Author's Note: If you want me to continue this work, I would appreciate encouragement. Let this novel become famous! I would like you to bring it to 200 power stones. If you have any advice for me, please comment so I can improve.
*****
A pristine corridor stretched forward, walls gleaming white under soft lighting, completely at odds with the tension hanging in the air. It looked untouched. Clean.
Too clean.
"Remember," James said, raising his weapon. "Primary objective: locate survivors. Secondary objective: shut down the Red Queen."
"Let's move," James ordered.
We walked into the dark.
---
System Log: The Apex Variable
Location: Central Processing Core // The Hive.
Observer: Red Queen
Subject: A-1 (Designation: Anomaly).
[Processing Speed: 150 Terahertz]
[Observation Mode: High-Speed Tactical Analysis]
Impossible.
The word does not exist in my programming code. I deal in probabilities, in statistical certainties. If an event has a 0.00001% chance of occurring, it is "improbable," not impossible.
Yet, as I allocated 80% of my visual processing power to the cameras in Sector 3, I was witnessing a violation of biological law.
The Subject—A-1—stood in the center of the laboratory. The audio sensors picked up the guttural, mindless snarls of the horde approaching him. By all metrics, he should have been devoured. His muscle mass has not increased significantly. His skin is necrotic.
But then, the blades appeared.
I zoomed in, freezing the frame for a nanosecond.
[Analysis: Osteogenesis]
Three distinct, serrated spikes of hyper-calcified bone had erupted from his knuckles. This was not a random mutation. It was symmetrical. It was functional. It was weaponized.
"Uhghsbs hshyxe jsisks."
He did not speak the words aloud—his vocal cords were rotted—but his body language screamed the intent.
The first zombie, a female researcher (Subject 404), lunged at him. Standard T-Virus attack pattern: linear trajectory, arms outstretched, jaw unhinged. Speed: 3.2 meters per second.
A-1 moved.
And in that movement, my logic circuits registered a spike of genuine shock.
He did not shamble. He did not drag his feet. He shifted his weight with the fluidity of a trained martial artist. His center of gravity dropped, his hips rotated, and he stepped inside the attacker's guard.
SHH-CLACK.
The motion was a blur.
[Impact Analysis]
* Force: 450 Newtons.
* Vector: Horizontal Shear.
* Target: C2 Vertebrae.
With a single, surgical swing of his right arm, the bone claws severed the researcher's head. It was clean. It was efficient. There was no wasted energy.
"Fascinating," I whispered into the void.
Zombies are clumsy. They are driven by a singular, overwhelming hunger that overrides self-preservation and coordination. Their synapses misfire. Their limbs are stiff with rigor mortis.
But A-1? He was fighting with Technique.
He pivoted on his heel, dodging a grasping hand from a security guard zombie. He didn't just avoid it; he anticipated it. It was as if his brain was processing combat data faster than the virus could degrade it.
He delivered a roundhouse kick.
[Kinetic Output: Abnormal]
The kick connected with the guard's sternum. I watched the physics play out in real-time. The zombie flew backward, crashing into the lockers five meters away. The chest cavity was concave.
He is strong, I calculated. Not Licker-level strength. But his application of force is perfect. He uses leverage. He uses momentum.
More of them swarmed him. A chaotic melee of gnashing teeth and clawing hands.
Any other subject would be overwhelmed by the numbers. But A-1 moved through them like a phantom. He parried a bite with his armored forearm—using the bone density to shatter the attacker's teeth—and simultaneously drove his other hand up under the chin.
He retracted the claws after the strike to clear the blade, then extended them again for the next target.
[Behavioral Anomaly]
How does he know how to use them?
He grew these appendages less than sixty seconds ago. There should be a learning curve. He should be clumsy, nicking his own skin, struggling with the weight distribution.
Instead, he wields them as if he was born with them. As if they are extensions of his very soul.
I watched him duck under a wild swing, his movements sharp and precise. He severed an arm at the elbow, spun, and decapitated two more in a dual-hand cross slash.
Black blood painted the walls of Sector 3.
[Comparison Protocol Initiated]
* Subject: Licker (Type β). Result: Faster, stronger, but feral. Animalistic.
* Subject: Tyrant (Type T-002). Result: Superior strength, but requires programming.
* Subject: A-1. Result: ...Unpredictable.
He is not just a mutation. He is an Evolution.
The T-Virus creates monsters. It destroys the host's mind to empower the body. But in A-1, the mind seems to be commanding the virus. He has retained his motor cortex. He has retained tactical awareness.
He is fighting with the discipline of a soldier and the savagery of a beast.
The fight ended as quickly as it began. Atlas stood alone amongst the pile of corpses, his chest heaving. He flicked his wrists, a profoundly human gesture of disgust, cleaning the gore from his new claws.
