For advance 40+ chapters patreon.com/TranslationGod?
One Year Later
Marcus stood on the reinforced walls of what they'd started calling the Survivor Base, watching the morning patrol sweep the perimeter for stragglers. A year. A whole goddamn year since they'd taken Isaacs's facility and turned it from a house of horrors into something resembling hope.
The base had changed. Hell, everything had changed.
What started as ten refugees and a blood-soaked underground lab was now home to nearly ten thousand survivors, with more arriving every week. The original facility had been expanded—not just down into the desert bedrock, but up and out, creating a fortified compound that looked more like a small city than a hideout.
And it had all started with the clones.
Day One - Eighteen Months Ago
After they'd incinerated Isaacs and secured the facility, Marcus had done a full sweep with his telekinesis, mapping every room, every corridor, every hidden space.
That's when he'd found them.
Forty-seven tanks in a sealed laboratory three levels down. Forty-seven women floating in amniotic fluid, all of them wearing Alice's face, all of them fully grown and waiting to wake up.
"Oh my God," Alice had whispered, staring at her own face reflected back at her dozens of times. "He was going to wake them. Use them."
"Experiment on them," Dr. Ashford corrected quietly, reading through Isaacs's notes on a nearby terminal. "Test subjects for the G-virus. He wanted to see which genetic variations produced the best results."
Jill had looked sick. "What do we do with them?"
The question hung in the air. They couldn't just leave forty-seven women in tanks. But waking them up meant dealing with forty-seven people who had no memories, no identities, nothing but Alice's face and a laboratory as their birthplace.
"We wake them," Marcus said finally. "All of them."
"Are you insane?" Matt demanded. "We can barely feed ourselves—"
"We wake them," Marcus repeated, and something in his voice made everyone go quiet. "They didn't ask to be created. They don't deserve to die just because Isaacs is gone. We wake them, we help them, and we give them a choice about who they want to be."
So they had. It took three days to safely bring all forty-seven clones out of stasis. They woke up confused, terrified, and looking to Alice for answers because she was the only familiar face they had—literally.
Alice had handled it better than Marcus expected. She'd sat with each of them, explained what they were, where they were, what had happened. Some of the clones had cried. Others had just stared silently. A few had demanded to be put back to sleep, to just not exist anymore.
But they'd all survived. And slowly, painfully, they'd started becoming people.
Months 1-6
The Alice clones became the backbone of the base's security force. It made sense—they had Alice's muscle memory, her combat instincts, her enhanced physical abilities from the T-virus antibodies. They were natural soldiers.
But Marcus insisted they be more than that. Each clone got to choose her own name, her own identity. Some kept variations of Alice—Alicia, Alison, Alexis. Others went completely different directions. There was a Rebecca, a Diana, a Samantha who insisted everyone call her Sam.
They weren't copies anymore. They were people.
The base grew fast. Marcus, Alice, and the clone units—they'd started calling themselves the Alice Legion, half-joking—went out daily to search for survivors. They cleared buildings in Las Vegas, swept through abandoned towns, checked every radio signal and smoke column.
The survivors came in ones and twos at first. Then in groups. Then in waves.
There was Claire Redfield, tough as nails and leading a convoy of twenty survivors she'd protected for months. Her brother Chris showed up a week later with his own group, and the reunion had been something to see.
Luther West came in with a modified armored truck and enough ammunition to start a small war. He'd been a basketball player before the outbreak—now he was just trying not to die like everyone else.
Every survivor brought the same story: the world had ended, the dead walked, and they'd thought they were alone until they saw the Alice Legion clearing zombies with military precision and a guy who could fly.
Marcus didn't advertise his abilities, but word spread anyway. Hard to keep it quiet when you're lifting cars out of roads with your mind.
They also brought problems.
Month 7-12
Ten thousand people meant ten thousand opinions about how things should work.
Marcus established rules early: Everyone contributes. Scientists and essential personnel get housing and meals automatically. Everyone else works—construction, farming, defense, supply runs, zombie clearing. You work, you eat. You don't work, you don't eat. Simple.
