Mosquitoes and rats.
The most resilient species left on the earth.
Small bodies. Fast breeding.
There was one thing the Red Queen hadn't mentioned: she had released them on purpose.
Otherwise, the world wouldn't topple fast enough—and how would God's teachings spread?
"Hey," she had said from the start, "I'm a bad girl."
Panic began to ripple across the city.
The word doomsday took hold.
The Red Queen pinged the meditating chief priest. "Everyone's losing hope, Alice… It's time for you to show them the greatness of God."
"So soon?" Alice asked. "We're already implementing the plan?"
"I think the timing is perfect. There are many people and complete facilities, so Raccoon City can become a base city. If you let the grid collapse and try to rebuild later, you'll waste too much time."
For now, military rule kept wanton destruction at bay. But despair, given time, unravels sanity.
Alice thought it over, then nodded. "All right. Tell everyone we're going to clean up Raccoon City. At the same time, activate the Celestial Plan."
"Already prepared!" the Red Queen chirped.
In just three days, humanity had skidded to the brink.
Despair continued to spread.
At three in the afternoon, an arresting broadcast cut through the noise.
A young girl in a red dress appeared on every screen—phones, billboards, building façades. Her image overlaid every channel and feed.
"Residents of Raccoon City, listen," she said. "The end of the world is not terrible, because we are under the care of God. The infection will be cleared. Don't panic or be afraid. Enter the arms of God and you can live safely."
Countless people bristled.
Just as many blinked at the absurdity.
God?
If there's a god, why are there zombies?
"Fak squid… I don't believe in gods. All that god talk is rubbish," a man on a balcony shouted into a bullhorn, face cocky, hands raised.
Every nearby screen pivoted its viewpoint to him at once.
"Blasphemy is punished without mercy, Keith Bennis," the girl in red said. "You—most wicked—were a murderer before. Did you think we didn't know?"
Her image vanished.
The screens filled with Keith Bennis's mugshot and rap sheet—his prison file, his status as fugitive.
A bolt of thunder cracked out of a blue sky.
It struck him where he stood.
He died on the spot.
The picture shocked the city—and thrilled it.
Thunder from nothing, killing a blasphemer.
Clean. Terrible. Rapturous.
Some still muttered, What if the charges are fabricated? The next segment answered: the full docket, dates, fingerprints, the prison's seal. No trick.
"Understand this," the Red Queen's voice continued. "Those who believe in God will receive true salvation, and God's warriors will protect you. Do not loot. Do not harm others. Wait quietly."
Her voice was crisp and entrancing.
Not everyone likes sin. Most people yearn for peace, for a safe world.
Order began, tentatively, to reassemble.
At the same time, each station started running footage of Alice and her people scouring the streets.
No gunfire.
Just blistering speed.
Swift and ruthless.
Like superhumans.
"My God… is this real?"
"Can a human move that fast?"
"Wait—Bann Building—that's near me!"
An online viewer cried out and ran to his window. On the street below, a woman armored in carapace plating was scything through the undead.
No cinematography, no effects.
Unadorned—and breathtaking.
Alice moved like a blade. In her ear, the Red Queen fed target locations. In ten minutes, hundreds of zombies on one street lay shattered.
Then professionals raced in—teams in sealed suits, loading bodies onto trucks bound for the furnaces.
People watching wept.
The Red Queen's voice flowed again, amplified across public address, television, and local net.
"They are ordinary people," she said. "They joined the Eternal Church at God's invitation. Now hear this: if you join the Eternal Church, you will not be affected by the virus."
A stunned silence swept the feeds.
What?
Joining the Church grants immunity to the zombie virus?
"After joining," the Red Queen explained, "you will learn meditation. This is the spell taught by God. If you meditate and pray daily, you'll obtain supernatural power, such as…"
The feed cut to the street near the Bann Building.
The volunteers who had just hauled corpses unlatched their armor and began to drill. Movements more exaggerated than a movie's, but there were no wires, no rigs—no special effects.
…
"I want to join the Eternal Church! I don't want to live under this virus!"
"Me too!"
