The air was warm, and the only thing he smelled was hot asphalt and popcorn while the sound of car horns filled the whole street. Zane Vance blinked. He was standing on a crowded sidewalk in front of The Grand Rivet movie theater in downtown Chicago.
The noise of the traffic and the people didn't matter to him. Zane was stunned, feeling a great pressure in his chest.
A spear.
That was the last thing he felt. An icy demonic spear, piercing his heart while the enemy general laughed at him. He remembered the smell of sulfur, his unit's last scream, and the darkness.
Zane reached his hand out to his chest, but now there was no steel armor, just the soft fabric of a T-shirt under his hand. Even that nauseating sulfur smell was gone. His heart was beating, normal. He was alive.
"Saint! There you are, man, you almost missed the line!"
The voice was too loud. Liam Thorne was walking toward him, grinning from ear to ear, ridiculously carefree in his jeans and plaid shirt with that big, stupid smile that had always defined him.
"What's up, Saint? You look like you just saw a ghost," Liam said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Come on, the show starts in twenty minutes. Don't tell me you forgot we've been waiting six months for this."
Zane stared at his friend. Liam, the one who had always called him "Saint" as a joke.
His friend's face overlaid a scene from his memory: Liam, who died cruelly murdered trying to save him from the calamity. Pain and guilt filled him completely, remembering how his friend had died for him.
Zane tried to speak, but only stammered, "Liam, I...?"
"Well, look what we have here! Are you trying to scare us or what?"
Before he could say anything, he heard the voice of the love of his life. Chloe Ryder arrived, her brown hair in a high ponytail, checking her phone. She was exactly as he remembered her every day after her death. He never managed to tell her he loved her, and that had been his life's regret: being just her friend.
"Hey, Chloe," Liam greeted her.
Chloe looked up and approached Zane. "Zane, you're pale and sweating. What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"
Chloe's voice, the sun, the traffic... everything clicked.
He returned.
It wasn't hell. It was the past.
Zane felt a violent tremor. His warrior mind processed only one thing: Time. Desperate, he looked at the smartwatch on his wrist.
12:00 PM
The air caught in his throat. His voice came out as a desperate bark.
"What—what day is today?!" Zane yelled, causing nearby people to stop and stare at him like he was mentally ill.
Liam and Chloe exchanged nervous glances.
"Dude, did you seriously hit your head?" Liam said. "It's April 24th. Our sacred day. Resident Evil XX is premiering today. What is going on?"
"April 24th. Twelve noon... Resident... It can't be, it's today...!!" Zane muttered, biting his lip.
"Six hours. Six miserable hours until everything begins. Six hours until the world suffers a terrible calamity," Zane kept muttering until something in his mind clicked, making him scream desperately.
"We have to go! Now! Run!" Zane grabbed Liam. "You're going to die! The Calamity is coming! Aliens, demons, plagues! Run!"
Liam pulled away. "Zane, I don't know what the hell is wrong. Is this about the movie? Don't yell that nonsense in public."
"Chloe, please, you have to believe me! Get out of Chicago!"
Chloe backed away. "Zane, you're acting crazy."
No one would believe him. Frustration and rage consumed him. His mind only had one priority: survival. Zane exhaled sharply. He understood his failure. These were seconds wasted.
"Listen to me," Zane said, lowering his voice, but with an intensity that chilled them. "I know I sound unbelievable. I know it sounds like the script for Resident Evil XX, but something truly bad is going to happen. I don't have time to explain."
Zane stepped toward them. "You don't need to follow me, I'm leaving. But if something—anything weird—happens in the next few hours, run to Chloe's apartment. It's the closest. Hide in the basement or wherever you can. I'll come find you there. Be careful."
Liam was pale. "Zane, wait. Where are you going? Why isn't my apartment safe? What is this thing that's going to happen?"
Zane ignored him. He had to move. He dodged Chloe's attempt to grab his arm and ran away.
His mind, previously paralyzed by the spear, was now working like a supercomputer, processing data from a future that no longer existed.
Six hours.
The time for explanations was over. First, he needed safety, then, resources.
"The first to appear were those things," Zane thought as he turned a corner, dodging a couple. Those... slow, rotten, but overwhelming things. They were the distraction for the real alien and demonic threats to arrive.
Zane ran as if his life depended on it—because it did. It took him half an hour to reach his small townhouse, ignoring the frantic calls coming through his smartwatch (undoubtedly, Liam and Chloe).
Upon entering, he didn't waste a second. He ran to the hiding spot under his bed where he kept his life savings, meant for a car down payment. He counted quickly: twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. Enough.
He grabbed the biggest hiking backpack he had and left the house, heading straight for the largest hardware store he remembered three blocks away.
He arrived at the store panting, his backpack open. He ignored the strange looks from the only cashier and a couple of customers.
"I need every machete, hand ax, and hunting knife you have," Zane said, placing a wad of cash on the counter. "And I also need a large pickaxe, industrial gloves, heavy-duty duct tape, and do you have any metal or steel plates?"
The cashier, a young guy with piercings, looked wide-eyed. "Dude, are you going on a really heavy camping trip?"
Zane didn't stop to explain. He chose two large machetes, a small ax, and a pickaxe. He bought the smallest and thickest steel plates he found in the construction section.
"Too bad there wasn't a chainsaw," Zane muttered as he left. "It would have been quite useful against those things."
He returned home. Adrenaline was replacing panic. He took out the steel plates, the tape, and the gloves. In twenty frantic minutes, he put together a makeshift combat suit. He used duct tape to fix the steel plates under his clothes on his forearms, shins, chest, and back. It wasn't SSS-Rank battle armor, but it was enough to stop a bite or an initial hit.
He remembered the smell of blood, the sound of breaking bones. He remembered what it felt like to be helpless and promised himself, "Not again...!".
Zane looked at his watch. 5:55 PM.
Five minutes.
Panic returned, but it was a controlled panic, mixed with the excitement of a veteran returning to war. He placed the two machetes in the backpack and left the pickaxe and ax nearby.
He stepped out onto the street. He no longer looked like the student who had fled the movie theater. He looked insane. The bulging backpack, the suspicious lump of steel under his T-shirt.
The few neighbors who were outside looked at him strangely. A police officer in his patrol car, half a block away, saw him. The officer frowned and instinctively placed his hand on his holster. He hadn't drawn his weapon yet, but he was getting ready.
Zane was getting ready to run again.
At that moment, the superficial calm of Chicago shattered.
Out of nowhere, from somewhere near the I-90 highway, a scream was heard. Not a traffic accident scream. It was a desperate scream, filled with a terror that Zane knew too well.
Everyone turned. The cop forgot about Zane and drew his weapon.
The Catastrophe had arrived.