ran away as soon as the infected started to roam nearby, but not that it mattered anymore.

"Dumb idiot followed me up here," he replied in a cold voice, almost sounding more amused than he wanted. Slowly turning around, he saw that the man in the hood with a grey balaclava was joined by another with matching gear, both holding up M40A1 bolt-action sniper rifles, probably the same ones used against the UBCS.

Nikolai couldn't help but grin for a moment.

"Bell, right? What kind of name is 'Bell' anyway?"

The soldier rolled his eyes, his expression half hidden, though he obviously seemed irritated at the question with the slightly folded ridges between his exposed brows.

"Obolensky — and try to stick to last names, Frosty," he responded dryly, and Nikolai's smile faded almost instantly.

He detested being called Frosty. It wasn't even his proper codename either, but back in his early days, Kravchenko thought it was amusing to call him that, believing it matched his personality, which was precisely the reason why he despised it. To Nikolai, it meant an emotional barrier, and that codename reminded him of that barrier he could not afford to have.

"Fine," Nikolai stated blankly, tightening his grip on the assault rifle as he fought the sudden urge to get rid of him outright if it wasn't for whoever was standing next to him. "Have you got what I need?"

Obolensky nodded to his partner, and the second soldier proceeded to take out a small map of the Raccoon Police Department, with a red marking highlighting the first floor East Office, handing it to an unimpressed Nikolai.

This wasn't part of the plan…

"What's this?" inquired Nikolai, his impatience growing by the second.

"As per our agreement," Obolensky started. "Your first target is RPD officer Ted Martin: thin man, late thirties. Personal secretary to—"

"I know who he is!" Nikolai interjected, still trying to keep control of himself and his emotions. "Let me rephrase the question for your low intellect: Why have you not retrieved the laptop I was promised?"

"That is your promised laptop, Zinoviev," Obolensky said sharply, pointing at the highlighted object inside the map as he tapped it twice. "The combination's on the back. We've already done more than enough for you to get started. If you want your money's worth, you best get a move on - and once you've done everything, Perseus will be waiting for you at the planned evac site."

As Nikolai studied the map for a moment, Bell and his partner had already gone into the shadows from where they came.

Thinking about it more thoroughly, they probably didn't care if he survived or not so long as they had access to the data he had yet to retrieve himself. Not that it bothered him strictly since he's dealt with being expendable before, but it did put him in an unnecessary rough spot. There was much to do, and spending any more time in the RPD building than necessary meant that one of the new Tyrant seekers would most likely drop at some point around the area. Not to mention the other special one, which was programmed to take out renegade STARS members, assuming any of them were still alive in Raccoon, and the STARS office had obviously not vacated the building yet. There was also a chance that the BOW would be deployed somewhere in the suburbs where at least half of them lived, though he could not rely on that chance as much as he'd like. Even if it were deployed near the suburbs, the Tyrant could still run and jump at inhuman lengths, to the point of being able to reach its destination in a matter of minutes from one end of the city to another - but as long as he stays out of the way, he shouldn't be in any danger.

Of course, he'd hate to be caught in the middle between any series of Tyrant and its target if even half of what he'd heard was true. After all, Umbrella was taking full advantage of the situation in Raccoon, with Perseus not far behind either. Nikolai found himself admiring their efficiency.

Gunfire began to erupt from somewhere in the vicinity down below. Reflexively, Nikolai stepped back from the edge of the roof, looking down to see two soldiers run past a moment later. He was sure it wasn't the Perseus duo, as their uniforms didn't align well with what they'd been wearing. However, he noticed one of them was injured, bandaged but still bleeding from the stained patch near his right ankle, and the soldier leaned heavily against the other for support.

Nikolai couldn't recognize the wounded man, but the other was the Hispanic, who'd been watching him almost intently back on the helicopter.

Nikolai smiled callously as the two stumbled past and out of sight. He knew a few of the UBCS would survive, of course, but like the rest of his team, they would suffer the same fate either way and if his injured partner happened to be shot or bitten, none of them would survive for long. The diseased would sense his blood, even from considerable distances, and if he were somehow infected…

…then that would only mean the Hispanic will meet his fate, all for trying to save him in some pathetic tribute to honor.

So long as Perseus and the UBCS kept themselves occupied with Umbrella's BOWs, this whole operation might as well be more straightforward than he thought it'd be. Every single one of them was so predictable that he almost couldn't believe it. As he slowly shook his head with a broad smile, Nikolai proceeded to get Wersbowski's ammo pack and whatever supplies he had left. Everything was now going to go as planned.

---

The warehouse's office was picked clean, just as Jill had predicted.

All she had found were an ammo box of nine-millimeter rounds, keys to the back door she had to return and get, and a few lockers filled with nothing but useless personal chaff. There was nothing that could've implied Jason had sneaked up there, save for several newsletters and reports scattered on the front desk, which she'd seen sorted out digitally in the micro-computer that he'd given Frank that same night before her life changed forever. She half-expected to find Jason or Alex hiding inside somewhere, but she knew better than to keep her expectations high. After all, Jason had only stayed in the city a couple of months back, and Alex had gone missing since last month. Even if one of them were inside, Dario would've most likely stuck with them rather than being all by himself downstairs.