"That's not fair!" someone shouted at a town hall meeting six months in. Marcus didn't recognize the guy—one of the newer arrivals, probably thought he could make noise and get special treatment. "What about freedom? Democracy? We should get a vote on how resources are distributed!"
"You want democracy?" Marcus asked calmly. "Fine. Let's vote on whether you specifically get to eat tonight. Show of hands—who thinks this guy deserves food after spending the last week complaining instead of working?"
Not a single hand went up.
"Democracy," Marcus said. "Neat."
The wannabe revolutionary had tried to organize some kind of uprising three days later, rallying about thirty malcontents who thought they deserved better treatment. They'd attempted to raid the armory.
The Alice Legion had stopped them in about forty-five seconds. Marcus had the ringleader thrown outside the walls. Literally—used his telekinesis to chuck the guy over the fence into zombie territory. The screaming had lasted maybe twenty seconds.
After that, people complained less.
Marcus didn't enjoy it—the iron-fist thing wasn't his style—but survival wasn't a democracy. You pulled your weight or you left. End of discussion.
Jill handled the base's internal security. Alice coordinated the Legion. Matt and Ryan ran supply operations. Kaplan—who'd turned into an absolute wizard with the salvaged tech they'd been collecting—managed communications and surveillance.
Dr. Ashford ran the research division. That was the real priority.
Marcus had outlined three critical research goals:
Project One: Permanent Enhancement
NZT-49—the smart drug from his old world, the one that had given him an edge back when he was just a guy trying to survive in a Marvel universe. He'd synthesized a batch early on and had been using it sparingly, but the effects were temporary. He wanted permanent. He wanted a super-brain that didn't fade.
Project Two: Perfect T-Virus
A version of the T-virus that gave Alice's benefits—enhanced strength, speed, regeneration, potential telekinesis—without the zombification, without the degradation, without any of the usual horror-show side effects. A serum that made you better, permanently, with zero downside.
Project Three: The Cure
An antidote that could reverse T-virus infection globally. Not a vaccine like Ashford had created for China—an actual cure that could save the infected, clear the virus from the environment, and end this apocalypse for good.
Ashford couldn't do it alone. So Marcus went hunting for scientists.
He found twelve over six months—virologists, geneticists, biochemists, all survivors hiding in bunkers or abandoned labs. He brought them back, fed them, gave them equipment, and had a very direct conversation with each one:
"You're going to work on saving humanity. You're going to work hard, work smart, and work fast. Any questions?"
Most of them had questions. Marcus used his telepathy—not mind control, exactly, but... persuasion. Planting suggestions. Making them want to help, need to solve these problems. He didn't enjoy messing with people's heads, but desperate times and all that.
He also gave them all NZT-49. Within days, the research division was operating at a level that would've made Tony Stark jealous.
Progress came fast.
By month eight, they'd perfected the NZT formula. Marcus took the permanent version himself and felt his brain unfold—not just faster thinking, but perfect recall, pattern recognition at a frightening level, the ability to absorb and synthesize information like breathing.
By month eleven, the Perfect T-Virus was in final testing. Ashford called it the Prometheus Strain, after the titan who gave humanity fire. It enhanced everything good about the T-virus and eliminated everything bad.
The Cure was slower. Complex. But Ashford estimated they'd have a working prototype within six months.
Everything was proceeding better than Marcus had dared hope.
Then Ada Wong showed up, and things got complicated.
Month 13
Marcus spotted her on a routine security review. Just another survivor, or so she claimed—found hiding in a casino, rescued by one of the Alice Legion patrols, brought back for processing.
Her story was solid. Her skills were impressive. Within two weeks she'd worked her way into the security force. Within a month she was on Marcus's personal staff as an assistant coordinator.
She was good. Real good. If Marcus hadn't known exactly who she was and what she was doing, he might've actually believed her cover.
But he'd watched the movies. He knew Ada Wong was Wesker's operative—beautiful, deadly, loyal to whoever paid best. And right now she was here to spy on his base, gather intel on how Marcus had grown so powerful, and report back to Umbrella's leadership.
