The corridor ended with a turn to the left, deeper into the building. After covering barely two meters, I ran into a dead end. A steel door stood to the left. No time to fiddle with it—one kick tore it loose, and I burst out onto the roof, snacking on the crow I'd caught along the way. Who knows, maybe I'd extract something interesting from its mutation? Grow a wings, perhaps? Bah, knock on wood, of course.but really, what do I have to fear at this point? I'm already a black, fanged, clawed creature as it is.
A moment later, having dramatically widened the passage by blowing the wall to hell, the Tyrant spilled out onto the roof after me.
"Enjoy your stay!" I waved mockingly, just like at the beginning of this whole epic, tensing my legs and leaping toward the building's exit. Now I could enter like a civilized person and follow in Claire's footsteps.
Except I'd completely forgotten that the Tyrant was also capable of long—if not very high—jumps. And that was more than enough for it to leave the roof as well. Maybe not as gracefully or spectacularly as I did, but still. So when I landed, I had to roll forward immediately, clearing the impact zone of at least a two-ton slab of murderous meat.
And I overdid that roll under acceleration—slammed straight through the barred gate Claire had locked earlier, the one separating the street from the police station grounds. The collapsing grate crushed a few ordinary zombies underneath it; they'd been standing there dumbly, arms stretched forward, even though Claire had already been thoroughly exploring the building for a good ten minutes.
Out on the street, registering the Tyrant's heavy footsteps behind me, I realized my luck had officially run out. Why now, and how did I come to that conclusion, when the T-103 had been riding my tail for quite some time already—at least by the standards of accelerated perception? The answer was painfully simple…
"S.T.A.R.S."
Heavy footsteps echoed from the alley ahead and slightly to my left. Somehow, I'd completely forgotten that one particular monster was programmed to eliminate every member of that unit—and the S.T.A.R.S. office was on the second floor of this very station! I hate my life.
"Tell me, you programmed little nightmare," I muttered plaintively, "am I already on your priority target list?"
Maybe I should veer right? I thought I'd seen a descent into the sewers there, off to the side behind the fence, while I was jumping earlier.
"Sherry!"
A hissing voice and wet, squelching footsteps came from exactly that direction.
"Hah—ha—ha! I'm dead." A hollow laugh burst out of me. "Well, would you look at that—everyone's here. I'm actually curious how this even happened. All right, the Tyrant and Birkin—fine. They were both actually in the building and somehow managed not to meet, just like in canon. But Nemesis—where the hell did you come from? Sure, logically speaking, checking—or outright destroying—the S.T.A.R.S. office is exactly what he should do under a total-extermination protocol, but I don't remember him showing up here. Then again, thanks to me, part of canon will already going off the rails. Take the Tyrant and Birkin meeting, for example… though. That might've happened offscreen in the original as well. And judging by Birkin surviving, either the Tyrant didn't touch him, or the former professor is one dangerous bastard. But Nemesis… forgive me for setting you all up like this, everyone still inside that building."
Yeah. This was a full-blown panic attack. I was definitely not ready for encounters like this—especially not three at once. Could anyone even be prepared for a turn of events like that?
Wait. What's that swarm of red-highlighted—meaning human—figures approaching from the left, out of the alley opposite the one Nemesis should be coming from? What the hell is going on here?
***
Meanwhile. Umbrella Corporation, Epsilon Team.
"Yes, confirming approach to the target. The radars tuned to HiF-05 are performing excellently," the team leader reported over the dedicated encrypted channel built into his suit.
His assault rifle was up, ready for snap shooting. According to surveillance data from multiple cameras, the creature's parameters were monstrous. He signaled his trusted men—ready. One minute to contact. And we'd be the ones to claim the prize first. Gamma Team—who'd gone chasing something down in the sewers for God knows what reason—would get nothing. No triple pay for them.
So much for 'our sensor detected a weak but similar emission.' And whose equipment is better now? Those German bastards were clearly wearing the wrong letter. Our squad was far more qualified.
Enough. Those thoughts could wait until after the operation—along with the self-congratulation. The priority now was target acquisition. Especially now, when the radar suddenly went haywire, spiked some unknown readings, and shut down completely. Someone at that base had definitely messed around with the thing. Their only excuse was that the "toy" had supposedly been assembled in less than a day.
"Come on, boys," the commander said over the internal comms, using a simple soldier's joke to boost morale. "Let's earn our pay and wipe the smiles off Gamma's faces—and Delta's too, wherever the hell they vanished to!"
Twenty seconds to contact.
The mercenaries still had no idea what they were about to run into.
(End of Chapter)
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