Umbrella's latest invention suffered from the same drawback as Sergei Vladimir's previous clones: lead bullets easily penetrate the skin, pierce the skull, and destroy the brain. As soon as the three girls pulled the triggers of their weapons, the poor Tyrant didn't stand a chance. It barely managed to halfway bend the iron grate when it staggered from the volley of fire and lost consciousness due to an excess of damage.
Tyrant — zero; the squad of girls — one.
Hiding from curious eyes, I lazily took off my sunglasses, quickly wiped them, and put them back on. My job is the hardest, especially in a team: with my manly beauty, I inspire women to fight the enemies. With all those zombies, Lickers, and other ugly experiments.
— Did we win? — Claire asked uncertainly, turning to me.
— He will recover soon; the process is as endless as it is disgusting. His brain will patch up all wounds in about… one eulogy, — I answered her question honestly.
— And how long is one eulogy? Long or short? — Jan wondered.
— Lengthy, — I recalled with self-irony. — Alright, we need to get substantial evidence against Umbrella.
Approaching the bent grate, I sighed and lifted my foot to send the unconscious behemoth onto the floor with a single kick. I then slipped through the small opening and approached the journalist, rummaging through his pockets. I didn't particularly expect to find anything useful; the police chief isn't an idiot to lock up a spy without a preliminary search. It would be funny if he… had a voice recorder with a recording. It can't be! He does! I only wanted to verify the Italian journalist's words that he had something important. I suspected him of lying. And it turns out he wasn't just feeding them quick-cook spaghetti.
— I have a voice recorder, — I showed the evidence in my hand, getting back on my feet and approaching the Tyrant.
Waiting for the regeneration process to almost finish, I lifted my foot and brought it down hard. Then I repeated the procedure five times so as not to overly irritate the creature's mutations. It's important not to let it get up or mutate.
— What the hell are you doing?! — Claire asked indignantly.
— Saving ammo, — Ada explained apathetically.
I have a telepathic connection with this girl; she perfectly understands my treacherous and not-so-treacherous plans. That's bad… Some of them involve the Asian spy, but they are still in the development stage. After all, people can be exploited in various ways, resulting in completely unique, sometimes unpredictable outcomes.
Finishing the beating of the breathless Tyrant, I left the cell and handed the voice recorder to the Asian beauty. What surprised me was that she immediately turned it on. A very strange gesture on her part. But as it turned out, Ada Wong suspected the journalist of poor work.
Indeed.
The conversation with Annette took place, but as soon as the journalist asked about the G-virus, Birkin's wife retreated from the interview. Along the way, out of female weakness, she asked: "How do you know." Well, scientists are not taught conspiracy; they fill their heads with concepts of a different spectrum. However, she's not just a scientist, but a leading scientist — obliged to simulate ignorance in time. To act stupid, simply put.
— I'm not hinting at anything, but we'd better leave, — I suggested we evacuate from the police station's prison block. There is a certain romance here, of course. But not with children, zombies, and a Tyrant. There aren't even handcuffs. In general, I have nothing to do here in the presence of three girls except to fight evil mutants. Better to leave.
We headed for the exit, went out to the parking lot, and looked around.
— Where are we going? — the thoughtful Ada Wong asked, examining the cars.
— To the chemical plant; it's closest to the NEST-1 main office. The Red Queen, servers, equipment, and everything necessary to liquidate Umbrella, — I nodded.
— What about Sherry? — Claire asked, looking anxiously at the girl who was holding her hand. They are like family. Where does my former subordinate's sister get such strong maternal feelings… and how can I use them? A question as complex as what to do with Sherry.
I should, of course, take her to the Hive. Birkin, if he's alive and in the city, might…
A crash. Strange, is it a second Tyrant? The first one should still be in the prison cell, but the sound is coming from a manhole in the underground parking lot. Curiously, a clawed paw of an unknown organism pierced the manhole in the parking lot. A new mutant. That's for sure. The arm had an eye with a vertical pupil, yellow and covered with decay. It looks very similar to the G-virus. If so, Sherry must have walked into the cell area and the creature scented her. There is no other explanation that can be given so quickly.
— Jan, hack the gate, — I gave the first command, intending to throw the key card for the internal shield to the hacker, but she had already run to hack the mechanism. — Ada, the transport… — I didn't finish, as she dashed toward the armored police car. — Claire and…
I raised my index finger and slightly bent it, watching with disappointment as everyone ignored my orders. For example, Claire and Sherry were already running after Ada. They do not have the character of a blind sheep that needs to be herded. Everyone knows perfectly what to do and how to do it.
I wish I had at least half of their knowledge of, well, what to do in a situation like this. The monster jumped out of the manhole along with the debris, landing on two feet. And what to do, alas, was really unclear.
William Birkin could never be called a handsome man or a fashionista. In terms of face and body complexion, well, a three out of a hundred, if you compare him to me. As for his taste in clothing, even after turning into a terrifying creature with a swollen arm, he was still wearing a tasteless lab coat. More precisely, shreds; only pathetic pieces of white fabric remained of the lab coat. But, horror, his wretchedness in life wasn't enough; after infection, he became even uglier and more slovenly. Flesh without skin. A blue face, like a drowned man's. A shoulder bone protruding. Muscles grew and wrapped around his body on the outside. In some places, tumors, signs of necrosis, decay, and… How badly he stank; tears almost came to my eyes. Fortunately, my sunglasses hid them.
— Willia— — I stammered. — A mysterious stranger whom I definitely do not know, since I don't associate with such terrifying people. What brings you here?
I don't need a scary friend to emphasize my exclusivity.
