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The television screen flickered with static.
Because it was a live broadcast, the image and audio were unstable. Snowy interference lines cut across the screen, and the sound came and went in bursts. But the main scene was still visible.
It was happening on a massive bridge—Black Gate Bridge.
A towering barricade had already been erected by the Umbrella Corporation. A thick wall of steel and concrete separated the city from the outside world.
More than a dozen soldiers stood neatly on top of the wall, rifles held firmly across their chests.
Below, three inspection teams operated in rotation. Each team carried detection instruments, scanning the civilians lining up in front of them.
At first glance, everything looked orderly.
The camera pulled back.
Ten meters behind the organized line—
Chaos.
The queue disintegrated into a desperate mob.
People shoved violently. The elderly were pushed aside. Women screamed. Children cried as adults stepped over them in a frantic attempt to get ahead.
A few police officers were mixed into the crowd, shouting hoarsely, trying to restore order.
It was useless.
Fear stripped away civility faster than any virus.
Deadpool leaned back on the couch, unimpressed.
"Human nature," he muttered. "Never disappoints."
He changed the channel.
Even without seeing the full movie plot, he already knew what this was.
Umbrella was staging a show.
A public relations performance.
If a nuclear strike became necessary, they could release this footage to prove they had tried to evacuate civilians.
Heroes on camera.
Villains underground.
He tapped the remote against his chin.
And those who had already been evacuated?
Would they return to normal life?
Or would they become laboratory subjects?
Maybe appear later on stage to condemn the virus and praise Umbrella's "heroic rescue efforts"?
Deadpool snorted.
"Corporate morality. My favorite genre."
The next channel was far more intense.
A female reporter and her cameraman were hiding inside a tall building.
Behind them, heavy pounding shook the door.
The camera angled downward from an upper window.
Below—
Civilians ran desperately toward a military defensive point.
Behind them—
A massive wave of zombies.
Some were missing limbs. Some crawled. Some staggered with broken bones jutting out.
They were slow.
But there were many.
And more kept pouring out of shops, alleys, and side streets as the noise drew them in.
The soldiers opened fire.
Bullets tore into the horde, providing temporary cover.
"Hurry! Hurry!" the reporter whispered, her voice trembling.
She clenched her fists, cheering silently for the survivors below.
Then—
One man slipped on a plastic bag.
He fell hard.
A girl screamed and turned back to help him.
Too late.
A zombie lunged from a nearby storefront and sank its teeth into the girl's neck.
Her scream pierced the street.
The fallen man scrambled up and grabbed the zombie's hair, pulling desperately.
He managed to yank its head back—
A chunk of flesh tore free from the girl's neck.
Blood sprayed.
He cradled her, sobbing uncontrollably.
The next wave of zombies arrived.
They devoured both of them.
Their sacrifice bought seconds.
Other civilians reached the defensive line under covering fire.
But relief lasted only moments.
Two people among the survivors suddenly convulsed.
Foam spilled from their mouths.
Infection.
The soldiers raised their rifles.
Relatives screamed and blocked them.
Chaos erupted.
The defensive point collapsed.
Zombies broke through.
Screams filled the air.
Upstairs, the reporter sobbed silently.
Then—
Crack.
The door behind her splintered.
Seven or eight zombies burst in.
The camera shook violently.
The cameraman swung it as a weapon.
Three minutes later—
The camera fell to the floor.
The image froze at ground level.
Only the reporter's wailing and shattering glass could be heard.
Then silence.
Deadpool turned off the TV.
He stood slowly.
"This," he said softly, "is a proper apocalypse."
He rummaged through drawers and found a city map.
He located his position.
Then his eyes landed on one place.
Black Gate Bridge.
The only exit from Raccoon City.
He opened the church doors.
They creaked loudly.
Outside, sunlight bathed the street in warm brightness.
At least a dozen zombies turned their heads toward him at the same time.
"Woah."
They charged.
Deadpool calmly finished his cola, crushed the bottle, and threw it.
It hit the lead zombie square in the forehead.
"Three points!"
The zombie didn't even slow down.
"Okay, fair."
Deadpool raised both arms dramatically.
"Transformation time!"
He struck a heroic pose and leaped into the air.
By the time he landed in a three-point stance, his red-and-black suit was already on him.
Instant costume change.
Style points awarded.
He didn't draw his guns.
Instead—
His hand gripped the sword strapped behind his back.
Only when the first zombie reached striking distance did he pull it free.
Steel flashed.
The blade cleaved cleanly through a skull.
Red and white matter spilled.
The body dropped.
Deadpool grinned under the mask.
"Behold."
He moved smoothly, cutting down the next, then the next.
Heads split.
Bodies collapsed.
He felt no fear.
No hesitation.
"As the star of an R-rated movie," he declared loudly, "I absolutely love this world!"
Within moments, the dozen zombies lay scattered around him.
He wiped his sword carefully with a white handkerchief.
Clean blade.
Professional standards.
Then he began walking toward Black Gate Bridge.
---
Elsewhere in Raccoon City
Inside a quiet residential house, another TV screen flashed emergency reports.
A tall woman stood silently, listening.
Her phone screen showed missed calls.
She placed it down calmly.
She removed her high heels.
Put on long boots.
Stood up.
She picked up a pistol from the table and inserted it smoothly into her holster.
On the wall beside her were suspension notices.
S.T.A.R.S. officer Jane Valentine.
Suspended due to unsatisfactory performance during the Arklay Mountains incident.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Outside, sirens wailed.
Inside, she adjusted her jacket.
Her expression was no longer frustration.
It was resolve.
Meanwhile—
On a street not far away—
Deadpool walked casually through scattered corpses, sword resting on his shoulder.
Beginner Village?
He chuckled.
"More like bonus stage."
The city was collapsing.
The bridge was blocked.
Umbrella was watching.
Zombies filled the streets.
And for once—
Deadpool wasn't the strangest thing in town.
He tilted his head toward the distant bridge.
"Alright, Raccoon City," he said cheerfully.
"Let's see how far this game goes."