The greenhouse exploded into chaos.
Glass shattered overhead as thick vines smashed down, slamming into benches and splitting stone tiles apart. Soil and broken pots flew across the chamber, the air choking with rot and fertilizer dust.
"Move!" Jack barked, shoving Jill away.
A tendril as thick as a tree branch whipped between them, cracking the tiles and hurling dirt into the air. Jack was thrown back against the far wall, the breath ripped from his lungs. Jill rolled the opposite way, diving behind a rusted pipe as another vine tore through the space where she'd been standing.
"Jack!" she shouted.
"I'm good!" he yelled back, knife flashing into his hand. His Viral Sense blazed like fire in his skull — too many signals, all pulsing at once. It felt like being surrounded by a swarm of infected, but every presence came from the vines themselves.
A tendril lashed at him. Jack ducked low and slashed upward, his knife biting deep into rubbery flesh. Sap exploded across his arm, stinging like acid. The vine recoiled with an ear-splitting shriek, shattering another pane of glass as it thrashed.
Across the greenhouse, Jill braced her pistol and fired in tight bursts. Her rounds stitched across a bulging stalk, chunks of pulpy tissue bursting apart. Another tendril whipped toward her, cracking the tile at her feet. She leapt aside, movements crisp but strained, glass crunching under her boots.
"Jack — center mass!" she called, reloading with sharp precision.
"Trying!" Jack snarled, ducking another strike. His eyes locked on a broken metal pipe lying in the dirt. He snatched it up and drove it through a vine mid-swing, pinning the thrashing tendril to the floor long enough to rip his knife free.
The entire structure groaned, vines snapping and curling in fury.
The stalk in the center pulsed, its grotesque core glowing faint green as the monster shrieked. Dozens of tendrils lashed outward in a storm, slapping against the walls and shattering what little glass still clung to the ceiling.
Jack ripped the pipe free from the pinned vine, sap spraying across his face. He didn't hesitate — he swung the jagged metal like a club, smashing into another tendril that whipped toward him. The impact reverberated up his arms, but the vine recoiled, split open in a spray of ichor.
"Keep them off me!" Jill barked, dropping into a low stance. She rolled under a swinging tendril and unloaded three precise shots into the pulsing mass at the stalk's base. The plant convulsed, vines tightening and slamming into the walls hard enough to rattle the frame of the greenhouse.
Jack caught a vine mid-swing with both hands, teeth gritted as the tendril coiled and tried to crush him. Muscles bulged, viral strength locking against the constricting pressure. With a roar, he twisted and tore, ripping the vine free from the wall and slamming it down into the tiles.
Jill reloaded quickly, sighting the exposed wound in the stalk. "Hold it steady — I've got the shot!"
Jack braced, the pipe digging deep into the writhing flesh. Jill fired in rhythm, each shot hammering into the stalk's glowing veins. The monster shrieked, vines lashing wildly in every direction.
One snapped faster than she could react.
The tendril whipped across the chamber, wrapping tight around Jill's torso and arms. Her pistol was pinned against her side, useless, her hands trapped in the crushing bind. She was yanked off her feet, the air squeezed from her lungs as the vine coiled tighter and tighter.
She tried to twist free, to shift her weight like she'd drilled a hundred times in training — but her arms were locked, her chest compressed until she could barely breathe. Panic clawed at the edges of her focus as the vine dragged her toward the pulsing core.
Her eyes widened. Nothing she had practiced, no technique she knew, could break her loose.
"Jack!" Her voice cracked, raw with fear.
Jack's eyes narrowed. He didn't hesitate.
He charged.
A vine lashed for his legs. He leapt over it, pipe swinging down to pin it into the tile. Another whipped toward his head — he ducked, caught it mid-strike, and tore it free in a spray of green ichor. The acidic sap hissed against his skin, but he didn't slow.
"Hold on, Jill!"
He ripped into the tangle, cutting and tearing through each barrier. Knife flashed in his right hand, pipe in his left, every strike brutal. A tendril coiled around his waist — he snarled, dug his boots into the cracked tiles, and ripped it free with both hands, fibers snapping like rope under strain.
The air stank of sap and rot, blood dripping down his arms, but Jack only pressed harder, carving a path through the writhing mass.
Jill's vision blurred as the vine squeezed tighter, her ribs screaming with each pulse of pressure. Every breath was agony, shallow and ragged, black spots flickering at the edges of her sight. For the first time since stepping into the mansion, she felt it — the cold certainty that she was at death's door.
