"Phew. Good—now I can stroll after the lovely lady," I snort. Yeah, lovely lady. As if I could look at her without distinctly gastronomic interest.
Once again I slip into acceleration, noting at the edge of my awareness that I'm spending more and more time in this state. It comes more easily now, and the limit seems to have vanished altogether. But that can't be right—this kind of speed has to demand something from its user, doesn't it? Then again… how would I even notice? Feel bad? That's not even funny. I'm not capable of feeling even pain anymore, and here we're talking about "feeling bad."
Bursting into the shop Claire entered, I spot a half-open door on the left and a portly man in the process of being eaten—apparently the shop owner. I walk past the infected who pay me no mind, snatching the shopkeeper's jacket. Given his size, it covers me completely—Vector uniform is practically begging to "rest in peace," with only the lower half left intact. The Mask disappeared somewhere after Nemesis, never to be seen again. Ah, pity—the outfit held back my speed with stubborn persistence. Umbrella really knows how to make things. Yeah. Says one of the corporation's projects.
I move on, and after a bit of wandering through narrow alleys and courtyards—simply following the trail of infected who'd met their final end—I emerge onto a wide street just as the gates slam shut. Zombies immediately begin pounding on them from my side. How fortunate that I'm intellectually far above their displayed level—and I'd better secure the G-virus quickly to keep it that way, so I don't turn into a mindless monster myself.
Rapidly closing the distance to the police station, I sketch the scene inside with my peculiar vision: five living figures and one fading survivor. I vault over the stone fence.
All right. Claire came in from this side. Leon—from the opposite one. That small aura on the second floor—that's Sherry Birkin. The blurry one is the police chief; his bulk makes him appear indistinct to me. On the first floor, from Claire's entrance side—but a bit farther in and to the left—most likely another room, the very place where that fading aura lingers. Some cop dying, most likely. That doesn't interest me much.
What does interest me is the additional figure next to the chief of police.
Think, Cain. Who was there in canon? Turns out—no one… So what am I missing? Nothing! I distinctly remember that when Claire arrived, there was only one interlocutor—the chief himself. Later, it seems he'll become a parasite, having caught the infection straight from the source. From Birkin, of course—who suddenly felt the urge to reproduce.
A couple of seconds later, things get even more interesting. I stop paying attention to Claire, who had reached the dying cop. My focus is completely seized by the sight of that unaccounted-for figure collapsing, its glow slowly beginning to fade. More and more interesting! And how violently the police chief's figure starts to pulse! And I seriously doubt it was out of fear.
I crouch, tense my leg muscles, and shove off sharply—soaring into the air and landing already on the roof. Jumps are our everything!
Reaching the scene quickly, I realize I screwed up—the chief's office has no windows! Damn it. So what now? Go back and make my way in the normal way. I think gloomily. Turning over my right shoulder, I notice a small platform with a door—probably leading to the attic.
But what really finishes me off is—
"Oh! A burning helicopter!"
Yes. Exactly that: a burning helicopter, half-embedded in the wall.
I glance sideways at the water tower standing above it and slightly to my right—or whatever those barrels are called. Embarrassing to admit, I've never really cared before. Then I shift my thoughtful gaze to my right hand, reflexively clenched into a fist. Back to the wall of the tank, estimating its thickness. Back again to my freshly healed hand.
Decision made!
I step up to the tank, make sure I'm positioned directly above the helicopter, and strike with my claw-extended hand—a powerful, lightning-fast blow that literally tears the water reservoir open. I leap back instantly, clearing space as a torrent of water crashes down onto the burning wreck.
Back then I didn't yet know that forty minutes later Claire would show up on the roof, stubbornly hauling in her backpack—found along the way (or perhaps confiscated from the unlucky shopkeeper)—the valve from that very barrel. Nor did I know what kind of colorful—unprintable—expressions she'd use when she tossed it aside, realizing her "hamster instinct" had played a cruel joke on her, just like one bio vampire.
🙌Bonus chapter for 50 power stones!
🎁The next bonus chapter will be for 100 power stones.