Right, as if they would've never mentioned anything about being associated with STARS to try and gain his trust anyway…

Sighing to herself, she continued on her way to the alley when she suddenly paused for a moment.

Gunfire. Somewhere distant but close enough to hear its dwindling echoes.

Jill kept her head cocked to one side. It sounded like combined shots from automatic and sniper rifles, but it was still too far away for her to be sure. It couldn't be a group of rioters or the police themselves since they had either died or turned into zombies for the past thirty-six hours. Still, it kept her spirits slightly higher than usual, knowing that the possibility of help being on the way might have become a possibility after all this time…

Sure…a bunch of young, hot guys landing here with bazookas and cans of whoop ass, saving ladies like me, inviting me to a steakhouse after it's all over.

"Alright, Ms. Damsel in Distress, how 'bout stick to reality, shall we?" she told herself softly, and for the first time in forever, she sounded more normal than she could ever be in a situation like this, especially when staying in the dark and damp back alley of the abandoned warehouse.

Even when she stayed at the warehouse in the upper office for a few minutes, she had been feeling pretty bleak about everything going on, and the idea of having to trek the dead city one more time, all by herself once again…

C'mon… you can do this. You've survived a whole place infested by these creatures before - no more of those red variants, either. Should be a breeze, right?

As she tried reassuring herself, an old saying kept lingering in her mind, something her father had taught her, which she'd also reminded Alex the last time she'd seen him: wishing things were different didn't make it so. As painful as it was to remind herself of Frank's death and how Alex suffered from it, it gave her more determination to survive the hell out of this city and help him avenge Frank and everyone who died in Raccoon by bringing down Umbrella and hunting down anyone associated with Perseus. She was not going to die here, not if she had something to do about it.

She took a few steps forward, her mind fully set on her survival, pausing only when she was now a few feet away from a branching path in the alley. To her right was a path leading further down into town through Fission Street and a set of alleyways, which had been completely barricaded anyway. On her left was another alley that cut through a small courtyard, with a path leading to the back of Black Jack's Bar.

Assuming her memory didn't falter, Jill moved closer to the junction, telling herself in her mind that she was going the right way, walking as silently as she could. As the dark shadows grew all around her, she hugged the south wall to make sure there wouldn't be any surprises waiting for her on the ground, remembering some of the frightening surprises she had back in the mansion.

Her surroundings were quiet enough for her to take a closer peek at an open path to her right; her weapon tightened as she aimed it quickly.

All clear.

Shifting positions, she stepped sideways across the empty path to look in the direction she needed to go.

Auunrrggh…

She heard what she had been ready to hear for the last minute: a male carrier's soft, gurgling cry. Without a second thought, her arms raised as she held the gun in front of her, waiting for the creature to move past the darkest part of the shadow, dreading to see it come out into view, reminding herself that these carriers were not human anymore. She knew this, had known it since her first encounter with one of those things back at the mansion with Barry when they'd gone to search for Frank. However, she kept willing to encourage the pity and sorrow she felt every time she had to deal with one of them. She forced herself to remember that zombies were beyond any help, allowing her to feel some compassion for them.

Even as she saw the shambling, decaying mess that now popped into view, it didn't change the fact that it had once been a person with a life as ordinary as one can have without the nightmarish realm that Raccoon had turned into. She gave it her best shot not to become overly emotional about it, but if she were ever to forget that they were also victims rather than just monsters, she knew that some element of her own humanity would instantly disappear, turning herself into as much of a monster as they were for their disregard of life itself.

A single shot to its right temple and the zombie collapsed to the ground in a puddle of its own rancid liquids. The man was too far gone, probably having turned into a zombie almost a week since the outbreak began, his wet, gangrenous gray-green flesh skimming off his flaky bones. Jill could never get used to the smell and had to forcefully cover her nose and mouth as she held her breath for several moments, carefully passing by without trying to get any of his remains stuck on her boots.

Several steps later, she was now facing the small courtyard when she saw two more zombies standing below, only for them to be shot in the head swiftly before a flash of movement disappeared into the shadows of the alley, directly to the same tavern she needed to go. It must've been someone alive, as zombies never had the capacity to use tools or weapons at their disposal, let alone run as fast as they did unless they were the crimson type, which she highly doubted anyway. Still, it was easy enough for her to confirm that it was a living person - a survivor.

Apparently, they knew how to properly dispose of the creatures, which also meant they knew how to take care of themselves. Another thing she had noticed was that they were military, the glimpse of their fatigues in a light-green camo.

Someone sent to do reconnaissance, maybe?

Maybe her little fantasy wasn't as far-fetched as she thought after all.

She hurried down a set of miniature steps into the yard, quickly making her way around the bodies as her heart pounded with rising hope. Once she hit the end of the small alley after ten meters of brick wall, she was now at the back door.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened the door carefully, her right eye scanning the interior as she did not want to surprise anyone who might be packing a gun. Everything was dimly lit, the air heavy with a mix of stale smoke and spilled alcohol.

"Is anybody here?" she whispered loud enough for her hollow voice to echo in the empty place. "I'm coming in — don't shoot, okay?! I'm not one of them."