Her pistol was pinned, her arms locked uselessly against her sides. There was nothing she could do to save herself.
Her gaze found Jack through the writhing tangle. In that desperate instant, disbelief and fear bled into something else — need. The only person she could turn to, the only one standing between her and death, was him.
Jack finally reached her. He tore into the vines constricting Jill, muscles straining until the fibers snapped apart. The creature shrieked as the tendrils recoiled in pain.
Sap exploded in a hot spray, but none of it touched Jill. Before she could hit the ground, Jack caught her with his burned, half-healed hands and pulled her back from the plant's reach.
He looked at her, worry written across his face. "You good, Jill?"
Jill's breath came shallow and ragged. For a heartbeat, she just stared at him. "How many times have you saved me already, Jack?"
Jack only shrugged, as if this were just another day. "Don't worry about it, Jill. Besides, I'm not even counting."
He set her carefully aside, out of the immediate fight, then turned back toward the writhing stalk, knife in hand.
The plant shrieked, dozens of tendrils thrashing in blind fury, slamming against walls and ceiling with bone-cracking force. The greenhouse groaned under the strain, glass panes splintering and raining down like jagged ice.
Jack stepped forward, ichor dripping from his arms, his knife clenched tight. His chest rose and fell like a furnace, every muscle tense but steady.
One tendril whipped at him. He sidestepped, slashed deep, and tore it open with a violent twist. Another lunged for his legs. He caught it mid-swing, boots grinding against broken tile as he wrenched the vine up and over his shoulder, snapping it against the floor until the fibers split apart.
The core pulsed ahead, veins glowing faint green, twitching like a beating heart.
Jack gritted his teeth. "Not so tough now."
He charged.
Tendrils lashed in a frenzy, striking from every side. Jack barreled through them, viral muscle soaking the blows. Each strike left cuts across his arms, sap burning like acid, but his body healed as fast as the wounds formed. He pushed harder, his roar drowned only by the plant's shriek.
He drove the jagged pipe straight into the pulsing core. The stalk convulsed, the veins bursting in a spray of green ichor. Plant 42 wailed, the sound shaking the glass walls. Jack ripped the pipe upward, splitting the core wide, then plunged his knife in deep, twisting until the flesh tore apart.
The entire structure shuddered.
The vines spasmed once, twice — then sagged all at once, collapsing into a heap of twitching, lifeless pulp.
Jack staggered back, ichor pouring down his arms, his chest heaving with every breath. His Viral Sense finally dimmed, the burning signals fading into silence.
The greenhouse was silent now, save for the slow drip of sap from the split core. The shattered ceiling let in pale moonlight, silvering the ruined vines sprawled across broken tile.
Jack wiped his knife clean on what was left of his tan suit, breathing still heavy but steady.
He turned to Jill.
She was standing near the wreckage, pistol still raised, eyes locked on the twitching remains. Her stance was solid, her chin set — but her hands were trembling. Not from recoil. Not from effort. From something deeper.
Jack stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Hey… it's over. You can put it down now."
Jill blinked, as though she hadn't heard him. Then, slowly, she lowered her pistol. Her arms hung at her sides, shaking despite herself.
She let out a shaky breath, sharp and uneven. "I—" Her words caught. She forced them again, quieter this time. "I thought I was done for, Jack. When it grabbed me… I couldn't move, couldn't fight back."
Her voice cracked on the last word. She clenched her jaw, furious at herself, but the tremor in her hands gave her away.
Jack watched her for a long moment. He didn't smirk this time, didn't shrug it off. He just stepped forward and rested a steady hand on her shoulder.
"You're still here," he said simply. "That's what matters. Training keeps you alive, but surviving… that's its own kind of strength. And you've got it."
Jill's eyes flicked up to his, searching, as if daring him to say more. But all she saw was certainty — the calm of someone who had stared Umbrella's nightmares in the eye before and lived.
Her breath hitched once more, then steadied, just a little.
She nodded, holstering her pistol, though her hands still shook. "Thanks… Jack."
Jack gave a small nod back, then turned toward the ruined service door. "Come on. Rebecca's waiting. Let's move before this place decides to grow back."
But when Jill glanced at him — ichor still dripping down his arms, burns half-healed, yet steady and unflinching — something inside her shifted.
She had leaned on him, depended on him without even thinking. And he hadn't failed her.
Jill Valentine hated feeling vulnerable. But with Jack Hale, that vulnerability didn't feel like weakness. It felt… different.
She pushed the thought down, but it lingered in her chest as they moved back into the mansion's dark halls.