Spencer's Mansion – East Wing Corridor
The gunshot cracked through the silence like a whip.
Jill froze mid-step, pistol already up, eyes sharp as glass. Rebecca nearly jumped out of her skin, clutching her sidearm too tightly.
Jack's Viral Sense flared—like a warning light in his head, whispering danger from every angle. He raised his unsheathed combat knife, preparing. "We've got company. A lot of it."
Both Jill and Rebecca shot him a quick look, confused at how he knew. But before they could ask, the door down the corridor burst open.
Two Cerberus bolted into the hall, froth and gore dripping from their jaws.
Jill dropped to one knee. Bang—bang. One dog dropped with a headshot, the other skidding past the second bullet.
Rebecca brought her pistol up fast, her hands trembling—but she steadied herself and squeezed the trigger. The round clipped its ribs, slowing it but not killing it. The hesitation was just enough for Jack to slam into the beast, pinning it against the wall. He drove the knife down into its skull, twisting until it went still.
Blood splattered the wallpaper. The corpse twitched once before going limp.
A new shadow staggered into view. This one was faster, more vicious than any zombie Rebecca had ever seen. Its flesh was red and raw, claws extended, jaw distended in a silent snarl.
Jill's voice was low and clipped. "That's no ordinary infected. It's faster—watch the claws."
The creature shrieked and lunged. Jill fired—three rounds stitched across its chest. It staggered but didn't fall.
Jack spotted a lamp leaning on a side table. He ripped it free, the cord still trailing from the socket. As the creature swiped at him, he ducked low and looped the cord around its throat. With a brutal yank, he slammed it headfirst into the wall, shattering plaster.
It writhed, clawing at the cord, but Jack didn't let up. Switching grips, he drew his knife and rammed the blade up under its chin. The monster convulsed, then collapsed in a heap at his feet.
Jack leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, blood dripping from his forearm where the creature's claws had raked him. Even as he watched, the gash was already knitting together.
Rebecca, who already knew about Jack's strange recovery, pressed a hand gently over the wound. "You good, Jack?"
"Peachy, Becca," Jack muttered.
Jill's eyes narrowed. Her voice was low but edged. "Is this what Umbrella did to you?"
Jack gave a humorless smirk, trying to shake it off. "You could say that."
She reloaded crisply, suspicion heavy in her gaze. "When this is over, you and I are going to have a very long talk."
The corridor stretched on, littered with broken plaster and streaks of blood. Jill took point, every muscle tight with focus. Rebecca moved close behind, her pistol raised, while Jack brought up the rear, knife still slick with gore.
They followed the echo of that gunshot deeper into the wing. The air grew heavier, thick with the stench of rot.
"Something's ahead," Jack muttered, Viral Sense crawling at the edge of his nerves.
Jill nodded, weapon steady. They turned the corner—
—and froze.
Richard Aiken slumped against the wall, one hand clamped over a bloody wound in his abdomen. His shotgun lay discarded at his side. A snake's corpse—smaller than the monster called Yawn but still massive—was curled in death a few feet away, its body peppered with buckshot.
Rebecca gasped and dropped to her knees beside him. "Richard!"
His eyes fluttered open. They were glassy, unfocused, but he still recognized her. "Bravo… team…" His voice was a rasp. "Monsters in the forest… ambushed us. Not everyone… made it out."
Rebecca's throat tightened. She pressed gauze against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. "Don't talk. Just hold on."
Richard groaned, blood soaking through Rebecca's gloves as she pressed down hard. Jill stayed in front of them, pistol raised, her jaw clenched tight.
Jack could feel it before he saw it—a pressure in the air, heavy, deliberate. Something massive was closing in, and he knew exactly what it was.
He moved up beside Jill, low and tense. "Hey… you don't have to trust me, but something big is heading this way."
Jill remembered how he had sensed the infected first, back in the hall. For the first time, she believed him—at least for now. "Okay… we can't run with him injured. Jack, you and I are going to be bait."
Jack nodded and extended his hand. "Give me my weapon back."
Jill cut him a sharp look. "Not happening. I trust your instincts to sense danger, but I don't know a damn thing about your character."
Jack clenched his jaw, then stalked to one of the chairs and snapped off a leg to use as a club. "Fine. I'll just have to improvise again."
The floor trembled. Thud… thud… thud. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.
Jack and Jill shared a look, then nodded once. Rebecca stayed crouched over Richard, who was too weak to move.
The two of them stepped back into the corridor, heading toward the approaching footsteps to draw its attention.
From the far end of the hall, the Tyrant appeared. Its pale face caught the light, red eyes glowing faintly as its gaze locked onto them. It paused, assessing—then advanced with deliberate precision.
Jack didn't hesitate. He hurled the makeshift club straight at the monster's chest. "Over here, you ugly bastard! Prime meat's right in front of you!"
The Tyrant stopped, gaze shifting from the shattered wood to Jack. A low growl rolled out—not rage, but recognition. Then it began to advance faster, the predator narrowing in on its chosen prey.
"Move!" Jack barked, yanking Jill with him as the monster's claw tore a crater into the plaster. They sprinted down the corridor, debris raining around them, the Tyrant smashing through doors and walls in relentless pursuit.
They burst into a wide gallery, moonlight spilling through a line of tall windows. Statues loomed on either side, their stone faces cracked and watching. The Tyrant crashed in after them, shards of wood spraying like shrapnel.
Jack skidded to a stop, chest heaving. His Viral Sense screamed: no time, no options. Only one way left.
He grabbed Jill's arm, eyes locked on hers. "Window."
She blinked, incredulous. "You're insane—"
"Now!"
The Tyrant lunged. Jack didn't think. He wrapped both arms around Jill, pulling her tight against him as they dove. Glass exploded in a storm of glittering shards, the sound swallowed by the monster's roar.
They smashed through the window together. Jill felt the cold night air tear past, her stomach lurching as the courtyard rushed up to meet them. Jack twisted in midair, curling his body around hers, his back taking the brunt of the fall.
They hit the stone with bone-jarring force. Jack grunted, the impact blasting the air from his lungs as glass and rock tore into his back. Jill rolled clear, coughing, her pistol clattering across the flagstones.
She scrambled upright, cuts bleeding across her arms, and saw Jack lying in the debris, blood pooling beneath him. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was gone. Then, impossibly, he stirred.
His back was a ruin of cuts and torn muscle—yet before her eyes, the wounds began knitting closed, shards of glass pushing free of his flesh. Jack pushed himself to his knees, breath ragged, a smear of blood across his mouth.
"You alright?" he rasped.
Jill stared at him, stunned, then nodded slowly. "…Yeah."
Jack forced a smirk, even as blood dripped down his chin. "Good. Then it was worth it."
Above them, the shattered window gaped open. The Tyrant's silhouette loomed in the moonlight, watching. It didn't leap, didn't roar. It simply stepped back into the mansion's shadows, leaving them in silence.
Jack slumped against the courtyard wall, pain etched across his face. Jill reloaded with sharp, precise motions, her eyes never leaving him.
"You're insane," she said finally.
Jack managed a weak chuckle. "Yeah. I hear that a lot these days. But hey—we're alive, right?"
Her answer was a tight silence, broken only by the pounding of her heart.