July 23, 1998 – Route 17, Raccoon Forest
The convoy rolled slowly through the fog—four Humvees and a prison transport, engines steady, headlights cutting pale beams across the forest road. Rain misted the glass, the only sound besides rubber on wet asphalt.
Inside the transport, Jack Hale, in a plain tan jumpsuit and standard boots, sat chained to a steel bench. Heavy shackles bit into his wrists, his ankles locked to the floor. Two MPs faced him, rifles resting across their laps.
"Fuck… when did my life become a lab rat? Rebecca would probably laugh if she saw what I've turned into," Jack muttered, leaning back.
The driver's voice crackled over the comm.
"Convoy halt. Unidentified civilian ahead."
Brakes hissed as the column slowed. Engines idled.
Through the windshield, the headlights caught a lone figure standing in the center of the road, facing away from the vehicles. Barefoot. Clothes shredded. Skin pale like candle wax. Its head hung loosely to one side.
The lead Humvee commander keyed his mic.
"Control, this is Convoy Delta. Possible drifter or lost hiker on Route 17. Moving to investigate."
Orders came back muffled, indistinct under static.
Protocol kicked in. Doors opened. Four MPs dismounted from the lead Humvee, weapons at low ready. One raised a flashlight, its beam sliding across the figure.
"Sir, you're in a restricted zone!" an MP shouted. "Hands where I can see them!"
The figure didn't respond. Slowly, it turned toward the noise. Its jaw sagged open, drool and blood stringing from its lips.
"Jesus…" one of the MPs muttered. "What the fuck is wrong with him?"
Another moved closer, cautious. "Sir? We're here to help—"
The thing shrieked, a tearing, inhuman sound, and bolted forward with sudden speed. The MPs recoiled in shock—then chaos erupted.
Gunfire snapped. Muzzle flashes lit the fog. One MP went down screaming as claws ripped into his vest.
The convoy's radios exploded with shouts:
"Contact front!"
"Shots fired, shots fired!"
The forest itself came alive. Branches snapped. Low growls rolled through the mist. Shapes slinked between the trees—lean, fast, too many legs.
"Dogs! Jesus fucking Christ—dogs!"
The first leapt from the treeline, jaws clamping down on a soldier's throat, dragging him into the ditch. Another pair slammed into the rear Humvee, clawing and biting, dragging the gunner down before he could spin his weapon around.
The MPs still inside the transport jolted at the sudden gunfire, rifles snapping up. The truck lurched as the driver tried to reverse—too late. Something slammed into the rear doors, claws screeching against steel.
Jack's pulse spiked. He strained against his cuffs as the MPs scrambled, shouting orders no one could hear over the screams outside.
The rear doors buckled once. Twice. Then burst inward.
The first infected dog clambered inside, blood and foam spraying from its muzzle.
Jack's chains rattled as he kicked back, teeth clenched.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me—"
The dog lunged before Jack could react. Its jaws clamped down on his forearm, teeth punching through fabric into flesh. White-hot pain exploded through him.
Jack screamed, straining against the steel bench. Chains rattled violently, cutting deeper into his wrists and ankles as the infected dog shook him like a rag doll.
Blood spattered across the interior walls. The MPs fired wildly, but in the chaos, rounds ricocheted off the truck frame.
The VSS flared into existence, warning him of the danger:
[VIRAL SURVIVAL SYSTEM]
Warning: New Viral Biohazard detected
Strain: T-Virus (Canine bite wound)
Health Status: Fair (bite wound)
Enhanced Recovery (Tier 1): Active
Jack's vision blurred. He could feel the virus burning through his veins, crawling under his skin like fire.
Then, suddenly, a new message appeared:
[VSS]
[New Milestone Reached: T-Virus strand detected]
[Adaptation Unlocked — Shield's Path]
Cellular Lockdown (Tier 1) — Passive
Effect: Immune response amplified. Prevents T-Virus mutation.
Duration: 2 hours
Risk: Host cell fatigue after duration. Temporary effect.
[Due to new viral exposure, the ability has auto-activated. When the duration expires, user must rest or risk collapse.]
The burning sensation slowed. The spread stopped—his immune system pushed into hyperdrive, walling the infection off. Jack gasped for air. The invasive fire was gone, though the pain of the bite still throbbed.
The infected dog pulled, trying to drag him off the bench. But the chains held him in place, jerking tight across his shoulders. Jack snarled, planted both boots against the steel wall, and used the tether as leverage.
Every muscle flexed hard; the Muscle Density (Tier 1) adaptation made his body feel like coiled steel. With a roar, he yanked his bound wrist against the dog's skull, the chain links whipping across its snout. Bone cracked, and the beast yelped but refused to let go.
"Fine," Jack hissed. Blood streamed down his arm, dripping to the floor in hot splashes.
He twisted, pinning the dog's head against the edge of the bench with his chained arm. With his free hand, he balled a fist and drove it into the creature's ribs, again and again. Each strike hit harder, fueled by raw muscle and adrenaline.
The animal wheezed. Its grip loosened. Jack seized the opening, looped the dangling chain around its throat, and pulled with everything he had.
The infected dog thrashed, claws raking Jack's leg, but the chain bit deep into its neck. Jack leaned back, using his whole body as leverage. His muscles screamed. The steel links dug into his palms.
