Two weeks later.
England.
It was December, the month that should've been filled with lights, music, and Christmas crowds.
Instead, the streets were quiet — covered in a thick layer of white snow that softened the ruined buildings and broken roads.
If not for the apocalypse, the whole place would've been glowing with decorations, Christmas markets, kids running, and people carrying gifts. The usual warmth of the season.
But now?
Only the snowfall and the sound of slow footsteps broke the silence.
Zombies wandered aimlessly through the empty streets, leaving uneven tracks across the snow. Some were half-frozen, their movements stiff; others roamed with frost coating their skin, silent but still active.
Underground, far below the snow-covered streets of England…
Umbrella facility.
Down here, nothing looked like Christmas.
Cold metal walls, fluorescent lights, scientists rushing around with tablets, soldiers patrolling — all acting like the apocalypse above wasn't their problem.
Just another day in Umbrella.
Then, out of nowhere—
"Ding… ding… ding-ding-ding…"
Every speaker in the facility clicked on at once.
A cheerful Christmas melody started playing — but definitely not one Umbrella ever approved.
A warm, jingling beat filled the entire underground base:
🎵
"Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Running for your lives,
Oh what fun it is to scream
When your whole base blows tonight—hey!"
🎵
The workers froze.
Some looked up at the speakers. Others blinked at each other.
Was… someone pranking them?
Then the voice came — cheerful, bright, and absolutely mocking
"Merry Christmas to everyone on Earth!"
A pause.
"…Except the assholes down here who are about to die in one minute."
Another jingle played softly.
"You've all been very naughty."
Confusion rippled through the facility.
"What the hell?"
"Who's talking?"
"Is this hacked?"
"Turn it off!"
Alarms didn't even have time to activate.
Because in the next instant—
BOOM—POP—CRACK—FWOOM—!!
Across the entire underground structure, every Umbrella employee suddenly burst like overfilled balloons, red mist hitting the walls before their bodies even hit the ground.
The Christmas jingle continued playing in the background, sweet and cheerful, completely unfitting for the massacre happening beneath it.
🎵
"Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Silent night below…
Oh what fun it is to see
Umbrella finally go—ho!"
🎵
The song echoed through the empty halls, the only sound left in the now-quiet facility.
And in the command room, sitting casually on a broken swivel chair, was Luke.
A guitar rested on his lap — old, scratched, half-tuned — but he strummed it like he'd been practicing for this moment all month.
The monitors in front of him showed the entire facility… or what was left of it.
Blood mist. Empty corridors. Bodies that hadn't even had time to fall.
Luke grinned, tapping his foot in rhythm.
He strummed a bright, cheerful chord — completely opposite of the chaos he caused.
🎵
"We wish you a Merry Christmas,
We wish you a Merry Christmas…"
🎵
His voice echoed through the empty halls, broadcast across speakers that no longer had an audience.
He kept playing anyway.
The camera feeds flickered with red splashes, limbs in places they shouldn't be, equipment covered in gore — but Luke kept smiling, swaying slightly as he played the guitar.
🎵
"We wish you a Merry Christmas…
And a very dead Umbrella…"
🎵
He chuckled, leaning back in the chair.
"No one alive to appreciate my singing," he said, still strumming. "Typical."
An incoming communication alert blinked on the main monitor — the only screen that wasn't covered in blood spray.
Luke paused mid-strum.
He tapped the console, and the image stabilized.
Albert Wesker appeared on-screen.
Perfect posture, sunglasses indoors, expression cold as ever — though his jaw was slightly tighter than usual.
"Oh, Chairman," Luke said casually, lowering his guitar. "You're here."
Wesker's voice was clipped. "What are you doing in my facility?"
"I came to celebrate Christmas as Santa Claus," he said cheerfully. "But unfortunately… everyone here was on the naughty list."
Wesker's eye twitched behind his shades.
Luke continued, smiling warmly — too warmly.
"Normally, Santa gives naughty kids a lump of coal. But I'm not Santa." He shrugged. "So I just sent them to God. Hopefully they respawn as better humans."
Wesker's jaw clenched harder.
Luke leaned closer to the camera, his grin sharpening.
"And don't worry, you're at the top of the naughty list. I'll come for you… and every head of Umbrella."
He picked the guitar back up, tuning it lightly.
"I even wrote a song," he said. "A little something for Umbrella's funeral — and for humanity."
He strummed once and sang
🎵
"Umbrella's on the naughty list,
Garbage of the Earth—
So I'm here to clean you up,
And give the planet worth."
🎵
Another quick riff.
🎵
"Merry Christmas, Umbrella…
Enjoy the trip to hell."
🎵
The melody was calm, festive, almost gentle — completely at odds with the blood-soaked screens behind him.
Wesker stared, expression frozen.
Then, slowly, his confidence cracked.
His composure wavered.
He slammed his fist into the console — shattering the screen.
The feed was cut.
Silence returned to the dead facility.
*****
A/N: For those who want to read ahead of the Webnovel schedule, you can read up to Chapter 140 on my Patreon.
👉 patreon.com/cw/Universal_Peace