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Marcus's telekinetic awareness swept through the mansion like an invisible net, cataloging everything within several hundred yards.
Two people inside, just as expected.
The first was in the bathroom—a woman, unconscious on the tile floor, wearing only a bathrobe. Alice, the protagonist of this whole mess. Her body language suggested she was just starting to stir, consciousness returning in fits and starts.
Marcus averted his mental "gaze" politely. Even psychic surveillance had its etiquette.
The second person was more interesting—a man, moving carefully through the mansion like he was trying not to wake anyone. Sneaking, basically. This would be Matt Addison, the environmental activist whose sister had infiltrated Umbrella Corporation and promptly disappeared.
According to the film's timeline, it had been several hours since the T-virus leaked into the Hive. Everyone down there was already dead or worse. Matt just didn't know it yet.
In the distance, Marcus heard the distinctive thup-thup-thup of helicopter rotors. Right on schedule. The mercenary team would be here any minute.
Time to get inside.
Marcus walked up to the mansion's entrance and let himself in. The door was unlocked—Umbrella security theater at its finest. He found a chair in the main hall, sat down, and waited.
Let them come to him.
In the bathroom, Alice groaned.
Everything hurt. Her head pounded, her shoulder throbbed, and the cold tile beneath her cheek wasn't helping. She pushed herself upright slowly, blinking against the harsh light.
Where...?
She stumbled to the mirror, gripping the sink for balance. Her reflection stared back—dark hair, pale skin, confused eyes. There was a cut on her shoulder, fresh but already clotting. How had she gotten that?
A flash of memory: water running, steam, then falling—
Nothing. The memory ended there.
Alice searched her mind for anything—her name, where she was, what she'd been doing—but came up empty. It was like someone had taken a sledgehammer to her brain and knocked out everything important.
She turned from the mirror, stumbled into the bedroom, and found a red dress in the closet. Better than walking around in a bathrobe. She pulled it on, added boots from under the bed, and opened the curtains.
Grass. Trees. Wilderness. No city lights, no neighbors, nothing.
Where the hell am I?
She checked the room more thoroughly. The dresser yielded clothes. The nightstand had nothing. But the bottom drawer—
Alice's breath caught.
Guns. Lots of guns. Pistols, magazines, ammunition, all arranged in neat rows behind locked glass panels. The kind of arsenal you'd expect from a soldier or a spy, not... whoever she was.
She tried the lock. No luck. Passworded.
Who am I?
The question gnawed at her as she left the bedroom and descended the stairs. The mansion was dark, silent, eerie. Every shadow felt wrong, like the house itself was holding its breath.
A gust of wind rushed through the hallway ahead.
Alice spun. "Hello?"
No answer. Just empty corridor, stretching into darkness.
She found the light switch near the entrance and flipped it on.
The lights blazed to life—and Alice nearly jumped out of her skin.
Someone was sitting in a chair. Right there. Watching her.
A young man, maybe early twenties, with dark hair and an unreadable expression. He looked... calm. Too calm for someone sitting alone in a dark mansion. His eyes tracked her movement with quiet attention, like he'd been waiting.
Alice's heart hammered. "Who are you?"
The man smiled slightly. "Marcus Reed. Just passing through."
"Passing through?" Alice's voice cracked with disbelief. "We're in the middle of nowhere."
"True. Yet here I am." His tone was light, almost amused, but his eyes suggested he knew far more than he was letting on.
Alice took a step closer, trying to read his expression. There was something about the way he looked at her—recognition, maybe? Like he knew her, even though she couldn't remember ever meeting him.
"Do I know you?"
"Not yet."
Before Alice could press further, Marcus's gaze shifted to the side. "The guy behind that pillar can stop hiding now."
A sharp intake of breath from the shadows. A man stepped out—short brown hair, blue shirt, looking equal parts embarrassed and defensive.
"Listen," the man said quickly, "both of you need to get out of here. This place isn't safe—"
THUP-THUP-THUP-THUP.
The helicopter noise was deafening now, right overhead. Blinding light flooded through the windows.
"Down!" Marcus shouted.
A metallic clink bounced across the floor—
FLASH.
The explosion of light was overwhelming. Alice and the brown-haired man went down hard, clutching their faces and crying out. Marcus, who'd closed his eyes a full second before the grenade detonated, stayed perfectly still in his chair.
CRASH.
Windows shattered as armored figures rappelled inside. Seven, eight—Marcus counted them through his telekinetic senses—all heavily armed, faces hidden behind gas masks. They moved like professionals: fast, efficient, no wasted motion.
Two tackled the brown-haired man before he could draw the pistol at his belt. They slammed him face-first into the floor and zip-tied his wrists behind his back.
"I'm a police officer!" the man shouted, voice muffled against the ground. "I'm a cop!"
Nobody cared.
Three more mercs surrounded Alice, who was still disoriented from the flash grenade. She tried to stand, but they kept their rifles trained on her, barking commands.
The last two approached Marcus.
He raised his hands slowly, making no sudden moves. One of the mercenaries stepped forward, rifle aimed at his chest.
Marcus calmly extended his wrists.
The mercenary hesitated, clearly not expecting cooperation. His eyes—visible through the gas mask lenses—met Marcus's for a long moment.
Then he holstered his sidearm, pulled out zip-ties, and secured Marcus's hands in front of him.
"Who are you?" the mercenary demanded. "What are you doing here?"
Marcus glanced at the brown-haired man still protesting on the floor. "I'm a police officer too."
The room went silent.
The brown-haired man—Matt, if Marcus remembered correctly—turned his head to stare at Marcus like he'd grown a second head.
"What?" Matt sputtered. "No you're not!"
"Sure I am."
The mercenaries looked between them, clearly trying to figure out if this was a coordinated lie or two separate bad lies.
"You two together?" one of them asked.
"No!" Both Marcus and Matt said simultaneously.
Matt glared at Marcus. "Why are you saying you're a cop?"
"Same reason you are, I'd imagine."
"I don't even know you!"
"And I don't know you. Funny how that works."
The lead mercenary—a woman with "RAIN" stenciled on her tactical vest—had clearly had enough. "Bag 'em both. Sort it out later."
Two mercs dragged Matt to his feet and started patting him down for weapons. Another pulled Marcus upright, ran a handheld scanner over him, and found nothing.
Meanwhile, the rest of the team spread out through the mansion. Some checked the upper floors. Others converged on a suspicious-looking section of wall in the main hall.
One of them—a tech specialist by the look of his gear—pulled out a tablet and started interfacing with a hidden panel next to what looked like a decorative mirror. The mirror slid aside, revealing a security door with a palm scanner and keypad.
Near the door, another mercenary was questioning Alice. He'd hauled her to her feet and was speaking in a low, urgent tone.
"Report your status, operative. Speak up!"
Alice shook her head, still dazed. "What?"
"I said report your status! Now!"
"I don't—I don't understand what you're asking!"
The mercenary's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to shake her but held back. "Status of the facility. What happened here?"
"I don't know!"
Across the room, the tech specialist called out. "Sir."
(End of Chapter)