Successful dodge — one, successful dodge — two.
There are two huge holes on the sides, left by the big fists of my good friend Nemesis. Although he is ugly on the outside, this does not give him the right to attack his beautiful friends. I even wonder why he is so evil? Maybe the monster needs to find a Tyrant-Woman, then he will be happy? Nothing but questions, but no answers. By the way, there's another good question: "what to do if you're grabbed by the throat."
I didn't have time to dodge because of the white-headed zombie; I was grabbed by the neck, lifted up, and they started to run. This is bad… what does Nemesis want to do if he's going so fast? Behind me is reinforced laboratory glass. Oh, shit… But at least I found out how strong my back and the back of my head were, having broken through the glass as a pair. Even the painful in every sense landing on a metal surface did not affect their condition. Just a momentary pain shock took me out of my senses. But the effect of the shock quickly passed. At a superhuman speed, I managed to aim and shoot the creature right in the eye. Only after that did the monster let go of me, chaotically retreating a couple of steps back.
— Raaaaa!
Nemesis waved his hands, after which he tried to hit my previous location from memory. He dented the metal structure, crushed it, littered and scattered the fragments. He has the strength — a cleaner is needed. Okay, I'll go, I guess. I have nothing to do here.
— S.T.A.R.S. — he roared ferociously, so much so that a buzz echoed in my ears.
No, no, and no again. What's the point of fighting to the death with a monster that is hard to destroy with a tank cannon? I'm not going to find a super-mega weapon from an alien spaceship here that can kill the creature once and for all. It's just impossible.
— That can't be, — examining the room, I caught a glimpse of a next-generation ferromagnetic railgun for infantry use. The unit was developed, if I remember correctly, by Cornell Garner — one of the leading researchers at NEST-2. To use it, a colossal amount of energy, batteries with a power generator, would be required. In theory, the gun could well destroy Nemesis, scorching all its cells and destroying even the chance of mutation. But, somehow everything conveniently comes together. Looking at the ceiling, I was about to say that the Las Plagas parasites I needed don't fall from the sky… But, for now, we'll count it as a coincidence.
— S.T.A.R.S.
— Again, — I sighed, elegantly turning around and thereby avoiding a blow. A perfect pirouette in every sense, not counting the fact that I had to turn around with a small margin of a meter, otherwise the back of my head could have been pushed into my brain.
— S.T.A.R.S.
The bruiser made a lunge with his right hand, but it was not difficult for me to predict the trajectory of the blow and dodge to the side. The fist passed by, but Nemesis easily oriented himself and delivered a circular punch, intending to knock me off my feet if successful. This is easy to avoid if you duck down, time the moment the wind flies over your head, and jump back. Wow, I was almost sent flying by a Spartan kick. A large boot was a centimeter away from my body; it was lucky that I didn't limit myself to one jump. But, in turn, such feints enraged the giant. He began to attack more assertively, using unreadable attacks.
I had to remember the fun round dances and imagine the giant as an evil Christmas tree. I circled around him with all my might, avoiding dangerous blows that could break my sunglasses. And my face to boot. But if my tissues regenerate, I'll have to throw my favorite glasses in the trash.
Ha, he started using his brains, adapting to my technique. Now he was hitting not only my current position, but also predicting the trajectory where I would try to retreat. Not bad, I need to act quickly and gracefully, retreating like a cat from a dog. At one point, Nemesis used a different tactic, intending to kick with his left leg.
Got you.
Making a lunge, I used his knee as a fulcrum to deliver a powerful hook to the creature's muzzle. Not bad, the bruiser flew forward, and I, with a leap of faith, went in the opposite direction. After a somersault, I was standing firmly on my feet, but the monster was trying to get up with such difficulty, as if a couple of cars had crushed him.
— A lower stage of evolution, — I said arrogantly, putting my hands on my hips. Then I spread my arms out to the sides, slowly and majestically, like a king before his subjects.
Strange, for a second I felt… something nasty near my leg, as if a swamp had wrapped around it. Lowering my gaze, I saw Nemesis's tentacle there, right near my knee. Focusing my eyes on the opponent, I tried to look at him with universal condemnation. He interrupted my triumph, sharply pulling the tentacle to himself along with me, trying to crush me under his feet. Only my quick reaction and free hands saved me; I leaned on them and hit the monster's chin with my free leg. This helped me break free, but it didn't calm my irritation.
Taking off my coat, I threw it at Nemesis's face, blocking his view. And while he was trying to tear the hindrance from his face, I was already nearby, performing a roundhouse kick. A powerful and effective kick to the head, which usually led to disability for those on whom I performed it even before the infection.
— S.T….
— I'm tired of it. You'd better advertise "Starbucks," — I contemptuously threw the idea to the stupid creature, which was capable of remembering one word. After that, I performed a dash and a jump, hitting his ugly muzzle with both feet. This will keep him busy for a while.
And now, let's run and charge the generator for the railgun. Since it came to hand, it must be meant to be. It's strange, by what such a coincidence, they only managed to install half of the generators here? The lazy and irresponsible people from NEST-2 are making me genuinely angry. They did it with a "that'll do," and they're happy with their lives… Well, they are all dead now, of course. Getting angry at the dead is not the best decision. Only now it's not the dead who need to get the railgun up and running at a huge speed. It's still unknown if it will even work. A huge amount of money was invested in it not only by Umbrella, but also by the US Army. The first organization is not without sin, and neither is the second. It's unknown which of them could have embezzled the budget, and also how much the papers differ from the facts. According to the documents, the railgun can shoot down alien ships, but in fact, it can be like a cigarette lighter. Ugh, I need to check.
— S.T.A.R.S.
