The detonator clicked under Jack's thumb.
BOOM!
The reinforced bulkhead erupted in a storm of fire, steel, and dust. Metal screamed as it tore from its hinges, crashing inward. Smoke belched into the corridor, swallowing everything in a gray haze.
Jack was already moving.
M4 tight against his shoulder, boots hammering steel, he surged through the breach like it was a kill-house drill back in Lejeune. The air reeked of cordite and burned insulation, but the world narrowed to angles, corners, and targets.
"CONTACT!" a guard shouted through the haze.
Jack answered with a burst.
BRRRRT!
Three rounds stitched across the man's chest, cutting him down before he even cleared his muzzle.
"BREACH LEFT!" Jack barked, his voice a ghost of muscle memory. He pivoted, sweeping the smoke with his sights. Two more shapes moved. Flashlights flared.
He rolled low, thumbed a flashbang, and let it fly.
CLANG—FLASH!
The corridor bloomed white. Guards screamed, blinded. Jack rose through the afterglow, M4 barking. Two quick bursts—two targets down, rifles clattering away.
More boots thundered in the holding block. Shouts echoed.
"Lock it down! What the fuck is Subject #199 doing here!?"
Jack pressed to the wall, breath harsh, eyes burning through the haze. His thumb flicked the selector—safe, semi, burst. He went full auto.
He kicked through the next doorway, rifle spitting. BRRRRRRT! Brass rained to the floor. A guard ducked behind an overturned table. Jack swapped mags in a heartbeat, slapped the bolt, then hurled a breaching charge across the cover.
The man's eyes widened.
BOOM!
The table vaporized—and the guard with it.
Jack ducked as wild fire ripped back down the hall. Sparks ricocheted off steel walls.
He advanced fast, controlled. Every corner cleared. Every shot placed.
A guard sprinted down a catwalk overhead, rifle raised. Jack dropped to a knee, sights steady, and squeezed. BRRT! The man toppled over the rail, his body slamming to the deck below.
Jack pressed deeper into the block. Reinforced doors lined either side—interrogation cells. Somewhere behind one of them—Ada.
Another squad pushed out from the far junction, four rifles raised. They laid down a hail of fire, forcing Jack behind cover. Bullets shrieked past, sparks showering from steel.
"Suppress him!" one barked.
Jack's lips curled. "Suppress this."
He pulled his second breaching charge, slapped it to the wall, and primed it. The guards advanced, shouting—just as Jack thumbed the trigger.
BOOM!
The wall buckled outward, debris showering them from the side. They staggered in confusion. Jack burst from cover, rifle barking. His rounds cut clean, merciless. Three men dropped before the fourth even realized he was alone.
The last guard stumbled back, fumbling for his comms. Jack swung his M9 up with his off-hand and double-tapped him clean.
Silence.
Broken only by the hiss of burning steel—and Jack's ragged breathing.
He reloaded, a fresh mag slapping into the M4. The metallic click echoed in the quiet.
The corridor stank of smoke and charred steel. Shell casings crunched beneath Jack's boots as he advanced, M4 raised, pulse hammering in his ears.
Then a voice cut through the haze.
"Drop the gun, Subject #199! One more step and she dies!"
Jack froze, sights narrowing on the scene ahead.
Through the smoke, two guards emerged. One had his rifle leveled on Jack, hands shaking. The other dragged Ada out of a cell, her wrist still cuffed, her red dress streaked with blood. A pistol pressed hard against her temple.
Jack's eyes flared with anger. His grip on the M4 tightened until his knuckles whitened.
Ada's gaze flicked toward him—sharp, calculating even through pain. She smirked faintly, mocking the men holding her.
"Really, boys? Using me as a hostage? How unoriginal."
The guard snarled, yanking her head back by the hair. "Shut up!"
Jack's jaw clenched. Every muscle screamed to move, to fire—but his training told him the truth: no clean shot. One twitch of that pistol and Ada was gone.
The guard barked again, voice cracking. "Drop the rifle, now!"
Ada shifted slightly in the man's grip, her voice a low purr even as blood trickled down her thigh.
"Soldier boy… don't you dare."
Her smirk sharpened, and then she moved. A sharp twist of her heel, a sudden lurch of her body. The guards' balance broke—just half a second.
Jack's vision flared crimson.
The VSS screamed:
[VIRAL SURVIVAL SYSTEM]
Viral Instincts (Bullet Time) – Active
+0.10% infection per second
Warning: Loss of control risk
The world shattered into fragments of slowed motion.
The strobe light froze mid-pulse. Smoke curled like molasses in the air. Jack's heartbeat thundered in his ears, each thump a cannon blast. His reflection flashed in a warped steel panel—eyes glowing predator-red, black veins spidering around the sockets.
He moved.
In two seconds stretched into eternity, Jack shifted his aim.