"How do I join? Please tell me how to join!"
Hundreds of thousands of queries lit the city's local network.
The Red Queen replied, "Today, God's followers will be cleansing zombies. By evening, clergy will be stationed everywhere. Go to them to receive God's spell."
A map blossomed—on the net, on the towers' screens, in the air above squares—pinpricks marking intake points.
Hours passed in a long sweep of steel and light.
By nightfall, Raccoon City had no zombies left.
Alice was about to head back when a middle-aged man stumbled toward her. One hand clamped over a ragged wound, he fell to his knees.
"Great Envoy," he gasped, "I was bitten. Can I still be saved?"
"Yes," Alice said. "I'll teach you the method."
"Ah… that's… that's wonderful. I thought I was done."
The Red Queen piped his file into Alice's lens—veteran, defended his family, injured in the fight. He had considered suicide; his wife pleaded with him to try the Church first.
He never expected salvation.
Alice taught him God's method.
Within moments, a visible change.
The Red Queen rebroadcast the entire sequence, magnifying the wound for the world.
The screen filled with pulped flesh, black veins, the telltale corruption.
"No way," a commenter typed. "You can't rescue that. In three hours he's gone."
"Make it two."
"An hour, if he keeps moving. He was sweating—must've run here."
The feed swelled with doubts and betting.
Ten minutes later, the black faded. The edges knit.
"My God," someone whispered. "It is the power of God—his wound is still healing…"
"Don't be so sure," another scoffed. "Zombies heal too."
But at fifteen minutes, the man opened his eyes.
The skepticism collapsed.
He flexed his arm, no longer itching, then pitched forward, forehead pressed to asphalt, tears streaming. "Thank you, Lord Envoy. If not for you, I'd never see my wife and daughter again."
"Reunite well," Alice said, smiling at him and at the women and children watching from the curb. "If you want to repay God's grace, work harder from now on. My name is Alice. I'm the chief priest of our planet."
It was natural advertising—unforced, undeniable.
By late afternoon, people poured from their homes to receive doctrine and the teachings of the divine.
"Don't crowd," the volunteers called. "If you're injured or hungry, line up to the left for treatment and food. If you gain divine power, do not harm others—retribution is real."
Under the believers' direction, the first new practitioners were born—doctors, vagrants, skeptics, the lot of them—becoming devout in a single turn.
But shadows lingered.
A faction, concealed among the crowds, had no intention of letting Alice rule.
They knew guns were useless against a chief priest, so they brought rockets and explosives.
"Hey… this city can't have only one ruling clique," one of them taunted.
"Separate the supplies now, or we won't guarantee these weapons don't go off," another said, hefting a launcher.
They were hardened criminals, slickly hidden. Only once power filled their limbs did their true colors bleed through.
Matt, hearing the commotion, sprinted in with a team. At the sight of the scene, he raised his rifle—only for Alice to catch his arm.
"Don't," she said softly. "Don't be impulsive."
"These people aren't worthy to be called God's," he hissed.
"Wait," Alice answered. "God punishes traitors Himself."
"What?" Matt stared. "God will… act?"
The standoff hung like a taut wire.
A thin mist roiled into being.
Figures drifted out of the air—six silhouettes in black, bodies nearly transparent, eyes cold and merciless. One balanced a sickle on his shoulder; another dangled a chain weighted by a long, lolling tongue; a third gripped a rod that cried like a grieving wail.
The Eternal Enforcers had returned.
"You betrayed the Eternal God, didn't you?" a voice echoed—void-deep, bone-cold. People shuddered without knowing why.
"Scare tactics," a blustering thug barked. He raised his weapon and fired at the Enforcers.
The rocket stopped dead in the air.
Sweat sprang on foreheads.
The Enforcers' voices layered like frost. "Those who betray God must atone with death. Go to the Ghost Sea and pay for your sins."
The rocket reversed like a fish on a line.
Somewhere, a woman screamed.
The Enforcers' chains writhed, the sickles drifted, the crying rod keened.
In the newfound quiet of Raccoon City, judgment descended.