She proceeded to cautiously slip inside through the smallest gap she could with the door, feeling a bit tense as she closed the door behind her, not looking back from where she'd come in at all.

Across the tiled floor was a female's dead body, a zombie that had been dispatched with a stab wound over her head. Whoever had gone through must've used a knife or some other sharp tool to get rid of it, but the survivor she had a glimpse of earlier was nowhere to be found, except the front door was slightly opened.

Taking a better look at the center of the bar, she marched closer to the fallen zombie right underneath the still-running ceiling fan; again, no one seemed to be hiding anywhere nearby, and it seemed likely that the person she saw must've rushed out of the bar in a hurry.

Could've gone through for a shortcut to Fission, most likely.

"Drop the weapon, missy."

The voice carried a cold, calculated demeanor that quickly made Jill realize she had fallen right into someone's trap, something she should've known on the spot if it wasn't for her blind hope of a rescue that might never come. (Bonus Track - Soul Clef XI)

In the end, she did as she was told, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

Probably some lunatic or one of Irons' men finally coming to finish the job…

"Good. Now turn around and look at me, slowly," the icy voice commanded in a faint but distinct Russian accent.

Jill could sense the cruelty behind the tone, betraying little emotion beyond a subtle, almost sadistic nature of satisfaction, which gravely reminded her of Albert Wesker when he revealed his true colors, making her mind scream in fury…

…and just as she turned around to face her aggressor with her hands up, her heart jumped a beat in an instant. Her eyes locked onto his one and only eye. His other eye was covered in a dark eye patch, a ragged scar partially showing over where the healthy eye once was. However, even with one eye exposed, she sensed the familiarity of blue, except it was a window to a calculating mind staring at her very soul, holding a cold intensity that seemed to absorb the remaining warmth of the bar itself. His white-shaven hair, the face of an imposing frame of immense wonder, the callous smile broadening as big as Wesker's once had… and as Frank had once put it: the asshole aura reeked all around him.

And then, it clicked on her as quickly as a lightning bolt.

That picture in the Visual Data Room… the one that showed the Umbrella staff working in the mansion's underground lab…

No… it… it's…

"Kravchenko?!" The name escaped from her lips almost on its own, and once the word rang the air inside the bar, his smile widened almost in an impossible way, as if this made him feel the bliss of elation that his prey knew who he was, his right eye fixed on Jill with a predatory glint.

"Impressive," he said slowly, his gun still raised directly at her face. "Let me guess — Mason? Woods? …or Umbrella's files at the Arklay Lab? Not that it matters since you won't be alive for long."

Jill felt her teeth grinding in rage, knowing he was also behind most of the stuff that Umbrella had been busy playing around with for a long time.

"And let me guess," she said, not holding back on her firm voice. "You and Umbrella are sleeping together in the same bed, right? Since when has—?"

"I'd advise you to lower that tone, Miss Valentine," he retorted coldly, cocking the gun mid-sentence. "You wouldn't want to end up like Woods or the rest of your dead vigilante STARS, would you?"

The guy knew her name, unsurprisingly. They'd all been played by the mass media, so this wasn't precisely eye-opening, though he was cynical enough to mention Frank as though he was proud of what Umbrella and his people had helped do to him and even the STARS' entire reputation. Jill couldn't help but feel another powerful wave of anger overwhelm her, almost ready to disarm him by surprise, but if what Alex and Frank had said about Kravchenko was true, then he was most likely capable of overpowering her swiftly regardless. Still, this did not deter her from getting more answers out of him before trying to think of a way to deal with him outright.

Jill looked at him more fiercely as her guts tensed in madness.

"What exactly do you want?" she said in a lower but sharper voice. Kravchenko's deadly gaze was unlike anyone else Jill's ever seen.

"Many things," he stated casually. "But unfortunately, not everyone can have what they want - which is why I am not going to kill you yet. After all, you've proven to be a very useful asset for the past weeks."

Jill's mind became a whirlwind of flying thoughts. It all became clear to her.

The two men who had been scrutinizing her from across her apartment must've been Perseus, and as an organization trained to kill targets they deemed to be a threat to them, she, among others from STARS, was just one of many they'd been planning to kill all along. With this in mind, she was now growing worried about everyone who'd left Raccoon before the outbreak. Who knows if Umbrella and Perseus are unknowingly tracking their movements, with this whole mess happening as some intricate distraction?

"And why is that?" she responded sarcastically as though it were a matter being resolved over drinks.

Kravchenko's lips curled into a cruel smile. "As it has come to my attention, two of your fellow STARS members in the city will soon die at the hands of a certain… creature." - he began to chuckle with a chilling edge - "Do not worry. You'll be next down the line."

"What?!" she exclaimed in utter disbelief. "What creature? And who are you talking about?!"

Kravchenko's smile turned into a malicious grin of viciousness. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."

With a surge of determination, Jill's focus shifted in a sudden turn, and without much thought, she quickly seized an open opportunity to lunge at Kravchenko as he laughed at her potential fate. Her training from the Delta Force and STARS kicked in automatically, and Kravchenko quickly began using his brute strength against her. Jill's fingers wrapped around his weapon in a quick surge of movement, looking to disarm him as he fought against her powerful agility. For a brief moment, it seemed as though time itself had slowed down around them, their standoff almost seemingly impenetrable.

