Umbrella Executive Training Facility – Lab Corridors
The Proto-Tyrant roared, the sound shaking the steel walls of the corridor. Jack grabbed Rebecca's arm, yanking her away from the monstrosity advancing on them.
"Jack!" she shouted as they sprinted down the passage.
Heavy footsteps thundered behind them. Thud… thud… thud. Each impact rattled through Jack's chest, dredging up memories of his first deployment—running through infected labs, always with death at his back.
Rebecca fired over her shoulder, bullets sinking into the Tyrant's hide like clay. The rounds barely left a mark. "It's not slowing down!" she cried.
Jack risked a glance back. The glowing red eye glared past the gunfire, locked not on Rebecca, but squarely on him.
A cold certainty struck him. It's not after her… it's after me.
Jack skidded to a halt, shoving Rebecca toward a side corridor that sloped deeper into the lab chambers.
Her eyes widened, confusion cutting through the fear. "Jack, what are you—"
He gave her a soft grin, the kind meant to reassure even when his own heart hammered in his chest. "Don't worry. I'll find you."
Before she could protest, Jack slammed his hand against the wall controls. The steel door hissed shut between them, sealing Rebecca off.
"Jack!" Rebecca banged her fists against the reinforced window, her face pale with panic.
Jack allowed himself one last look—her eyes wide, her breath fogging the glass—before turning back.
The Proto-Tyrant bellowed, the sound splitting the air as it charged. Jack sprinted straight down the main corridor, boots hammering against steel, the monster's red eye burning into his back with every step.
Rebecca's POV
The echo of Jack's footsteps faded behind the sealed steel door, leaving Rebecca alone in the oppressive silence. Her pulse hammered in her ears. The monster's roar still reverberated through the corridors, each one carrying Jack farther away from her.
She looked at the door again, trying to override it, but the panel was dead. There was no way through. She forced herself to turn away, searching for another path.
The corridor bent sharply, opening into a shattered laboratory. Glass crunched under her boots. The Umbrella insignia glared down at her from broken signage, a cold reminder that she was standing inside the heart of everything that had gone wrong.
Rebecca pushed deeper. Terminals flickered weakly, papers scattered across the floor like the aftermath of a storm. On one desk lay an intact folder, the handwriting precise, clinical.
Her eyes scanned the entries—then froze.
Subject #199 – PFC Jack Hale: Viral stabilization achieved. Sync rate steady beyond expectations. Priority subject for long-term study.
Subject #200 – PFC Tariq Jabari: Neural resistance detected. High physical compatibility. Candidate for Proto-Tyrant Program.
Rebecca's hands trembled as she clutched the file. Jack. TJ. Both of their names inked into Umbrella's experiments. She thought of Jack's wounds sealing before her eyes, of the scars where there should have been death.
A sound snapped through the silence. Footsteps.
Rebecca spun, pistol raised—
"Rebecca?"
Relief flooded through her. "Captain!"
Enrico Marini lowered his weapon, equally startled. "Easy, Rebecca. Thought you were one of them."
Her heart thudded in her throat. "Where's the rest of the team?"
Enrico's expression darkened. "They were supposed to be here before me. We got scattered by those things outside. Some made it topside. Some…" He shook his head. "I don't know. But there's an old entrance nearby. Leads straight to a mansion Umbrella's been using for research. If we're going to regroup, that's where we go."
Rebecca hesitated, clutching the file tighter against her chest. "I can't. I need to find Jack."
Enrico's brow furrowed. "Jack? Jack Hale? You mean you found the criminal?"
Rebecca's stomach twisted, but she forced her face blank. "Yes. We got separated in the tunnels."
Enrico scoffed. "Don't waste your time. He won't make it. Umbrella doesn't keep people like him alive for long. Come on—we move now."
Rebecca swallowed hard, hiding the anger boiling in her chest. She thought of Jack throwing himself between her and death, of the files that proved Umbrella saw him as more than a prisoner. Criminal or not, she couldn't abandon him.
"I'll catch up," she said firmly.
Enrico studied her for a long moment, as if weighing her resolve, then finally nodded. "Fine. But be careful out there, Rebecca."
He turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Rebecca exhaled shakily, still gripping the file.
