....
Not long after, Allen arrived at the subway station, where Karena and the four women were already waiting.
The area had clearly been secured.
The signs were impossible to miss—scorch marks on the concrete, clawed walls, and piles of corpses scattered around the station entrance. Hunters lay crumpled against pillars, Lickers torn apart near the ceiling supports, zombie dogs stacked like broken mannequins, and several other infected bodies strewn across the platform and tracks.
Whatever had come through here before was no longer a threat.
At least for now.
That realization eased everyone's tension. They wouldn't have to worry about something lunging at them from the dark while they regrouped.
"Hey, did I keep you girls waiting?" Allen asked casually as he stepped closer, greeting the women who were resting near the platform.
"Oooh, you're finally here," Rachel said, immediately walking up to him and planting a kiss on his lips, as if the chaos of the city no longer mattered.
Karena, Michaela, and Cristine followed right behind her, all visibly happy to see him come in one piece.
Karena was the first to shift into a more serious tone. She quickly briefed Allen on the current situation in the city, especially the most pressing issue—snipers targeting evacuation helicopters. One chopper had already been shot down, confirming that air extraction was no longer safe.
"For now," Karena concluded, "we either wait until nightfall for better cover, or we eliminate the snipers first. Until then, flying out is too risky."
Allen listened carefully, then nodded in understanding.
"Alright then. In that case, let's head to the evacuation point at the Clock Tower first," he said calmly. "We'll check if we can get out from there."
He remembered that the area should still be under partial control—U.B.C.S. Delta Team under Mikhail, along with several remaining R.P.D. officers, were supposed to be holding that position.
Everyone agreed without hesitation.
With no reason to linger, they boarded the subway car together. The doors slid shut with a metallic hiss, and moments later, the train lurched forward, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnels as they left the station behind.
...
At the Raccoon City University grounds, H.U.N.K had regrouped with his unit. The once-academic campus now looked like a dead zone—corridors soaked in darkness, emergency lights flickering weakly, and the air thick with the stench of decay. His team moved with practiced efficiency, preparing a large injector filled with a specially modified compound.
At the center of the underground facility lay Tyrant Nemesis, its massive body still dormant. Thick restraints held it in place, while crude mechanical augmentations were fused directly into its flesh. H.U.N.K watched in silence. He had found no trace of Dr. William Birkin at the hospital—no body, no evidence, nothing. That alone was troubling.
As the injector pierced Nemesis's neck, the compound was released into its bloodstream. Moments passed. Then the creature's muscles began to tense, its breathing deep and irregular. The concrete floor vibrated slightly beneath its weight.
Seeing clear signs that Nemesis was about to awaken, H.U.N.K immediately raised his hand.
"All units, fall back. Take cover."
The team retreated to pre-designated safe positions just as Nemesis let out a low, guttural growl.
H.U.N.K activated his radio.
"Command, this is H.U.N.K. Nemesis has been successfully reactivated. Mission complete."
Umbrella headquarters responded almost instantly. Nemesis's bio-signature was locked in, and its activation code was uploaded remotely. A new directive followed shortly after.
"Good work," the voice from the radio said, cold and mechanical. "You will now proceed to the next assignment. Head to the transport route near the disposal sector. Federation operatives are attempting to infiltrate the area to seize company cargo. Your objective is to stop them."
"Roger," H.U.N.K replied without hesitation.
As he prepared to move out, Lone Wolf, his second-in-command, stepped forward. His tone was tense.
"Captain… are you sure about this mission?"
Lone Wolf paused, choosing his words carefully.
"This time we'll be engaging Federation forces directly. Once we do, we'll be hunted. We'll be labeled as terrorists."
H.U.N.K turned and looked at his squad. He could see the unease behind their masks. After a brief silence, he nodded.
"Yes. We're doing this," he said firmly.
"If we try to defect now, it'll be nearly impossible to escape Umbrella's reach. Especially since Umbrella hasn't collapsed yet."