— You're not asleep? — I was surprised that Nemesis was on his feet after thirty seconds. And I had just finished installing the last generator to fire the gun, which was attached to a thick wire. It looks like a sniper rifle of the future from some pseudo-sci-fi horror movie. The design was copied from Hollywood, but not exactly. However, I would need another ten minutes for research. Nemesis recovered too quickly. I only saw this thing in documents, and even then, I didn't pay it due attention. — It's time to fix that.
Confidently heading towards the railgun, I didn't expect Nemesis to try to get ahead of me. He saw the killing toy and decided to use it? No way; practically teleporting, using my mutation speed to the maximum, I grabbed the railgun first and aimed the barrel at my first serious opponent. And… a salvo!
Lightning appeared from the high voltage, the process began, but the charge was building up too slowly. I had to make a flash to the side, barely dodging the fist of rage along with the gun. All sorts of creatures are so eager to spoil my beautiful appearance. I am, in essence, as beautiful as the son of God. But monsters want to be grounded. Inhuman bastards. Why can't they be happy for someone else's happiness?
— Goodbye, — I said with a hint of sadness, as soon as the charge soaked the gun and a blue beam was fired. The gun recoiled even in my hands, which showed the power that was brought down on my enemy. Bam, and there's no Nemesis, just two legs and a torso. Not counting the pieces of biomass that multiplied during the death of the cells. I hope the creature doesn't regenerate from this remaining biomass.
— The gun turned out to be a useless waste of Umbrella's budget, but it unexpectedly came in handy. Who in their right mind would transport a power generation unit to counter biological threats? Two grenades or one Nemesis, and that's it, the gun will be taken apart for scrap metal, — I shook my head, throwing away the junk. But the troubles didn't end there. The white-headed monster remaining in the complex decided to piss me off, choosing the moment when I ran out of ammunition. I had no choice but to engage in hand-to-hand combat, tearing off the second head of the day.
Another grand victory in my endless list of successes was able to lift my mood to the heavens. I made my way outside with full fighting spirit; even when I met rare zombies along the way, I tried to treat them with more benevolence than usual. I just ignored them, continuing to change corridors, one after another, until I got outside. And I didn't like it very much. Near the entrance to the hospital, about ten zombies had gathered. It should be noted that they were huddled together like a pack of scared wolves. For decency's sake, I took off my sunglasses and threw them in their direction, using acceleration in the next moment.
At first, I got ahead of the glasses, finding myself surrounded by zombies. Of course, this was completely intentional, because it's more convenient to deliver multiple blows in all directions. The only move that stood out was a powerful blow to the last zombie; my sole literally crushed all the rot, throwing the zombie right into the wall. The wall then buried it, counting all its bones. But, a crappy blow… My whole sole is in rot. I really stood out. I should have been more modest. The only consolation is that I dealt with the zombies before the glasses flew back into my hands. Now I can slowly put them on to amuse my ego. I'll make it my signature move…
Hunger…
My hungry stomach reminded me of itself again, like the first snow — unexpectedly for those who don't watch the weather forecast. There weren't many options, so I went to look for some diner that had a good promotion. Well, for example, get to the restaurant through hordes of zombies — get any dish for free. Are there details? Yeah, you have to cook the dish yourself. The chefs in the restaurant are also zombies. No, my cooking skills are enough for simple dishes from fast-food restaurants, in other words, fast food. Interestingly, there was an interesting establishment next to one of them.
Spacious shelves with curious magazines. A black rabbit logo on a white background. Let's just say, well, "PlayBoy" is in high demand in our time. I took a couple of magazines with me out of scientific interest before going to a place that cooks burgers of all shapes and sizes. But, unfortunately, there was nothing interesting there. Ordinary citizens ate everything during the period of increased metabolism.
A new journey…
A very short one. After a hundred meters, I found a pizzeria where only a pineapple pizza was left. Sick bastards! But when beggars can't be choosers, even a crawfish is a fish. At least the microwave worked, and thank goodness for that, otherwise I would have ranted and raved. I, of course, also took a little care and prepared some cups. Well, to pour some cola from the machine into them. Ugh, I'm a good chef, I've clearly been doing the wrong thing all my life. I even prepared the cups…
Beep-beep. The pizza was warmed up, so I took it out and went to the guest table. There were about twenty of them, but unfortunately, after the riot, only five were left. There's junk and devastation everywhere. Having breakfast in such conditions is, perhaps, like being next to homeless people on the street. Not my style. But, it's not bad to have a snack alone when there are interesting magazines with interesting pictures.
Gunshots…
Strange, it's about six in the morning, and a couple of shots rang out next to me. A minute later, a girl with Asian features and a bob haircut ran into the establishment, hiding from zombies. She came at the wrong time. I had just comfortably sat down, put my feet on the table, moved a magazine a respectable distance from my eyes, and held an unfinished piece of pineapple pizza in my other hand. I hope she doesn't think I'm a little strange person in sunglasses. That damned pizza is to blame for everything…
— Who are you? — she asked too sharply, pointing a pistol at an unarmed person.
— Depends on who's asking, — I shrugged, calmly continuing my business: having breakfast and looking at magazines.
— FBI, — the stranger shared the evidence too easily and quickly, which made me suspicious. Oh, fake documents. Oh-oh, how uncool to try to deceive me. She also has a pistol model from one company, and an ID from another. And it's clear that she didn't just pick up the pistol on the street; it has rare gadgets installed on it. Hmm, she looks like a spy just as much as I look like the future ruler of this world. She looks very much like one.
— FBI, — I repeated, simulating an Italian accent. — Then I'm Mario the plumber, looking for my brother Luigi in the city's infected sewers. And, I almost forgot, if possible, I'm trying to defeat a dragon and save a princess, — I said in the most serious manner, biting off a piece of the heretical pizza and adding a little later. — It's a pleasure to meet a colleague in hiding identity and sphere of activity.