Ada's POV
The helicopter's rotors beat heavy against the storm as the lights of a small coastal city flickered into view. Jack was sprawled across the cabin floor, pale and unconscious, his chest rising and falling shallowly.
Ada knelt beside him once, checked his pulse, then looked away. He was still alive—for now.
She didn't take him to the military. Too many eyes. Too many questions she wasn't ready to answer. Instead, she brought the bird down on the roof of a modest hospital, its emergency lights burning faintly against the night.
The pilot glanced back. "You sure about this? Be easier to hand him off to the Marines directly."
Ada's expression didn't waver. "Easier isn't safer. Land."
The helicopter touched down with a squeal of skids. Ada slid the cabin door open, rain slashing across her face as she dragged Jack out with practiced efficiency. He groaned faintly but didn't stir.
Inside the ER doors, a nurse startled as Ada pushed through.
"He's U.S. military," Ada said flatly, her tone clipped but calm. "Get word to the Marines. Tell them to collect him. Do it fast."
The nurse opened her mouth to ask a question, but Ada was already turning away.
"Wait—who are you?"
Ada didn't answer. By the time the nurse looked back, the sound of rotors was already fading into the storm.
Later – en route, over open sea
The helicopter cut across black water, lightning flashing on the horizon. Ada sat alone in the cabin now, pulling a slim tablet from her coat. A cascade of Umbrella documents blinked across the screen: combat data, biometric scans, failed sample replication reports.
One line stood out:
SUBJECT HALE: UNREPLICABLE. ADAPTIVE RESPONSE TO VIRUS UNIQUE. POTENTIAL OUTLIER.
Ada's lips tightened. For a long moment, she hovered her finger over the file. Then—delete.
The entry vanished.
She stitched the remaining files together into a clean packet—Umbrella losses, Weiss's betrayal, Ross's mutation, the Hive's destruction—but with one key truth missing: Jack wasn't just a survivor. He was something Umbrella couldn't reproduce.
Ada encrypted the packet and opened a secure channel. A voice answered immediately, cold and composed.
"Report."
"The Hive facility is gone," Ada said evenly. "Dr. Weiss survived, but his whereabouts are unknown. I secured one of the remaining Aegis samples. Hale was left for the Marines to recover."
There was a pause. "You're certain he lives?"
"Yes."
"Good." The voice grew quieter, more deliberate. "Dr. Weiss is reckless. He'll reveal himself in time. But Jack Hale… he may be even more valuable than the virus. His body is an asset."
Ada's eyes flicked toward the rain-lashed glass, her reflection fractured by the storm. "What do you want done?"
"For now, nothing," the voice replied. "Leave him in the military's care. Pressure will be applied. When the time comes, Jack Hale will be ours."
The line cut off. Ada slid the device away, her expression unreadable.
"Well, call it even, Jack," she murmured.
The helicopter carried her deeper into the night, a ghost once more.
Umbrella Executive POV
The boardroom was quiet but for the rain streaking against the glass walls. The city below gleamed under the storm, skyscrapers glowing like steel teeth in the dark.
At the head of the table sat Director Marcus Trent, one of Umbrella's senior executives. Silver hair combed immaculately back, glasses perched on his nose, he studied the glowing tablet in front of him—the packet Ada Wong had delivered.
The others waited—scientists in lab coats, Umbrella Security officers in crisp uniforms. None spoke until he did.
Trent adjusted his glasses, scrolling through the report. The Hive destroyed. Weiss alive but unaccounted for. One Aegis sample recovered. Hale—still breathing.
He tapped the screen once, enlarging Hale's file. A photograph of Jack appeared, scarred and tired, eyes burning with something Umbrella's reports could never quantify.
Trent's lips thinned. "Adaptive response unique." He glanced around the room. "Gentlemen, this soldier isn't a failure. He's the key. A living prototype."
One of the scientists frowned. "With respect, Director, Weiss believed the Aegis strain was the pinnacle of the project. Pursuing Hale—"
Trent cut him off with a raised hand. "Weiss is reckless. His arrogance has already cost us a facility. Hale survived where others perished. Do you know what that means?"
The room stayed silent.
Trent leaned forward. "It means Hale cannot be allowed to disappear into military custody. His body belongs to us. If the Americans won't surrender him willingly…" He tapped the screen again, bringing up sealed channels of military correspondence. "…we'll make them."
An Umbrella Security officer cleared his throat. "You want us to exert pressure on the Pentagon?"
Trent smiled thinly. "Pressure is too crude a word. We'll convince them. Hale's records will be adjusted. His actions reframed. He won't be celebrated as a survivor—he'll be condemned as a criminal. A liability. A man who murdered his own team."
Whispers rippled around the table.
"Public opinion will turn," Trent continued, his voice calm, deliberate. "The government will have no choice but to discard him. And when they do, Umbrella will be there to collect the pieces."
He closed the file, Jack's photograph vanishing into darkness.
"Make it happen."
The others rose at once, bowing their heads before filing out.
Left alone in the boardroom, Marcus Trent gazed out over the storm-washed skyline. His reflection stared back at him in the glass—cold, precise, untouchable.
"Hale doesn't know it yet," he murmured, "but his war is only beginning."
Hive Ashes
The storm had passed, leaving the coast shrouded in smoke and silence. What remained of the Hive was nothing but a crater, its steel bones glowing faintly in the dark.
For a long time, there was no sound but the hiss of rain on twisted metal.
Then—movement.
A massive clawed hand burst up through the rubble, dragging itself free. Concrete shattered under its weight.
A figure heaved into view, scorched and broken, its pale flesh split with burns and raw scars. The Proto-Tyrant staggered upright, hunched against the weight of its ruined body.
Clouded eyes flickered open. For a moment, their milky glow dimmed—something human, something familiar, fighting to surface.
Its jaw worked, broken teeth grinding. A ragged breath rattled out:
"…J…a…"
The rest was lost in a guttural growl as the Tyrant's head snapped toward the horizon, senses dragging it toward some unseen call.
It lurched forward, disappearing into the smoke.
The ruins went quiet again.
TJ still lived.
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Hello guys, Dark here. This arc was fun to write—it took me about a month to brainstorm and build a storyboard timeline. Introducing OG characters like Dr. Weiss, Jack Hale, TJ, and the rest of the team was a blast. Creating these unique story/game elements makes this feel close to Resident Evil without making it feel too much like a video game.
Don't worry—Jack will be back again soon. I just need to do more research and start storyboarding Arc Two.