Lone Wolf slowly nodded, accepting the reality of the situation.
"Alright then," H.U.N.K continued, his voice lowering slightly. "While we're en route to the next location, we'll start collecting evidence."
He glanced down the dark corridor ahead.
"This is a contingency. If we're ever forced to defect, that evidence will be our leverage—to secure protection from the Federation."
"Understood, Captain. We'll begin immediately," Lone Wolf replied.
The rest of the unit voiced their agreement.
....
Meanwhile, members of Echo Six had successfully completed the reactivation of Thanatos.
"Well done," Dr. Muller muttered, his voice filled with twisted satisfaction. "Now I can finally see my masterpiece alive once again."
He observed everything through multiple surveillance feeds displayed across his monitors. Muller was currently stationed at a military outpost located within a secured zone outside Raccoon City—one of several quarantine and evacuation facilities where displaced civilians were being temporarily held under heavy guard. Soldiers moved constantly outside the tent, while distant helicopter rotors echoed through the night.
Not long after, the sound of a helicopter descending grew louder. The aircraft touched down nearby, kicking up dust and debris. From it emerged Morgan, accompanied by Wilson. The two had arrived to personally oversee the next phase of the military operation, scheduled to begin within the next hour.
Morgan was visibly irritated. He had no desire to share transport—or even space—with this new ally, but circumstances left him no choice.
The moment they arrived, Morgan separated himself from Wilson and moved quickly toward the command tent where Dr. Muller was stationed.
As Morgan stepped inside, he immediately shut down all active communication channels in the area. The tent fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the hum of machinery.
"Dr. Muller," Morgan said coldly. "We need to talk."
Muller, startled by the sudden intrusion, slowly turned his head toward the voice. A crooked smile spread across his face.
"Ohhh?" he replied mockingly. "What is it you want to discuss? Are you here for my baby? Don't even think about it—I won't give it to you."
Morgan clenched his jaw. He had traveled all the way from Washington for this conversation, only to be greeted by the ramblings of a madman.
"No…" Morgan replied, exhaling slowly, forcing himself to remain calm.
"I heard from Ron Davis that you possess data related to an antivirus formula. If possible, I want you to hand over that data."
Morgan needed every valuable asset he could secure—for The Family. Without leverage, Simmon would eventually discard him.
"Another antivirus?" Muller scoffed, shaking his head.
"That formula isn't in my possession. It belongs to a colleague of mine—a professor at the university. His name is Dr. Peter Jenkins."
Muller leaned back, an ugly grin stretching across his face.
"He's the one who developed the antivirus known as Daylight. You should go find him. I don't have any antivirus formula whatsoever."
Morgan could tell immediately—Muller was lying, or at the very least deliberately provoking him.
"Is there any other way," Morgan asked evenly, "for me to obtain that antivirus?"
Muller suddenly slammed his hands onto the table.
"Heh… you want me to help you get it?" he shouted.
"Don't make me laugh! Just admit it—you're after my exclusive research! You want Tyrant Thanatos, don't you?! You bastard!"
"Watch your language, Professor," Morgan said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration.
Dealing politely with a half-mad scientist was quickly becoming unbearable.
Perhaps once I get what I want, I should eliminate this madman as quickly as possible,Morgan thought, the idea bringing him a faint sense of satisfaction.
From his perspective, the Federation had no need for unstable individuals like Muller—or anyone who couldn't be fully controlled. Allowing such people to continue existing would only pose a long-term risk to national security. Muller also sensed something else beneath Morgan's calm demeanor. The hostility. The pressure. It was obvious that Simmon had already made his move and gotten close to this man first.
"Professor," Morgan said evenly, breaking the silence, "we're on the same boat right now. And you shouldn't be so eager to jump into the sea just to be devoured by a man named Simmon."
Muller frowned.
"That man," Morgan continued, his voice firm, "has already found a younger and more talented researcher. Someone more… replaceable. And I'm certain that after a few years of working under him, you'll be discarded without hesitation."