However, with a sudden burst of power, Jill's growing perseverance gained her the upper edge as she began to twist her body with tight precision, leveraging her strength against Kravchenko's overpowering resistance. There was a flickered glint of surprise in Kravchenko's right eye as the gun quickly broke free from his grip, clattering to the tiled ground with a hollow thud.

"You little —!"

But before Jill could rush towards the fallen weapon, Kravchenko threw a punch to Jill's ribcage, knocking her to the side as she yelled in pain. She knew she wasn't going to make it to the other side of the room without Kravchenko putting up another fight using his brute strength, so instead, she managed to get up, still grabbing at her right rib, and roll over the countertop as quickly as possible before she finally heard gunshots impacting many of the stored beverages on the shelves, bottles breaking as liquor and glass spilled all around her. Taking cover underneath the countertop was only a temporary solution as her Samurai Edge was thrown next to the back door, which required her to get out of cover and potentially get shot.

The shotgun!

Gotta be underneath here somewhere…

"Oh, Miss Valentine…" Kravchenko's eerie voice echoed from across the room, talking as though she were a child. Jill slowly kept moving underneath, trying to see whether or not the shotgun was inside the cupboard underneath the destroyed register. "You really forced my hand this time. But I am a man of my word. I will not kill you, but I will show you the true meaning of pain if you do not continue to play along nicely."

Jill didn't say anything in return and continued to crouch her way towards the slightly opened cupboards. She knew what unhinged guys like him were capable of doing, and she wasn't going to bow down to his demands so that he could gain the personal satisfaction of having control over someone else. She was determined to do things her own way, and that was how she always dealt with criminals who'd get the upper hand unless it was about someone else's life being at stake.

Yes! Still here! And one shell loaded. Better than I'd expected.

Kravchenko continued to taunt her as she heard his heavy footsteps slowly approaching the countertop.

"I'm giving you the chance to live - to help me get some valuable combat data from the BOW hunting down your unit. But do tell me one thing: Where has Mason gone off to? And don't bother lying to me. I always know when someone lies to me."

Jill gripped the ancient Remington tighter, prepared to use its one and only shot against the approaching maniac, waiting as her heart pounded heavily. She remained silent, making sure to count every measuring step as her breathing grew shallower, fighting to keep herself together, and Kravchenko seemed to lose his patience as he began to call out to her once again.

"Come on out, missy," he said menacingly. "I won't shoot that pretty face if you show yourself in this instant. Do not make the same mistake those CIA moles have made in the past. You're smarter than them. I was able to see it in your eyes. Now, come on out and give me the answer I need!"

Here's your fucking answer!

She seized the opportunity as adrenaline rushed inside her veins, and burst out of her hiding spot, raising the shotgun in his direction with trembling hands as she squeezed the trigger. The destructive force of the Remington reverberated through the bar, the recoil jolting through her arms, her aim still true to its target, but Kravchenko was somehow fast enough to duck out of the way, save for a scrape he received on his right forearm due to the buckshot's spread.

Despite Jill having missed her shot directly, the injury she caused him was enough to leave him with a small yelp of pain, yet his cold resolve held firm as his eye met Jill's, the fury within him growing with each passing moment, and a chilling smile slowly grew.

"Nice try," he uttered, his rough tone expressing a twisted desire to cause physical pain that Jill could never imagine in all her life.

Before either of them could do anything in response, the bar's main entrance erupted in chaos as the door blew apart by what appeared to be a roaring creature on all fours, letting out a series of guttural, hissing growls. Jill and Kravchenko stopped focusing on each other and saw how hideous the thing looked, defying any semblance of natural biology.

What the hell?!

Jill had seen nothing like it, not even back at the Spencer Mansion. The creature's skin was non-existent, its bony skeleton being held together by its remaining flesh and muscle. Its brain was entirely exposed, so enlarged that it had covered more than half its head, its eyes entirely consumed by the swollen, pinkish organ.

Suddenly, the thing began to stick its tongue out, reaching great lengths that were almost impossible in proportion to its overall body mass. It quickly jumped to the ceiling before immediately lunging at its closest target, pinning Kravchenko to the ground before he could even fix his aim at the creature, wrestling against the grip of the slimy, emaciated-looking organism that resembled neither human nor animal.

Using this window of opportunity, Jill quickly fled the scene, grabbing her Samurai Edge along the way before opening and slamming the back door behind her, suddenly thinking how many worse things could happen than being alone once again. How ironic it was that one of Umbrella's experiments was her saving grace against a man who planned on torturing her.

Yeah, and I'll be its next meal if I don't hurry and get out of here as far away as possible. If Kravchenko survives, he won't hesitate to come after me.

As she hurried along through the alley before hitting the small courtyard again, she was immediately reminded of something that left her skin crawling.

What's hunting down STARS? And who are the two STARS members being hunted down before me? Barry? Rebecca?

…Alex?

It couldn't be possible.