Wesker was getting desperate. Every time Umbrella sent forces against the Survivor Base, they got destroyed. Every engagement ended with Marcus and Alice wiping the floor with Umbrella's best soldiers. Wesker had watched surveillance footage of Marcus tossing attack helicopters around like toys, and he wanted to know how.
So he'd sent Ada.
Marcus let her operate for two weeks. Let her think she was being clever, sneaking into restricted areas, accessing terminals, building a profile. Then one night, when she tried to break into the research level, he was waiting.
"Hi Ada," he said casually, sitting in the hallway she needed to pass through. "Want to talk about why you're really here?"
To her credit, she didn't try to deny it. Just smiled that dangerous smile and said, "You knew."
"I always knew. You're Wesker's agent. He wants information on me." Marcus stood, brushed off his pants. "The question is: do you want to keep working for a man whose organization I'm going to dismantle piece by piece, or would you rather live through what's coming?"
"Is that a threat?"
"It's an offer." He took a step closer. "Wesker's done, Ada. The Umbrella Corporation is done. I've got the resources, the power, and the people to tear them apart. You can go down with them, or you can switch sides and actually survive this."
She'd studied him for a long moment. "You're confident."
"I'm realistic. Wesker's clinging to a dead world. I'm building a new one." He smiled. "Plus, I know how your story ends if you stay with him. You die. Badly.
That had gotten her attention. "like you know my future?"
"Let's just say I'm very well informed." He extended his hand. "So what'll it be? Keep spying for a losing team, or join the winning side?"
The conversation had taken hours. Marcus talked. Ada listened. He used a blend of logic, persuasion, and just enough telepathic nudging to make his arguments feel irresistibly reasonable. Not mind control—he wasn't going to turn her into a puppet—but gentle pressure, making the smart choice feel like her own idea.
By dawn, Ada Wong was no longer Wesker's agent.
She was his.
The fact that they ended up sleeping together a few weeks later was almost inevitable. Ada was gorgeous, dangerous, and appreciated competence. Marcus was powerful, confident, and apparently had a type that included "women who could kill me in my sleep."
Alice had been annoyed. Jill had been irritated. Ada had found the whole thing amusing.
"Your girlfriends don't like sharing," she'd commented once.
"My girlfriends," Marcus had replied, "are going to have to get used to living in interesting times."
Somehow, it worked. Barely. The tension in his quarters was thick enough to cut with a knife most days, but they were all professionals. Mostly.
Month 18
"It's ready," Dr. Ashford announced, holding up a vial of amber liquid. "The Prometheus Strain. Perfect T-virus integration."
Marcus looked at the serum, then at Alice, Jill, and Ada standing beside him in the research lab.
"You're sure?" he asked. "No zombification, no degradation, no 'whoops you're a monster now'?"
"Tested on volunteer subjects. Full integration with zero negative side effects." Ashford smiled tiredly—the man had been working nonstop for months. "Enhanced strength, speed, healing, and potential telekinetic development. This is it, Marcus. This is what we've been working toward."
Marcus took the vial. Rolled it between his fingers. A year and a half of work, culminating in this one moment.
"Alright," he said. "Let's do this."
The injection hurt less than he expected. The integration took six hours of fever, chills, and feeling like his cells were being rewritten from the inside out—because they were.
When it was done, Marcus stood up and felt different.
Stronger. Faster. More solid, like he'd been living in a draft his whole life and someone had finally closed the windows.
His telekinesis had jumped from maybe eight or nine tons to thirty tons of force. His physical strength had quintupled—he could casually lift a car now without powers. His body healed faster, thought faster, moved faster.
He felt like a superhero. Finally. Actually.
Alice, Jill, and Ada took the serum next. Then the Alice Legion. Then volunteer security forces. Within two weeks, the Survivor Base had an army of enhanced humans ready for war.
Because war was exactly what Marcus had planned.
Month 18-24
"Time to end this," Marcus said at the strategy meeting. "We've got the strength, the people, and the resources. Umbrella's had a year and a half to realize they're finished. Let's finish them."