— Wes… Wesker, — William first looked at the fleeing Sherry, then shifted his gaze to me. His voice changed greatly; part of his larynx was constricted, making it practically impossible to speak. And one might assume: the monster was torn by agony and pain. But I know it's envy of me. — A-a-a-a!
It is definitely envy!
What am I talking about? He chose me as his primary target, lunging in a fury.
The opponent is an aggressive mutant with one significant drawback: a huge eye located below his right shoulder. If I can hit this vulnerable spot, I will immediately disable him.
But for that, I first had to dodge his powerful strike, and then quickly execute a mawashi-geri — a circular kick in an arc. I turned sideways to the opponent, bent my supporting leg at the knee, and slightly tilted my torso forward. I held my arms at chest level, slightly spread for balance. Then I raised my striking leg, bending it at the knee, and forcefully rotated my hip, straightening my leg and delivering a crushing blow to the mutated eye. At the moment of impact, I shifted my body weight onto my leg and gave the kick maximum speed. The mutant's eye exploded with a loud bang, reminiscent of a point-blank shotgun blast.
William howled in pain and rage.
It's unfortunate that now I have to survive the chaos of his insane swings — a mutated arm that was rapidly thrashing after me. I used all my senses and reflexes to manage to dodge the dangerous blows.
First, I squatted under his fist, which flew over my head, then I leapt away from his next strike and sharply closed the distance. My reaction was amplified, and a cold calculation played out in my head. This allowed me to instantly, almost intuitively, avoid his furious attacks.
A victim of the G-virus. An idiot, deprived of natural beauty, trying to come to terms with this injustice. Unfortunately, his blows, expressed metaphorically and sublimely, were like waves. Waves that uselessly crashed against an impenetrable rock. Although… One blow — and I'll be splattered against the wall. So, the air served as the impenetrable rock. No matter how much you hit it, it's all in vain.
A step to the right, a dive to the left, and a back somersault. Every movement of mine was precise and perfect. I was buying time, trying to keep him busy for as long as possible. But besides dodging, I had to do something else — exhaust the opponent. He had a very high metabolism; healing wounds took a lot of body resources. Excellent… As soon as he healed the eye, I moved lightning fast to the side and struck the target with a direct palm strike exactly in the vertical pupil. A bullseye!
Before the painful impulse from the blow could make William experience hellish pain, I added fuel to the fire. A rebound, an aim, a spinning kick to the creature's jaw. It made a full rotation. I dashed up to it and crouched, delivering a precise strike to the area just below the chin, but above the neck. A good move. What distinguished it from the "ura-mawashi-geri" was the ninety-degree strike, which created difficulty but increased the damage many times over. Something like a signature move, which allowed me to toss the opponent high.
— The greater the weight, — I smiled widely when the enemy fell onto his back. — The harder the butchering…
Straightening up and approaching the target with soundless steps, I unbuttoned my jacket and pulled out two knives. The hardest part was now: it was necessary to amplify the virus inside myself. To let it penetrate every cell, to saturate the flesh and brain…
To accelerate my thinking to the extent of creating an illusion of time slowing down. I managed this with difficulty, but enough to quickly reach William and begin the effective carving of his chest. Time was working against me: the enemy would soon adapt and mutate, acquiring new abilities. I will not allow this, pushing my speed to the limit. Like lightning! Well, maybe not so bright. In just five seconds, I sliced through the flesh to his heart.
He's recovering… I need to re-distribute the mutation.
I threw one knife into the overgrown eye, and the second I plunged into the head of the living G-virus carrier. This stopped him for a few more moments, which I used to rip out his heart, a small one, barely larger than a human's. After which, I jumped to the side. I accelerated and delivered a blow to the monster's chin, which was trying to get up in agony.
What pleasure! I had no idea that hitting a head like a ball could be so enjoyable. William flew right into the hole where the manhole used to be. And… Goal! It's a pity the world lost such a talented football player as myself. I could have created my own team and trained it. Well, if you think about it, golf is more fitting for this situation… The creature slipped right into the hole. I should get a golf club to toss big guys around.
The sound of an engine starting distracted me, forcing me to turn towards the girls. Ada and Claire were in the car with their mouths open. As if nothing had happened, I calmly and carelessly headed toward them. Sherry's face had a very complex expression: just now, before her eyes, I had beaten her former father. Probably triggering a mutation jump…
Everything is ambiguous with this G-virus. Fortunately, I managed to get a sample! It will allow me to synthesize a virus in NEST-1 that is almost as good as the sample from the test tube. Thirty percent worse, but if I don't find anything better, I'll absorb it — what can be done? Moreover, the strain modified by Birkin is already adapted for rapid regeneration and tissue transformation. Maybe I can create blades from my hands. Or claws. Or sledgehammers. Whips? A sea of possibilities! Though, only in my head for now.
— You are what the h— — Claire tried to object, but restrained herself; the children were nearby. — How did you move and hit like that? Are you even human?
— Nostalgia, — Ada frowned, recalling similar questions.
— Hmph, — I elegantly adjusted my sunglasses with my right hand. — Nanomachines.
— What? — Claire didn't immediately realize she was being mocked. — You tossed him!
— I'm good at tossing and kicking. I was enrolled in a football section in my school years; don't pay attention to it, — I calmly waved off, meeting the gaze of the approaching Jan. The useful girl hacked the fuse box! Good job, but if she had listened to my orders, she would have opened it earlier.
— I'm done.
— I suggest we hurry up… — hearing the heavy footsteps of the Tyrant, I sighed mournfully.
I can't do anything about it: I have the important G-virus sample in my left hand; I wouldn't want to get involved in a fight.