She knew for a fact that Barry was busy trying to get his family to safety first, as far away from Raccoon as possible. Rebecca had gone out of state at the beginning of last month before this whole thing ever began, and she doubted Alex would've ever lied about it to everyone on the team. As for Brad, there was no way he had decided to return since he was one of those people who would rather stay away from deep waters.

But Alex… has he really been in this town all along? Maybe he had been checking up on the team under the shadows?

Everything seemed to point elsewhere, however. She had no clue what other STARS members were still in the city, but if there was a chance that any of them really were in the city somewhere…

…then I'd have to go back to the RPD and see if anyone had made it somehow - and get my lockpicks along the way.

Still feeling quite unsettled about Kravchenko's cryptic statement, Jill gripped the custom Beretta tighter, silently praying that her disbanded team was safe wherever they were.

---

The Tyrant was as relentless as the previous one that Woods and the rest of STARS had encountered back at the Spencer grounds, if not, possibly more.

He'd gone through a couple of houses, trying to lose the dangerous creature that kept on roaring, "SSTAARRSS!".

With his heightened senses, he almost had a specific way of knowing exactly where it would be coming from. How he could explain this, he did not know, but whatever explanation was behind it, he used this to his advantage as he climbed and jumped over several fences with ease through a few of the destroyed backyards, all while thinking of a better way to evade further pursuit from it as fast as possible.

All the creature had to do was destroy anything in its way with its enlarged boots or bare hands: walls, interior door frames, or the chunks of wood left after zombies had most likely breached through several of the homes' yards. There were even a couple of zombies Woods had bumped into along the way, and once they came into contact with the pursuer, it brutally punched them out of the way, turning their heads into complete mush in response to the impact they received after hitting the walls.

In a sudden twist through one of the side alleys connecting a couple of homes, Woods immediately sprinted forward as a heavy rush of adrenaline continued to circle throughout his body and slid underneath a seemingly abandoned RV that was parked nearby, using the dense shadows to become one with them. The creature wasn't far off from him, and he hoped to dear life that the monstrosity didn't necessarily have enhanced hearing or eyesight, at least just as much as he did.

But goddamn, this fucker's fast…

He'd scraped his left forearm as a result of sliding roughly over loose gravel, shoving some stings of pain inside him, but knew he'd be fine regardless. What kept him more on edge was that even with his newly enhanced abilities, he did not have the strength to endure more than a few powerful kicks and punches from the Tyrant itself, nor did he have the ammo to waste against it. It had considerable long strides, its mighty footsteps almost capable of generating micro-sized earthquakes around its vicinity, and as it approached Woods' location, the whole world around him seemed to fade away to a mist, replaced by the singular sensation of pure survival instinct.

Woods held his breath as tightly as possible, his heart pounding inside his chest much more loudly than he'd ever heard it before, almost quite deafening. He was not the type to feel fear in the face of danger, but this creature was unlike anything he'd ever faced back in his CIA days or even in the Spencer Mansion. The one he'd fought before was a former teammate he'd failed to protect, having most likely undergone painful mutations and surgeries. However, the creature closing in on his location seemed ten times more dangerous, with the persistent intent to kill anyone associated with STARS however it could.

Oh, right!

He had just reminded himself about the remote detonator he had with him, having picked it up inside one of their neighbor's houses. Benjamin Hughes was an old Vietnam War veteran who fought on a different unit than that from Woods' and Adler's teams back in the late sixties. The guy used to live by himself a few houses away from where Woods and Mason lived and had always been paranoid about someone coming to kill him in his place. He'd once overheard a conversation with his stepson, explaining to him about having rigged his home in case he'd ever be cornered and had no choice but to use it as a last resort, bringing the intruders with him to their deaths.

The towering creature was approaching fast, seemingly searching for him, and Woods quickly used this opportunity to his advantage.

Here goes nothin'...

With the detonator firmly in his hands, he pressed the button as tightly as possible…

…and a huge, echoing explosion erupted from an entire block away, tearing through the air with a concussive force that immediately sent Woods into a state of pulsing pain, his extremely sensitive eardrums thundering, his head throbbing as it brought flashes of vague memories and voices inside his mind.

"Cells are regenerating … t-Virus is stable … fascinating … keep him under observation … don't want another Frost or Lester situation on our hands …"

The headaches stopped as quickly as they came.

The fiery inferno that rose high in the air behind the building in front of him had finally been caught in his reforming sight, illuminating the neighborhood for a moment as though it were daytime. Thankfully, the Tyrant took the bait and ran back from where it first came, following the source of the explosion as it echoed the same word it had apparently retained the intelligence to say. At the very least, Woods had now gained the ability to control himself when it came to these terrible headaches. Either that or his improved endurance had finally allowed him to resist the pain even more than he could before.

So, I am actually infected…

…but how the hell am I not a zombie then?

The thought of still being alive and able to think for himself kept him relieved, but it also meant that he could be on borrowed time before he finally turns into…

"No," he muttered to himself softly out of instinct, mentally hitting himself in the head for considering that as a possible reality. "Not turning into one of them. Never!"

As he slid out of the RV from underneath, he tried to switch his priorities first and start looking for Gwen, hoping she would not encounter the towering monster, knowing she'd have close to zero chance of survival going against such a creature.

And then something caught his attention just across the street…

The fuck's a container like this doing here?