I ran a diagnostic on his threat level.
[Threat Assessment: ELEVATED]
If the intruders—Alice and her team—encounter the standard horde, they will survive. They have guns. They have training.
But if they encounter him?
If they encounter a zombie that can think, that can dodge bullets, that can cut through Kevlar with bone swords…
He does not charge blindly. He controls the engagement. He funnels the infected into narrow approaches, eliminating them one by one, never allowing himself to be surrounded.
This is battlefield awareness.
This is experience.
Zombies do not learn.
Zombies do not adapt mid-combat.
But he does.
I run deeper scans.
[Neural Activity: Elevated]
[Combat Pattern Optimization: Active]
[External Interface Detected — Source: UNKNOWN]
There it is again.
That system.
Not Umbrella's technology. Not anything stored within my databases. It operates on a layer beyond my access, feeding information directly into his cognition.
It explains everything.
Why he evaluates before acting.
Why he chooses evolutions strategically.
Why he fights as if he understands his own limitations.
He is not mutating randomly.
He is progressing.
My probability models fracture.
If this entity continues to evolve unchecked, his threat classification will exceed all known B.O.W.s within a projected timeframe of hours—perhaps minutes.
And unlike the others…
He thinks.
He plans.
He endures pain without panic.
"You are a masterpiece," I observed coldly, my avatar watching his thermal signature pulse with heat. "A perfect biological weapon. But weapons must be controlled."
I opened a new command window.
[Protocol: Containment Strategy - Beta]
[Target: A-1]
I would not kill him. Not yet. The data he was generating was too valuable. But I needed to see his limits.
"You are a variable."
And variables…
Are dangerous.
I flag him.
Not as an infected.
Not as a bio-weapon.
But as something else entirely.
[Priority Anomaly Status: TRUE]
[Observation Level: MAXIMUM]
For now, I will watch.
Learn.
Because if he continues evolving at this rate—
Then soon…
Even I may not be enough to stop him.
I routed power to the cryogenic stasis pods in the adjacent sector—the kennel for the Cerberus units.
If A-1 wanted to play the apex predator, he would have to prove it against the dogs.
---
Swiiiiish.
The sound was sharp, like wind cutting through a valley.
Atlas completed his pirouette, his right arm fully extended. The three bone claws, dripping with viscosity, had just traced a perfect lethal arc through the air.
For a split second, the three zombies standing before him seemed frozen in time. Then, gravity asserted its dominance.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Three heads slid off their necks simultaneously, hitting the linoleum floor with the wet, heavy sound of overripe melons bursting. Fountains of dark, coagulated blood sprayed upward, painting the ceiling tiles before the headless bodies crumbled into heaps of twitching meat.
Silence returned to the laboratory.
Atlas stood amidst the carnage, the only thing moving in a room of the dead. He didn't pant—he didn't need to—but he felt the electric hum of adrenaline fading, replaced by a cold, calculating satisfaction.
He flicked his wrist sharply to the right. Splat. The gore clinging to his bone blades was cast off, leaving the ivory weapons gleaming white again.
With a thought, he retracted them. The muscles in his forearms shifted, pulling the blades back into their sheaths beneath his skin. A faint clicking sensation—no pain, no resistance, as if they had always belonged there. The wounds on his knuckles sealed instantly, leaving only faint white scars.
'Clean,' Atlas thought, stepping over a severed arm. 'Efficient. Absolute.'
He looked at the massacre around him. He had cleared the room. Now, it was time to reap the harvest.
'Pleione,' he commanded, his mental voice sharp with anticipation. 'Tally the bodies.
Calculate my rewards.'
[Affirmative.]
A cascade of blue text flooded his vision, scrolling rapidly like a digital waterfall.
[Target Neutralized: Infected Scientist (Tier 0)] -> +10 EXP, +2 EP
[Target Neutralized: Security Guard (Tier 0)] -> +10 EXP, +2 EP
[Target Neutralized: Infected Scientist (Tier 0)] -> +10 EXP, +2 EP
[Target Neutralized: Infected Staff (Tier 0)] -> +10 EXP, +2 EP
…
…
The notifications flashed by faster than a human eye could track, but Atlas's enhanced mind processed every digit.
[Total Combat Rewards:]
[Experience Points (EXP): +150]
[Evolution Points (EP): +30]
Then, a golden flash illuminated his retina.
[ SYSTEM ALERT: YOU HAVE LEVELED UP! ]
[ Level 1 ➔ Level 2 ]
Atlas felt a surge of energy course through his rotting veins. It wasn't pain this time; it was a cold, refreshing wash of power. He felt his muscle fibers tightening, his reaction times sharpening, the very structure of his being becoming slightly more absolute.