First shot—the guard holding Ada. His finger barely twitched on the trigger before a round punched through his skull. Blood sprayed in a slow, lazy arc.
Second shot—the rifleman. A burst tore through his chest, his body folding before he even registered the sound.
The world snapped back.
Both guards dropped almost in unison.
Ada stumbled free, the pistol clattering from limp fingers as she steadied herself against the wall. Her eyes widened—sharp, unflinching, but surprised. In the space of seconds, Jack had ended it.
Her lips curved faintly, voice softer than her usual mockery.
"...You're full of surprises, soldier boy."
Jack's chest heaved, the infection counter burning at the edge of his vision:
[Viral Infection: 2.5% → 2.7%]
He forced his eyes shut, fighting the predator-red glow until it faded back to blue. His knuckles whitened around the M4.
Moving quickly, he snapped the cuffs from Ada's wrists with a recovered guard's key. His voice came low, rough, but steady.
"You alright?"
Ada flexed her wrists, smirking despite the pain in her leg. "I've been better. But… I've also been worse."
She crouched, stripping a pistol and magazines from one of the fallen guards.
Jack's gaze hardened down the corridor as more boots echoed in the distance.
"This isn't over," he muttered.
Ada tilted her head, eyes lingering on his face—the faint traces of veins still fading beneath his skin. She didn't ask. Not yet.
Jack knew they couldn't fight forever. Neither of them could. He turned to her, said nothing, and lifted her into a bridal carry.
Her body was light as a feather against him, but the closeness made his chest tighten. Every stride jarred his grip, and despite his best effort, his hands brushed against the curve of her thigh where the bandage soaked fresh blood. Then, against her waist, the line of her ribs—softer than he meant to.
Jack's jaw locked, his face heating despite the smoke and gunfire. "...Sorry."
Ada tilted her head back, lips curving into that infuriating smirk. Her eyes caught his, sharp and knowing.
"Careful, soldier boy. A girl might start to think you're enjoying this."
Jack grunted, adjusting his hold. "Just trying not to drop you."
"Mhm." Ada purred, her voice velvet despite the pain. "Keep telling yourself that."
Boots thundered behind them. Shouts. Rifles reloading.
Ada shifted slightly in his arms, one wrist free enough to raise the pistol she'd scavenged. She braced it over Jack's shoulder, muzzle flashing as she fired down the corridor.
BANG! BANG!
A guard crumpled, his rifle clattering to the floor.
Jack didn't break stride. "Shooting over my head while I'm carrying you? You're insane."
"Insane?" Ada smirked, eyes glittering as she squeezed off another shot. "I call it multitasking."
BANG! Another Umbrella grunt dropped.
Jack ran harder, boots hammering steel, breath ragged. Ada's weight against him wasn't the burden—it was the way her smirk lingered, the way her eyes gleamed at his flustered expression, even as bullets ricocheted past.
The corridor ahead stretched long, lit only by pulsing red strobes. Jack's boots slammed against steel as he carried Ada, her pistol cracking shots over his shoulder, keeping their pursuers at bay.
But then—the ground trembled.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Ada's smirk softened into something sly, even as fresh blood seeped through her bandage. She angled her head toward the looming shadows behind them.
"Hey… looks like your friend is here."
Jack didn't look back. His jaw clenched, eyes forward, grip tightening around her as the heavy steps drew closer.
"Friend? More like a stalker than a friend."
From the cold darkness, the massive silhouette of the Proto-Tyrant emerged. Its milky eyes gleamed under the strobe lights. Its claws scraped sparks from the walls as it pushed forward, slow and relentless, the corridor shaking with each step.
Then one of the Umbrella guards, still chasing from behind, burst onto the scene.
"Why the hell is Subject #200 on this floor?!"
The Proto-Tyrant turned.
It stopped its advance toward Jack and Ada—and turned instead toward the cluster of armed men.
The guards opened fire, bullets sparking across the Tyrant's pale flesh.
And with a guttural roar, the monster charged.
Jack didn't think twice. While they fought each other, he ran.
Gunfire and the monster's roars grew fainter and fainter as he carried Ada, every step pounding against steel.
Then—up ahead—a service lift.
Jack barreled inside, slamming his palm against the control panel. The doors hissed shut as he hit the button for Sublevel C. The lift groaned, then began to rise.
Jack's knees trembled, strength threatening to give, but he refused to falter.
The cabin shook, dust drifting from the seams. Ada leaned weakly against his chest, pistol still loose in her hand.
The floor indicator dinged. The doors slid open to Sublevel C's dim corridors.
Jack staggered out, searching frantically for shelter. A side room caught his eye—clean enough, quiet enough.
He stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and finally let his knees buckle, sinking to the floor with Ada still in his arms.
His voice rasped, heavy with exhaustion.
"This has been the longest night…"
And his strength finally gave out.