The huge container had the shape of a large capsule, big enough to hold at least two fully grown adults. It appeared to have been carelessly dropped, enough to sink inside the cement ground six inches underneath.

As Woods edged closer to the capsule, bathed in an eerie glow, a quick sense of unease and intense fury washed over him as he read and saw what was marked on the damaged label attached to it.

UMBRELLA CORPORATION
CARTRIDGE FOR BIOWEAPON
0211 - 01 - 1231 - 236 - A910
CODENAME: NEMESIS T-TYPE

Nemesis…

That was the name of the Tyrant dropped off to kill him and any other STARS in the city. Back when he had infiltrated Lisa Trevor's underground place, he had this feeling that sooner or later, someone, or in this case, something, would be sent after them to kill them. The name for this type of Tyrant perfectly fits their objective to do so, and it wouldn't be far-fetched to say that the US itself may have secretly allowed this in order to have their chance at getting rid of him or Mason for good.

And, of course, they couldn't allow the risk of me surviving their experiments. No doubt they already knew this was gonna happen, and they'd most likely shift their part of the blame on Umbrella and Perseus in the end.

Just fucking great!

Woods unconsciously slammed the capsule as hard as he could with his left fist to the point of making a noticeable dent where the label was located. If he were to survive this, he would first try to look for Mason, and together, they would bring everyone involved to justice, even if it were the last thing he'd ever do. Obviously, it wouldn't end any harm done to individuals caused by terrorism, but it would at least bring a start for a better future for future generations to come.

"Frank, over here!" A loud but soft whisper flew into the air behind him.

Instinctively, he turned around to face the RV; the M1911 immediately raised at eye level, only for relief to quickly wash over him a second later.

"Ah! It's me, don't shoot!"

"Shit, kid," he said in slight surprise, lowering his gun. "Don't go around muttering to anyone like that, or you'll get your face pumped up with hot lead."

Gwen shook her head, gesturing to him to come in hurriedly.

"Yeah-yeah, spare me the lecture, 'grandpa'—just hurry up before that thing comes back," she said nervously, her voice tinged with relief, but her lips twitched in both surprise and horror.

As he rolled his eyes in slight annoyance at the "grandpa" comment, he proceeded to jog toward the RV, stepping inside as quickly as possible.

At this point, he almost wanted to face Dr. Frankenstein's monster rather than deal with babysitting someone like her, but deep down, he knew she needed all the help she could get, feeling like it was his duty to protect her regardless of how he felt about escort missions. Still, he couldn't complain much after realizing she was much better company than hanging around with people like Hudson or Adler, for the most part. Even with all the smartass remarks and her timid nature, she still reminded him of Mason's son in many ways.

As the RV's door was closed behind him, he stared at a shadow in the back of the interior, sensing that someone else was already here with Gwen. Squinting in order to get a much clearer view of their identity by using the limited lighting that the blinds barely offered, he saw them wearing a yellow tactical vest, their hair short and spiked but as messy as they can be during an outbreak like this, and their eyes were wide, either in shock, terror, or confusion.

Remembering he had Gwen's flashlight, he immediately took it out and pointed it at their location, revealing the person to be…

"Vickers?" Woods uttered quickly, and instinctively, he felt rage boil up inside his veins once he remembered the last thing he pulled against the Alpha team on that night when it all started.

"Fr-F-Frank!" Brad stuttered nervously, both in shock and relief. "Can't believe you're alive! I didn't believe Gwen when she told me that—W-wait! Wait!"

There was nothing but rage and contempt against the cowardly Alpha pilot as Woods marched forward and grabbed him by the vest. Brad Vickers was responsible for so many deaths in the Arklay Forest due to his complete incompetence. If it also weren't for him leaving them all for dead, he wouldn't have been hospitalized or experimented on by Umbrella. (BGM #3 - Meeting Brad)

The bastard needed to pay for his actions.

"You… cowardly—piece of SHIT!" he snarled heavily, staring at him with a deadly look in his eyes while ignoring any pleas being said by Gwen from behind him. "You left all of us for dead! How could you fuckin' live with yourself, knowing you caused half of those deaths back there!?"

"Frank, don't do this!" said Gwen hastily. "He just told me how he felt bad for doing so. Please, Frank! You don't have to—!"

"Shoot'em? Kill'em?!" Woods continued, still staring deeply into Brad's dilapidated eyes, the fear growing within as Woods' own emotions grew out of control with deep hatred and disdain mixing inside. "Nah… That'd be too easy for him. Think it's time I teach him some good ways for breaking somebody apart - slowly…"

"F-Frank… I-I-I I… I'm sorry, man!" Brad shuddered, his face already sweaty from the terrifying grip that Woods had on him, trying his best to break eye contact with him. "I know it won't change the past, but after I left Raccoon last month because of how afraid I was that Umbrella…" - Woods' grip became tighter, and Brad suddenly began to panic - "I-I decided to come back in the end! Like you said, I couldn't live with myself by abandoning the team entirely—especially for the second time! I'm truly sorry! You have to believe me!"

Frank's lips tightened up, his nostrils flaring as he narrowed his eyes further into Brad's, his rage fueling with more intensity at every passing moment.