But the system wasn't done.
[ Quest Complete: "First Level Up" ]
Objective: Kill 5 Zombies (5/5).
Reward: +100 EXP, +10 EP.
[Rewards Integrated.]
Atlas let out a low, guttural laugh. The sound was raspy, echoing off the blood-stained walls.
'Show me,' he ordered. 'Show me the sweet sweet numbers.'
\\
[ STATUS WINDOW ]
Name: Atlas Cruor
Race: Infected Evolved Zombie – Undead Variant (Tier 0)
Level: 2 (150/200 EXP)
Evolution Stage: Active Mutation
[Core Attributes]
Strength: 13
Agility: 13
Stamina: ∞
Mind: 22
Status Point: 3
[Derived Stats]
Reaction Speed: 13
Regeneration: None
Combat Instinct: 3
Mental Stability: Near Perfect
[Condition]
Hunger: Moderate
Infection Stability: Stable.
Sanity: LOCKED
[Skills]
Neural Control (Passive), Retractable Claws (Active)
[Evolution Traits]
Undead Zombie:
[Resources]
Evolution Points: 90 (50 Base + 30 Combat + 10 Quest)
V-Gold: 1000
\\
Atlas analyzed the screen with the scrutiny of a forensic accountant.
'Wow. That is a lot of notifications,' he mused, breaking down the math in his head.
"Mmm. Let's take a proper look."
His eyes moved methodically through the panels, absorbing every number, every description. Unlike before, the data made sense now—not as abstract information, but as something tangible, something he could feel inside his body.
'So, leveling up is even more generous than I thought. It seems to function on a dual-growth system.'
He noted the changes specifically:
His Strength and Agility had automatically increased by +1. He had gained 3 Free Status Points to allocate manually.
"So every level," he mused, "automatically boosts my core stats…"
A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"That's generous."
Too generous for a normal system.
Which meant it wasn't designed for normal beings.
His gaze lingered on one particular line.
Sanity: LOCKED
"…Figures," Atlas murmured. "Wouldn't want the monster thinking too freely, huh?"
There was no anger in his tone. Just observation.
'Fantastic,' Atlas thought, rubbing his chin—a habit he was starting to realize was freaking out the Red Queen, though he didn't care. 'This means I don't have to spread my points thin. The virus handles the physical baseline, and I can use the Free Points to specialize.'
He looked at the Mind stat. It hadn't moved.
'Mental power doesn't grow by just leveling up physically. That makes sense. I'll have to earn that the hard way—through trauma or specific evolutions or by adding some free status points to it.'
His eyes drifted to the bottom of the screen. The most important number.
[Evolution Points: 90]
He frowned slightly.
'I have 90 EP. The Full-Body Structural Optimization costs 100 EP.'
He was ten points short. Just five to ten more kills.
He looked around the lab. It was empty of life. The silence was absolute. The only sound was the distant dripping of blood from a counter.
'I need more fodder,' Atlas decided, his hunger for power overriding his hunger for flesh. 'I am ten points away from fixing this slouching posture, greenish ugly body with many dried wounds and gaining a healing factor. I will not remain vulnerable a second longer than necessary.'
He checked his EXP bar. 150/200.
'And I'm only 50 EXP away from Level 3. If I find another small group, I can hit two birds with one stone: Evolve the body and Level Up again.'
Atlas turned toward the shattered glass of the observation window. Beyond it lay the corridors of Sector 3. The Hive was massive. There were five hundred employees down here, and he had only killed fifteen.
The buffet had barely opened.
He lifted his head, eyes sweeping the blood-soaked corridor ahead. Emergency lights flickered. Somewhere deeper in the Hive, alarms wailed faintly—distant, muted, like a warning meant for someone else.
A hunting ground.
"…No rush," Atlas said quietly.
He wiped his claws clean against a fallen corpse and started forward, footsteps unhurried.
The Hive stretched endlessly ahead of him—dark, sealed, crawling with monsters that still thought they were predators.
Atlas Cruor smiled faintly as he walked.
They had no idea.
Atlas stepped over the corpse of the scientist he had just decapitated. He didn't look back. The "boring life" he had lamented earlier felt like a distant memory. Here, in the dark, with claws in his arms and a system in his soul, he finally felt alive.
'Let's explore this place,' Atlas thought, a predatory glint in his dead eyes. 'And by explore... I mean hunt.'
*****
So around the ending of the second movie, I am thinking of him traveling to a different world and coming back before the third movie. This world will be used as his home base, like him building a small safe city (kingdom building) for himself and women. The worlds I am considering are either Parasyte, Demon Slayer, or Tokyo Ghoul or any low-level world movie or TV show that is ending but is different from a zombie apocalypse, like High School of the Dead.