Dr. Isaacs's POV – Umbrella Control Room
The room buzzed with alarms, screens filled with static and red error codes. Technicians scrambled to override the facility lockdown, but nothing responded.
Dr. Alexander Isaacs stood at the central console, jaw clenched. Behind him, Wesker watched in silence, arms folded, while Dr. William Birkin paced like a caged animal.
The comms terminal flared to life, the Umbrella logo dissolving into the stern features of Director Marcus Trent. His voice was clipped, cold.
"Dr. Isaacs. I'm calling on behalf of Chairman Spencer."
Isaacs stiffened, glancing at Wesker and Birkin. "Director Trent, the situation is under control—"
Trent cut him off. "Spare me your excuses. The Chairman is disappointed, Doctor. This outbreak, this… debacle, has drawn far too much attention. You promised him results, not chaos."
Birkin bristled, shoving his glasses up his nose. "You can't blame Isaacs for Marcus hijacking the systems. No one predicted he'd still be alive."
"Alive or not, Umbrella's reputation is at stake," Trent snapped. "Effective immediately, Umbrella is pulling all Security Forces from the field. Every soldier returns to corporate command. No more assets wasted on your pet projects, Isaacs."
Isaacs's face drained of color. "You can't! Without those troops, containment will collapse. The Tyrant prototypes—"
"—are already compromised," Trent said coldly. "Spencer has lost patience. You've failed to maintain control, and failure is not tolerated. Do what you can with what remains, Doctor. Consider this your last opportunity."
The feed cut to black.
For a long moment, the only sound was the shrill wail of alarms and the nervous shuffle of technicians.
Isaacs stood rigid at the console, his reflection staring back from the dead monitor. Umbrella had pulled the troops. Umbrella's walls were crumbling, and Isaacs knew what that meant.
Failure was not tolerated. He would not live long enough to explain.
Behind him, Birkin swore under his breath. "This is madness. If the soldiers are gone, Marcus will overrun the facility in hours."
Wesker's tone was smooth, clinical, almost amused. "Then perhaps it's time to stop clinging to a corpse. Umbrella isn't the future. Survival is."
Birkin shot him a look, bristling. "And what would you suggest? Abandoning years of research?"
Wesker adjusted his gloves, the faintest smirk crossing his lips. "Leaving while we still have the choice. That's what I intend to do."
His words hung in the air like a blade. Without waiting for permission, Wesker turned and strode from the control room, his sunglasses catching the flicker of red alarm lights. Birkin hesitated, then followed, muttering curses under his breath.
The door slid shut, leaving Isaacs alone with the technicians.
For a moment, he stood there, listening to the muffled thunder of chaos below. Then his expression hardened.
If Umbrella abandoned him, he would not go quietly.
Isaacs opened a secondary terminal, bypassing Umbrella's monitoring systems. His fingers moved quickly across the keys, calling up secure files. Blueprints of the T-Aegis Tyrant glowed across the screen, the culmination of his work.
He began transferring data to encrypted drives, one by one. Not just the T-Aegis project, but every thread of research worth saving. And then, when the facility fell, he would move it—to the mansion. A final stand. A battlefield where his Tyrant could prove its worth against Marcus's creatures.
But there was one more piece. One thread too important to leave to Spencer's whims.
Isaacs opened a private channel, coding the message under layers of encryption. The recipient: Dr. Annette Birkin.
His message was brief, but its weight was undeniable:
Annette,
I am forwarding data on a prototype cure for the T-virus. Umbrella will bury it. Spencer will never allow it to see daylight. But if the company collapses—as I now believe it will—you must protect this work. One day, it will matter more than all the weapons we've built.
–A. Isaacs
He hit send.
Isaacs leaned back, exhaling slowly, alarms still screaming in his ears. For a moment, despair threatened to take hold.
But then an idea sparked. A lifeline.
Battle data. That was the key. Numbers, performance metrics, live results under fire.
If the Tyrant succeeded, Isaacs would succeed. And if Umbrella saw what the T-Aegis could do, they would have no choice but to take him back.
"They'll see," he whispered. "Spencer, Birkin, Wesker… all of them. They'll see the future belongs to me."