"You'll be sorry by the time I'm done with you!"

He began to raise his left fist, ready to hurt him using several methods he'd learned during his entire military career. Gwen quickly stepped behind Woods, trying to pull his arm down forcefully, but his powerful endurance proved too much for her to overcome.

"Frank! Stop it!" she continued pleading to him.

Woods turned his head around to face her for a moment, his expression remaining the same.

"Gwen," he growled before looking her directly in the eyes. "This man…"

"Left you for dead, I know!" she cried out, tears already forming in her glistening eyes. "But you told me earlier that you were no monster. Monsters like that thing out there, like those undead creatures—they hurt and kill without reason, without remorse, without empathy, without…" Gwen turned around, now facing her back on him as she started to cry in sorrow, her head hanging as she slowly muttered, "Without a fucking care in the world…"

Woods stood frozen for a moment, unable to move as he stared at Gwen's back, her shoulders slumped as she shook almost uncontrollably.

She was right in some way.

He'd hurt and killed before without showing any emotion. It's what he'd been trained to do when it came to black ops missions and the such. You couldn't let feelings or morality get in the way. Once you had your target, it was either kill or be killed. There was nothing in between. And it had made him grow into the monster that, deep down, he always feared he'd become someday, a monster that, sooner or later, he was literally going to turn into if his infection turned out to go for the worst, another way of life showing its cruel irony toward him.

Somehow, this made him cool off, his manifested fury quickly dwindling away as he let go of Brad, his fist slowly lowering, almost in defeat.

As Brad collapsed on the bed in the back, feeling extremely relieved that Frank did not throw a single punch at him, Frank slowly approached the teenager, not entirely sure if he should say a word to her after what he tried to do earlier. He was never good at dealing with people's feelings and emotions, staying true to his no-nonsense attitude. He simply never had the time to further explore the human emotion of having the ability to be quaint and compassionate toward others, particularly those that didn't involve Alex or David, but after what happened in that mansion, all that seemed to change as he started caring too much for individuals like Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield.

And Vickers may know where the rest might be, too. Gotta start somewhere.

Woods hesitated to put a hand over one shoulder but quickly stopped as Gwen continued to say something, trying to control herself for a moment before finally turning around to face him.

"When we tried barricading ourselves inside our home, it worked - at least for a while. We tried to do the best we could to survive, but my parents just kept arguing every passing day. It only got worse until mom decided to leave one day - and when we went to go look for her…" she stopped herself for a quick moment as tears began to rush over both eyes in rapid succession, blinking rapidly while putting the back of her hand between her nose and mouth. "We saw her getting her face ripped off by one of those monsters out there… her nose and cheeks being eaten as she screamed. More of them came, and then—"

Gwen was already convulsively trying to catch her breath, weeping hysterically as her cries filled the RV. Before Frank could do anything in response, she immediately rushed to him and began to hug him tightly, her cries now muffled in his chest.

Frank became somewhat flabbergasted for a second, his arms slightly raised apart as his eyes became fixed on Gwen. He knew the teenager had most likely gone through a lot before they'd met; he could see it in her eyes ever since. However, he didn't know to what extent at the time. Now that she'd described seeing her mother eaten alive right in front of her, it made it almost unimaginable to think about how horrible the experience must've been for her.

Just like David when he…

As Frank reminded himself of David's similar experience of having seen his father murdering his mother right in front of him as a child, he immediately felt a powerful wave of guilt washing over him, knowing that he had helped Hudson lie about the real circumstances behind Grace's death, not just to David, but to Alex as well since he could never recount most of what he did during those months in which he'd gone missing.

Just when these distressing thoughts came to mind, he brought his arms around a weeping Gwen, returning the hug as a way to bring comfort to both her and himself, even if he did not want to admit it outright.

Another moment later, Gwen finally pushed herself away from him, almost as if she had just realized what she'd done. "Sorry—I shouldn't have…"

"Hey, it's alright," he mumbled reassuringly, putting both hands on her forearms as he gave her a warmhearted look. "Can't imagine how hard it must've been for you, but know that I'm here now to protect you." - he looked over at his shoulder for a few seconds, staring at Brad, who was now gazing through a small gap between the blinds almost nervously - "Guess that also counts for Brad, even if he's known as the chickenheart of the group."

Gwen looked over past Frank, and she slowly smiled. "Believe it or not, he actually saved me from a zombie that came from behind me just after I ran all the way here."

"Did he, now?"

"Y-yeah," Brad replied, finally breaking his gaze from the window at the back. "I wasn't lying when I said I came back to help. I'm just glad and happy to see you're still alive after all this time - and that you er… didn't kill me for…"

"You and I are gonna have a little chat about that when this is all over," Frank warned him. "Don't think for a fucking second that you ain't responsible for…"

"Oh, just give him a break," said Gwen. "The most important part is that you're both here and alive, right?"

"It's okay, Gwen," Brad remarked. "Whatever Frank thinks it's best for me to take as consequences for my past actions, I won't be lifting a single finger against it…."