The campaign started with Arcadia—Umbrella's fake paradise ship that had been luring survivors into captivity for experiments. Marcus and the Alice Legion hit it hard, freed the prisoners, and sank the vessel in the Pacific.
Then they went global.
Umbrella had bases everywhere: remnants in America, facilities in Japan, installations across Europe, hidden labs in the Arctic and Antarctic. Marcus had spent months gathering intelligence through White Queen's access codes and captured Umbrella personnel.
Now they hit them all.
The assault took six months of constant deployment. The Alice Legion became a legendary force—dozens of enhanced women with Alice's face, fighting in perfect coordination, led by the original and backed by a telekinetic who could level buildings.
They fought through hordes of bioweapons. Executioners with their massive axes. Stalkers with their tentacles. Tyrants, Lickers, Hunters—every nightmare Umbrella had cooked up in their labs. Marcus's enhanced abilities and the Legion's teamwork made them unstoppable.
Base after base fell. And at every base, they found the same thing: clones of Wesker and Isaacs, running operations while their originals hid somewhere safe.
"Cowards," Alice spat, putting a bullet through the fourth Isaacs clone they'd encountered. "They're not even brave enough to face us themselves."
"They're in the Hive," Marcus said, certain. "Raccoon City. That's where this started, and that's where they're hiding. The underground facility survived the nuke—they're down there, running everything remotely."
"Then that's where we go," Jill said.
So they did.
Present Day
The helicopter circled over what used to be Raccoon City. The nuclear blast had left a crater—a massive scar on the landscape where a city used to be. Nothing moved down there. Nothing grew. Just dead earth and lingering radiation.
But underneath...
"There," Marcus said, pointing. His enhanced senses could feel the facility below—the Hive, buried hundreds of meters down, still operational, still powered, still inhabited. "That's the entrance. Northwest quadrant."
They landed on relatively stable ground—emphasis on relatively—and made their way through the ruins. The entrance was hidden, camouflaged, but Marcus's telekinesis found the seams in the rock and pulled the doors open like they were made of cardboard.
A service elevator, still functional after all this time. They crammed in—Marcus, Alice, Jill, Ada, and six of the Alice Legion's best.
"Everyone ready?" Marcus asked.
"To end this?" Alice chambered a round. "Hell yes."
The elevator descended. Hundreds of meters down, into the facility where everything had started. Where the T-virus had been created. Where the outbreak had begun.
Where Wesker and Isaacs thought they were safe.
The doors opened onto a sterile corridor, and alarms immediately started blaring.
Marcus smiled. "They know we're here."
"Good," Ada said, checking her weapons. "Let's give them something to panic about."
The Hive - Control Room
Wesker stared at the monitors, watching his security cameras explode one by one as Marcus and his team advanced through the facility.
"This is impossible," he hissed. "How do they know we're here? This location was secret! We were careful!"
Beside him, an Isaacs clone looked equally furious. "Reed has been destroying our facilities for months. Every base, every installation—it's like he knows exactly where we are, exactly what we're planning—"
"Because I do," Marcus's voice echoed through the control room, and both men spun around.
There, on every monitor, was Marcus's face. He'd hacked their surveillance system, turned their own cameras against them.
"Hi guys," Marcus said cheerfully. "Miss me? I've been dismantling your evil empire for the last six months. Honestly, it's been super satisfying. But you know what? I saved the best for last."
"You can't reach us here," Wesker snarled. "This facility is fortified, locked down—"
"Yeah, about that." Marcus's smile widened. "See, the thing about locked doors is they only work if the guy trying to open them can't rip steel apart . We're coming for you, Wesker. You and Isaacs and every other Umbrella executive hiding down here. And when we find you?"
He let the threat hang.
"Game over," Marcus finished. Then the screens went dark.
Wesker stood in the darkness of the control room, listening to the distant sounds of combat as Marcus and his team carved through the Hive's defenses, and realized something terrifying:
For the first time in his life, Albert Wesker was the prey instead of the hunter.
And he had nowhere left to run.
(End of Chapter)