Then, with a wet crack, the dog went limp.
Panting, Jack shoved the corpse aside. His shredded forearm throbbed, blood dripping steadily onto the floor. He willed the VSS forward:
[VSS]
Infection: Contained
Cellular Lockdown: Active
Remaining Duration: 1h 40m
Jack slumped back against the wall, the chain still wrapped around his arm, chest heaving.
"Did Umbrella get bored and start using dogs…" he muttered through gritted teeth.
More infected tried to force their way in. One MP panicked and fired blindly again. This time, he wasn't so lucky—he accidentally shot his partner, the dog, and himself in that order.
Jack looked at the dead MPs with pity, then his eyes locked on the soldier's duty belt. Keys.
"Sorry, man," Jack muttered.
He lunged, dragging the deadweight close. Fingers slick with blood fumbled until he found the right key. The shackles snapped open, first his wrists, then his ankles. The relief was instant, bruised skin screaming as circulation returned.
The MPs' weapons lay scattered, but before he could think, another bark rang out from outside. Jack grabbed only what he could—the sidearm the fallen MP had been firing, along with two spare mags from his vest.
The truck lurched violently as another body slammed against the side. Growls and screams echoed outside. Jack peeked through the rear door and froze.
Too many.
The convoy was overrun. Infected swarmed through the fog, tearing into soldiers as more dogs burst from the treeline. Gunfire was scattered, panicked, already faltering. Humvees burned in the ditch.
Jack clenched his jaw. He couldn't fight this—not wounded, not alone, not with so little gear. His head screamed survival. He knew he couldn't save everyone—he'd learned that the hard way in the old Umbrella facility.
He jumped off the transport, boots hitting mud, pistol gripped tight. Gunfire cracked in the distance, drowned by shrieks and snarls. Jack didn't wait to see who was winning. He ran.
Branches whipped his face as he crashed through the underbrush. His lungs burned. His wounded arm throbbed with every heartbeat, blood soaking into his sleeve. Behind him, the forest was alive with pursuit—snapping branches, howls, the chaos of predators fighting over prey.
Jack didn't look back.
The ground sloped suddenly, slick with rain. His boots slipped. He tumbled down a muddy incline, smashing through brush until he hit bottom hard enough to rattle his teeth.
He pushed himself up, coughing, pistol still in hand. Then he froze.
Through the trees, looming in the fog, he saw it: a train. Its dark silhouette stretched across the forest, headlights faint but burning through the mist.
The Ecliptic Express.
Jack staggered forward, every nerve screaming, every muscle heavy. Cellular Lockdown still held the infection in check, but his body felt weaker with each step.
He pressed a bloodied hand against the cold steel of the train car, breathing hard.
"Guess I just bought myself a ticket…" he muttered.
And then he climbed aboard.
July 1998 – Umbrella Executive Training Facility, Arklay Mountains
The ornate chamber of the old Training School no longer resembled a place of learning. Chandeliers had been stripped away, replaced by harsh halogen lamps. The long mahogany table was scattered with maps of Raccoon Forest, infection spread charts, and surveillance stills.
Dr. Alexander Isaacs stood at the head, white coat immaculate, tapping a vial of green fluid against the table.
"The infection has spread beyond control. Raccoon Forest is compromised. If it continues unchecked, both this facility and the Spencer Estate will be threatened."
Dr. William Birkin folded his arms, his tone sharp. "That's your problem, Isaacs. Marcus's toys have turned the forest into a zoo, and now we're all footing the bill. Chairman Spencer will not tolerate his mansion being contaminated."
Isaacs smiled faintly. "Which is why we adapt. Burning it all is wasteful. I propose something better." He lifted the vial, the liquid catching the light. "The T-Aegis strain. Unlike the base T-Virus, this strain retains fragments of memory. Hosts who remember skills. Training. Obedience. Soldiers after death."
Birkin's lip curled. "A recycled virus, from the old Aegis Project. Don't pretend it's innovation. My G-Virus will leave your work in the dust."
From the far end of the table, Albert Wesker adjusted his glasses, his voice cold.
"Enough. The directive is simple. Both the Training Facility and Spencer's Mansion fall under the Estate Zone. Contain it. Erase evidence. Deploy the Cleaners."
Isaacs interjected, his tone smug. "They'll deal with the rabble. Meanwhile, I'll have the perfect test subjects delivered to me—fresh, infected hosts, not decayed husks. Just what T-Aegis needs to prove its superiority."
Birkin shook his head. "Spencer won't care if you're right. He'll only care if the forest is clean. Fail him, and your project will join Marcus's in the grave."
Isaacs ignored the barb and gestured toward the reinforced chamber at the far wall. With a hiss, the locks disengaged. Behind the glass, suspended in fluid, loomed a figure shaped like a man—massive, broad-shouldered, eerily symmetrical. Its pale skin was webbed with black veins, pulsing faintly in the light.
The scientists fell silent for a moment as the silhouette shifted, one fist tightening against the glass.
Isaacs's voice was quiet, reverent. "The T-Aegis Tyrant. Discipline. Focus. Strength without decay. Marcus dreamed of perfection. I've built it."
Wesker's smirk was razor-thin. "We'll see if your creation survives its trial."