Frank sighed. He didn't know if Brad was actually patronizing him or if he was dead serious about what was being said about him. Still, he simply wanted to move on from the conversation and skip to what he really needed to know since waking up from the damn hospital. If Nemesis was here to assassinate every surviving STARS member within the destroyed city, they needed to make a plan quickly.

"So, Vickers," he started. "You know anyone from STARS is still in the city somewhere?"

Brad simply shrugged and proceeded to gaze through the blinds once more. "I don't know, but last I heard, they sent that enormous monster after us STARS to kill us all. If that thing hasn't come back after that explosion, it probably thinks there are more of us at the station to track and kill…"

Frank looked at the front of the RV thoughtfully before hurrying to the driver's seat. "What do you say we hotwire this shit and make our way to the RPD?"

"What?!" Gwen said in shock. "But that thing…"

"I've got the keys here, but no way in hell are we going back there!" Brad declared loudly. "I barely managed to get away from that huge monster. And you're telling me that we're gonna follow it?!"

Frank walked to the back of the RV once more, putting a hand forward. "If more of our people are in danger, then we've got to save them. Give those keys, Vickers, or I won't let Gwen stop me this time from throwing a few punches - and trust me — you don't wanna find out how much stronger I am than before."

Brad kept staring at him with puppy-like eyes. As he shuddered after Frank took another intimidating step forward, there seemed to be nothing that could convince Frank otherwise, even after Gwen expressed her disapproval of following a monster assassin that could potentially kill them all swiftly.

Seeing no other option, Brad took the keys out of his right pocket and gave them to Frank almost hesitantly.

"Not as hard as it looks, huh?" Frank teased him before returning to the RV's front, inserting the keys, and turning on the engine after several tries. He looked through the rearview mirror and briefly connected his gaze with a fearful Gwen. "We'll find your dad, Gwen. As long as you're with me, I won't let anything bad happen to you." - he was met with a hasty nod from her, and he immediately switched his gaze toward Brad, who seemed quite more dreadful than Gwen herself - "As bad as the shit you pulled in the past, we're still a team, Vickers. Remember that."

With the loud hum of the RV's engine, he stepped on the gas, making a U-turn before finally driving through the rubble and past the container left almost in the middle of the road, hoping to himself that he was making the right choice of going back to the RPD in search of their remaining team members before Nemesis finds them first…

---

Author's Note: I'm finally back!

I'm gonna be honest: it was a much-needed break for me, and after reflecting on the work I've done in the previous two stories, I feel like I could've done much better if I'd only given myself more time and breaks between uploads. So, from now on, chapter uploads will be at least once or twice per month until further notice. Plus, unlike before, I still haven't written enough chapters to stay ahead of schedule, so that's also part of the reason why. Could it also be laziness? The need for better quality in my writing? Or a better plot? I'm still debating hahaha, but I did burn myself out from writing the previous two stories all in almost just under a year, and I don't want to go through that again for as much as I can help it.

Moving on to plot-related stuff...

I've seen many fanfictions out there that include crimson heads as part of the monsters inside Raccoon City. This is a huge inconsistency that even Operation Raccoon City had since the strain of the t-Virus that was leaked into the city differs from the one that had affected the entire Arklay complex. The special mutations that the city got infected with turn its zombies into lickers, not crimson heads. The way they mutate is also different since crimson heads result from physical trauma, while lickers form from starving zombies as a way for the t-Virus to keep them alive and adaptable, some taking much longer to mutate than others. I think I may have already explained this in my previous story, but if not, then now you know lol.

Also, I do hope you liked the confrontation between Jill and Kravchenko. Thought it would've been interesting to see and finally have Jill see for herself just how intimidating the guy can be in person. Not to mention that instead of Brad warning her about Nemesis, it's Kravchenko basically teasing her about it.

Review Responses:

OldGlory - Sounds about right hahaha

Guest - Technically, she isn't. She's actually made a small appearance as a backstory to Dario himself in one of the obscure comics made for the series. In the Biohazard 3 Last Escape Official Guidebook, her name is revealed to be Lucia Rosso, and she was originally planned to be alive for some time into the game's story itself as well. And yes, I had just recently discovered that her name is actually Lucia, but I ain't bothered, hahaha. Both Gwen and Lucia are obviously not exactly the same characters, and since this is pretty much an AU that I'm writing, it's no big deal. Glad you're enjoying the story so far!

Adam Luck - No worries, man! And yes, it's been a really hot summer where I live, too; well over a hundred degrees for so many days of the summer weeks, but I'm glad that's over now. And about the CGI movies, yes, I do have some ideas for some of them, such as Infinite Darkness. One thing I plan on doing with it is that instead of Penamstan being the center of the plot, it'll be Urzikstan. That way, I can connect Farah's story to the RE universe and have Alex Keller be a secret contact that helps Claire in her investigation of what really happened in Urzikstan while TF141, including her boyfriend/then-potential husband, David, tell her not to do anything in response, with Leon also being on their side as well. This could also trigger additional tension between Claire and David's relationship, with David thinking that Keller is Clare's lover instead of just someone inside the government who's helping her leak as much information as they can. A bit like how Walter and Skyler's relationship works in Breaking Bad. Oh, the possibilities...

Thank you all for your patience! I hope you all have a great morning/day/night! See you in the next chapter!