Muller's expression darkened.
"Are you threatening me?" he snapped. "Or are you saying I lack talent?"
"I'm merely stating facts."
Morgan then tossed a document folder onto the table. It slid across the surface and stopped in front of Muller. Inside were classified files—blueprints, budget allocations, and long-term projections.
Simmon's plan.
"What is this?" Muller asked, his tone shifting.
"Confidential documents," Morgan replied calmly. "Simmon's future plan. After he gets what he wants from you, Professor."
Muller immediately began reading. The more he read, the tighter his grip became. His jaw clenched.
Mass production facilities.
Tyrant assembly lines.
Replication without restraint.
"And if you don't want your Thanatos to be mass-produced like factory waste," Morgan added, "then you should cooperate. You can rely on me—and Ron Davis. We can protect your work, Professor."
Muller slowly looked up, locking eyes with Morgan.
"So," he said quietly, "what do you want from me?"
"We only need a little help," Morgan replied coldly.
"Deploy your Tyrant to the disposal zone where the cargo interception operation is taking place. Kill everyone there—the Federation soldiers and Umbrella personnel alike. If possible, leave no survivors."
The chill in Morgan's voice sent a shiver through Muller's spine.
Yet… he smiled.
The idea intrigued him.
"Hahaha… you really are a generous man, General," Muller laughed.
"You don't hesitate to kill your own comrades."
He remembered clearly—members of Echo Six were among those forces. His own subordinates.
"I don't care," Morgan answered flatly.
"Most of the personnel involved are loyal to Simmon."
As for Echo Six—they were elite, yes. But sacrificing them to sabotage Simmon was a small price to pay. Acceptable losses.
Morgan then placed a cassette on the table.
"Watch this recording," he said. "It contains evidence regarding Simmon. Think it over carefully. Once you've made your decision, contact me."
He placed his business card beside the cassette, turned around, and walked out of the tent—leaving Muller alone with the proof.
Muller wasted no time. The moment Morgan left, he inserted the cassette and began playing the recording.
The screen flickered to life.
On the monitor, Simmon appeared, seated calmly in a private office, speaking to one of his personal aides. His tone was composed—calculating.
"So," Simmon asked casually, "have you found any suitable candidates for the project I requested?"
"Yes, sir," the aide replied respectfully, handing over several files.
"We've identified multiple talented individuals who meet your criteria."
The camera zoomed slightly as Simmon flipped through the documents. The files contained profiles of exceptionally gifted children—all of them still very young, yet already displaying remarkable aptitude in genetics, medicine, and virology.
One particular file caught Simmon's attention.
"Carla Radames," he read aloud.
Age: 12.
Simmon's eyes narrowed with interest.
"Impressive," he murmured, nodding slowly. "Such talent at this age…"
Without hesitation, he placed the file aside—marking it as a priority candidate. The rest of the list followed shortly after, carefully organized and stored away for future recruitment plans.
The aide hesitated.
"But sir… haven't we already recruited Dr. Muller for this role?"
Simmon paused.
Then he smirked.
"That man is far too unstable," he replied dismissively.
"He's unsuitable for the project I intend to pursue."
Muller's fingers tightened unconsciously.
"But," Simmon continued, leaning back in his chair, "he's still useful. I can leverage his work to gain more support from The Family."
A brief silence followed.
"Once that's done," Simmon added coldly,
"we can dispose of him."
The recording ended shortly after.
Muller slammed his fist against the desk.
"Bastard…!"
His breathing grew heavy, rage boiling just beneath the surface. He didn't need to hear another second. He reached forward and forcefully shut down the recording, the screen going black.
For a moment, the tent was silent—save for Muller's unsteady breath.
Then his eyes drifted to the table.
Morgan's business card.
Without hesitation, Muller grabbed it. His fingers trembled—not with fear, but with fury. He activated the communicator and initiated the call immediately.
This time, there was no doubt in his mind.
No hesitation.
No turning back.