A/N: You guys crushed it! 💥 We hit 100 PS, so here's your bonus chapter! But I'm not stopping there—let's push for 150 power stones by the end of this week, and I'll hit you with ANOTHER bonus chapter! Let's gooo! 🔥🙌
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Barry POV – Spencer's Manor (Flashback)
The door had barely closed behind Jill when the guilt hit him like a hammer. He'd told her they should split up, made it sound like strategy, like procedure. But Barry knew better. It wasn't his idea. It was Wesker's.
He leaned against the wall, revolver heavy in his hand, the shadows of the mansion pressing down. Splitting up wasn't smart. It never was. But Wesker's voice still rang in his ears, calm and cold: "Keep her busy. Guide her where I want her."
Barry dragged a hand across his face. He hated this. Hated lying to Jill. Hated himself more for obeying. But Umbrella had his family. Kathy. Moira. Polly. If he didn't play along, they'd be the ones to pay. And Barry knew Umbrella didn't make empty threats.
Sorry, Jill, he thought, jaw tightening as he pushed himself off the wall. I don't have a choice.
"Good work," Wesker said smoothly, his voice low, measured. "She trusts you. Keep it that way."
Barry's throat tightened. "Albert… this isn't right. We're supposed to watch each other's backs. Jill—"
"Jill will be fine," Wesker interrupted, tone sharp enough to cut. "Your priority isn't her. It's your family."
Barry's hand clenched around the grip of his revolver. His stomach twisted. "You don't need to remind me what's at stake."
Wesker stepped closer, his expression unreadable behind the dark lenses. "Then you'll do as instructed. Guide her. Delay Chris if necessary. Make sure both of them are exactly where I want them, when I want them."
Barry's shoulders sagged, the weight of the mansion suddenly doubled by the weight in his chest. "And if I don't?"
Wesker didn't smile, didn't frown. He simply tilted his head, as though puzzled Barry would even ask. "Umbrella doesn't tolerate disobedience. Not from you. Not from your wife. Not from your daughters."
Barry's heart lurched at the mention of them. He lowered his head, jaw locked tight. "…Fine. I'll play along."
"Good." Wesker's voice softened back into its controlled cadence, almost fatherly. "Remember, Barry. Every step you take, you take for them. Stay useful, and this will all be over soon."
Wesker brushed past him, his footsteps vanishing into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Barry alone with his guilt.
Jack POV – Spencer's Manor
The last gear screeched to a halt, and silence settled over the chamber.
A low rumble followed, stone shifting at the far wall as a panel slid open, dust spilling into the air. Inside, resting on a cracked marble pedestal, was a mask carved from pale stone. Its empty eye sockets stared back at them.
Jill stepped forward cautiously, lifting it free. She turned it in her hands, inspecting the details, before finally tucking it into her pack.
Jack was distracted. His vision flickered; the VSS crawled into view across his mind's eye.
[VIRAL SURVIVAL SYSTEM]
[New Bond Triggered]
Subject: Jill Valentine
Bond Path:Unwanted Alliance
Ability Gained:Viral Sense – Passive
Effect: Viral pathways extend sensory perception. Host can now detect nearby viral-infected organisms through walls, distance, or obscurity. Range and clarity increase when bonded subject is present.
Status: Active – Jill Valentine nearby.
Jack blinked, forcing the glow away. His chest tightened, not from fear of the mask, but from the realization that the virus inside him was reshaping itself again—this time, because of her.
The glow faded, but the echo of the bond lingered. At first, it was just a whisper at the edge of his awareness, like static buzzing faintly under his skin. Then it sharpened—an oppressive weight pressing against his chest.
Something was out there.
Something big.
Jack's breath hitched. He could feel it—infected flesh moving with terrible weight, its presence hammering against the edges of his mind. Not close, not yet, but closing fast.
He froze, staring down the dark hall. Jill caught the change immediately, her hand tightening on her pistol. "What is it?"
Jack didn't answer. He didn't think. Instinct and the virus screamed at once. He grabbed Jill's wrist.
"Move!"
"Hey—what the hell are you—"
Her protest was cut off as Jack yanked her forward, dragging her into a sprint down the hall. Their boots pounded against the floor, dust falling from the ceiling with every step.
Behind them, the mansion trembled. A heavy footfall. Then another. Steady. Relentless.
They stumbled into a storage room—dusty shelves, broken furniture, nothing useful. Jack spotted an old wardrobe in the corner. He didn't think twice. He shoved Jill inside with him, pressing their bodies together in the cramped dark.
"Watch where you rest your hands—" Jill whispered coldly, but the words died as Jack's palm pressed over her lips.
"Stay quiet."
The footsteps came.
Thud… Thud… Thud…
The Tyrant stepped into the room.
Through the narrow slits in the wardrobe, they saw it: the massive frame nearly filling the doorway, broad shoulders straining against the tatters of a medical gown. Pale flesh threaded with pulsing black veins. Eyes glowing red, scanning. Searching.
It paused.
Jack's pulse hammered. He knew he couldn't fight that thing with just a knife. Jill knew it too—she'd seen it outside, tearing through Joseph Frost like paper. With the firepower they had, this monster couldn't be stopped.
The Tyrant's head tilted. Slowly. Deliberately. Its gaze slid across the room, burning past the shelves and shadows until it lingered on their corner.
Jill's hand twitched toward her pistol, but Jack clamped his grip over hers, shaking his head.
The Tyrant stepped closer. The floor creaked under its weight. Its shadow stretched long across the wardrobe, swallowing them whole. For a heartbeat, Jack swore it could hear their racing pulses.
It loomed there. Silent. Listening.
Jack bit down hard, fighting the urge to move, to lash out, to do anything. Jill's breath brushed his shoulder, shallow and strained. Neither of them dared shift.
Then—slowly—the Tyrant straightened. Its eyes lingered a moment longer.
And it moved on.
The footsteps receded, steady as a war drum, until only silence remained.
Jack didn't breathe until the pressure in his chest collapsed, leaving his lungs heaving. Jill finally eased her pistol back into its holster, her face pale but steady.
"You want to explain," she whispered tightly, "you do know what that thing is, right?"
Jack dragged a sleeve across his sweat-damp forehead, eyes fixed on the empty hall.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's definitely one of Umbrella's new monsters."
Jill shot him a sharp look, suspicion clouding her eyes.
"Look," Jack said, voice low but steady, "you can doubt me all you want. But when we get to the medical ward, Rebecca has proof of what I'm saying."