The narrow alley behind the parking lot reeked of mold, rust, and death. The rain had stopped, but the air remained damp and suffocating. Sherry clung to Claire's hand, trembling with each echoing step. Leon led the group, pistol at the ready, while Erick covered the rear, eyes locked on every shifting shadow.
They were heading toward a sewer access point Leon remembered from the station's maps. If they were lucky, it would lead them away from the streets... and away from the walking dead.
But something was off.
Too quiet.
Erick slowed his pace, sharpening his senses. The muffled dripping of water, the distant buzz of flies… but beneath it, something else. A rhythm. Wet. Uneven. Heavy.
"Footsteps... not human," he thought, jaw tightening.
Then — a crash.
A mass of flesh and claws exploded through the brick wall ahead, blocking their path.
Leon cursed and stepped back. Claire instinctively shielded Sherry.
The creature stood — grotesque, malformed, vaguely human in shape but twisted by layers of muscle and bone. Its right arm was a massive claw, gleaming with blood and sinew. One eye dangled from the socket, the other burned with fury and... something worse: recognition.
Erick froze.
William Birkin.
The monster heaved, growling with broken, heavy breaths. And then, to Erick's surprise, it paused. Its head tilted slightly — studying him.
And then it spoke.
A distorted, cracked voice, warped by mutation, yet disturbingly aware:
"Not... Umbrella... You... smell... different..."
Leon and Claire didn't notice. Too focused on the threat, fingers tight on their triggers. But Erick understood: Birkin had sensed him. Not as prey — but as something unknown.
(He knows I'm not normal... Like him. A mutation — but controlled.)
Birkin growled suddenly, charging with terrifying speed. Leon shot first — three bullets to the chest. Useless.
Claire pulled Sherry back. Erick didn't hesitate. He jumped forward, grabbed Leon's shoulder and yanked him aside just as the massive claw crushed the ground, smashing concrete like paper.
"RUN!" Erick shouted, heart racing.
He ducked left, slipping under a busted pipe as Birkin swiped again. The creature's movements were erratic — fast, but fueled by rage, not precision. Erick saw the pattern. Like fighting a wounded beast. Powerful. Desperate. Predictable.
(He's not invincible. He has weak spots... just can't feel pain anymore.)
"Keep him busy!" Leon shouted. "I'll open the manhole!"
Claire fired at the creature's head to distract it while Erick used a crate for cover. His breathing was fast, but his mind was clear.
(He's testing me. Like I'm the only one here that matters.)
And it was true. Birkin lunged again — toward Erick, ignoring the others. Their eyes met, and for a split second, there was no roar, no violence. Just... curiosity. Raw and twisted.
"You... not natural..."
Erick clenched his teeth.
"Neither are you."
Leon managed to lift the manhole cover.
"NOW! GO!"
Erick backed off as Claire descended with Sherry. Leon followed, but Birkin wasn't finished.
He lunged again — but Erick, anticipating the move, used the creature's momentum, dodged at the last second and slashed Birkin's arm with his claws, deep enough to annoy, not injure.
Birkin roared.
Erick dove into the hole just as the claw smashed the rim, shaking the ground.
Darkness swallowed them.
They landed hard in the sewers. The monster's roar faded. Silence returned — but it was a heavy silence.
Sherry clung to Claire, sobbing quietly. Leon sat, catching his breath.
Claire looked at Erick, eyes wide.
"That thing... it went after you."
Leon nodded grimly. "Straight for you."
Erick was silent for a moment. Then spoke:
"I think he sees me as a threat. Or maybe... as something like him."
They didn't fully understand. But Claire nodded slowly.
"Then... I'm glad you're on our side."
For the first time, Leon didn't argue.
In that filthy, damp darkness, a fragile trust began to take root.
But far above, on the broken streets, William Birkin stared at the blood on his mutated claw and smiled.
"He... will evolve... too..."
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