Spencer's Mansion – Basement Access
The quiet held too long after Enrico's death.
Every drip of water, every hum in the pipes sounded like a heartbeat that wouldn't stop.
Jack kept the riot gun angled low, flashlight sweeping ahead while Jill re-secured her pistol. Neither spoke. The air felt heavier now—thicker with the truth Enrico had died for.
Then Jill's radio crackled to life.
Static flared, sharp against the silence.
"Jill? Jack? Do you copy?"
Jill's breath caught, half in relief. "Rebecca?"
"Yeah, it's me! We thought we'd lost you—Barry and I made it back to the main hall. Richard's stable, at least for now."
Jack leaned close to the mic, voice rough. "We're still breathing. Basement's crawling, but we handled it."
"Handled it?" Rebecca's voice wavered with concern. "What happened down there?"
Jill hesitated, glancing at Jack before answering. "We found Enrico. He didn't make it… but before he died, he told us something."
"What?"
Jill swallowed hard. "There's a traitor in S.T.A.R.S. Someone feeding Umbrella everything. He said they know about Jack—about whatever they did to him."
Silence followed, broken only by faint radio static. Then Rebecca spoke again, quieter now.
"…A traitor? You're sure?"
"Enrico was dying, Rebecca," Jill said, her voice low but firm. "He wouldn't have made that up."
A pause, then another voice filtered in—Barry's, low and rough through the static.
"Tell them we found it. The last mask. It's already here."
Jill blinked, straightening. "What do you mean it's already there?"
Rebecca's tone tightened.
"The courtyard mausoleum. We're all here now—it's waiting."
Jack and Jill exchanged a look.
Jill's jaw tightened. "Hold your position. We're on our way."
The transmission fractured into a burst of static.
"Rebecca!" Jill barked, tapping the radio. "Rebecca, come in!"
Still nothing.
She lowered the radio slowly, her knuckles white around it. "Jack…"
He looked at her, waiting.
Jill's voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"If Enrico was right… and the traitor's feeding Umbrella everything… then Rebecca's the one in danger. She's with Barry right now."
Jack frowned. "You think he's the traitor?"
"I don't know," she admitted, eyes hardening. "But he knew things about you he shouldn't have. If I'm wrong, fine—but if I'm not, Rebecca's walking straight into it."
Jack's grip tightened around the riot gun. "Then we move. Fast."
Jill lifted the radio again, her voice steady, controlled. "Rebecca, if you can hear this—stay alert. Don't trust anyone until we get back."
The static hissed. No reply.
Jack chambered a shell, the sound echoing through the corridor. "Let's move."
They walked in tense silence through the lower corridors, the air growing colder with every turn. After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the courtyard.
The cold air hit them first—crisp, thin, and heavy with dust. The courtyard mausoleum lay ahead, bathed in fractured moonlight filtering through broken tiles. The four statues loomed over the center dais, their blank eyes fixed on eternity.
Rebecca turned as they approached, her face brightening. "You're both alive!"
Jack gave a short nod, lowering his riot gun. "Barely. But we made it."
Richard leaned against one of the marble pillars, his shoulder still bound in blood-stained gauze. Barry stood a few paces off, lantern at his boots, revolver holstered but never far from reach.
Jill's relief faded as her eyes swept the statues. "So this is it. The last lock."
Rebecca nodded, stepping aside as Jill approached the dais.
Jill set down her pack and pulled out the three masks she'd carried this whole time—each one cold and heavy in her hands. Her pulse quickened as she moved between the statues, sliding each mask into its rightful place.
One. Two. Three.
Only the final statue remained—its face empty, waiting.
Jill drew the last mask from her pack. It was smooth, hollow, its stone cold against her skin. For a moment, she hesitated.
Jack's voice was quiet behind her. "Let's finish it."
Jill nodded and fitted the final mask into place.
A heavy clank echoed through the chamber. Chains rattled in the walls as the statues shuddered, ancient gears locking into motion. The floor trembled underfoot.
Rebecca flinched. "What's happening?"
Richard steadied himself on a pillar. "It's moving—something's moving!"
At the dais's center, the coffin shuddered—then began to sink. The lid slid aside as it descended, stone scraping against stone. A rush of cold air surged upward, thick with the scent of oil and decay.
Jack swung his flashlight toward the opening. Beneath the dais, a narrow spiral staircase twisted downward into the dark—stone giving way to rusted metal.
He exhaled sharply. "Guess that's what the masks were hiding."
Jill crouched near the edge, staring down. "Looks like the mansion's roots go deeper than we thought."
Rebecca leaned closer, her voice a whisper of awe and dread. "Umbrella built this… right under our feet."
Barry's voice came low behind them. "And we're about to find out why."
Jack moved first, chambering a round with a metallic click. "Stay close and stay quiet."
The group descended one by one—Jack in front, Jill covering the rear. The stairs creaked under their boots, spiraling into darkness that grew warmer and heavier with every step.
Old stone gave way to steel. Pipes lined the walls. Faint red emergency lights flickered somewhere far below, barely alive after years of neglect. The air reeked of rust, oil, and rot.
Rebecca's breath came shallow. "This place… it feels dead."
Jack's Viral Sense pulsed faintly at the base of his skull. "No. It's still breathing."
Jill glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing on Barry as he brought up the rear. "Then let's see what it's hiding."
They continued downward, their footsteps echoing off the narrowing walls. Rust and dust rained from the ceiling. The faint hum of old machinery vibrated through the air.
When the last beam of moonlight vanished behind them, the courtyard fell silent again.
The faint hiss of leaking gas drifted through the cracked marble. Shadows stretched long across the broken statues.
And in the far corner of the chamber, something shifted.
A massive shape stood just beyond the reach of the light—its pale skin blending with the ruined stone, its breath low and measured. The crimson glow of its eyes flickered once, faint and deliberate.
The Tyrant.
It didn't move. Didn't roar. It simply watched the opening where the group had vanished.
To Jack, the Viral Sense had been nothing but background noise—too many corpses, too many infected echoes bleeding through the mansion's decaying halls.
But the Tyrant knew.
It waited.
Hidden among the ghosts of Umbrella's failures, it let them descend—far enough that it could follow when it was ready.
The moonlight dimmed behind drifting dust, and the faint glow of its eyes was the last thing left in the mausoleum before the dark swallowed everything whole.