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*****
He knew that right now, he looked like a monster. If he crowded her, she would snap.
"Take a breath," he instructed softly. "In through the nose. Hold it. Out through the mouth."
Rebecca followed his instruction, her breathing hitching.
"Dead people don't walk," she whispered, her scientific mind rejecting the reality. "It's impossible."
"Biology and Evolution changes," Atlas said. "Whatever was in here... it rewrites the rules. You need to accept that, Rebecca. If you try to apply logic to this, you'll die. Right now, the only rule is survival."
She looked at him, tears of frustration and fear pricking her eyes. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her gloved hand. She was S.T.A.R.S. She was elite. She had to pull it together.
"Y-yes," she nodded, straightening her posture. "Yes. I need... I need to inform the Captain about this immediately."
She grabbed the radio on her shoulder strap.
"This is Bravo Team, Chambers. Captain Marini? Richard? Can anyone hear me?"
Krr-zzzt... hisssā¦
Only white noise answered her.
"This is Chambers! Code 10-99! We have hostiles! Repeat, hostiles on the train!"
Hisssā¦
"Maybe it's because of the rain," Rebecca said frustratedly, tapping the device. "The magnetic interference... I can't get in touch with the Captain."
"It doesn't matter," Atlas lied gently. He knew exactly what was happening to Bravo Team out in the woods, but she didn't need that weight right now. "Enrico is a veteran. I believe your Captain and the others will be fine. Our priority is to secure this train."
He walked to the door leading to the next car. He didn't open it immediately. He looked back at her.
"Ready?"
Rebecca took a deep breath, gripped her Samurai Edge with both hands, and nodded. "Ready."
Atlas slid the door open.
The next car was a dining area. The tables were overturned, the white tablecloths stained red.
A single zombieāa waiterāshuffled toward them.
Atlas didn't even draw his gun. He stepped forward, grabbed the zombie by the throat, and delivered a singular, crushing chop to the windpipe. The neck snapped. He dropped the body.
"Clear," he stated.
He walked to a table that seemed to have been used as a temporary workstation. There were papers scattered everywhere. He picked up a leather-bound file.
[ INTERNAL MEMO: UMBRELLA CORP ]
[ RE: Investigation Request ]
Atlas scanned it. It was the standard "Umbrella is evil" expositionāorders to investigate the reopening of the Training Facility and warnings about bio-organic weapon leakage.
He handed the document to Rebecca.
"Read this," he said. "Just as I expected. These things... they were created. This isn't nature. It's corporate." Atlas said this while dropping her more hints in subtle ways.
Rebecca took the paper. As she read, her fear morphed into indignation.
"This..." Her hands shook, but this time with anger. "This talks about the T-Virus. Biological weapons? Investigating the Training Facility? Atlas, this is Umbrella property. They're a pharmaceutical company! What are these idiots trying to do?"
"Playing God," Atlas replied grimly. "And failing."
"We have to stop this," Rebecca said, her voice firming up. "We need to get to the brake system, get out of here, and tell the higher-ups. If Umbrella is behind this..."
"First, we survive," Atlas reminded her. "Come on. The engine should be ahead."
They moved through the train cars. Atlas took point, his heavy boots silent on the floor. He checked every corner, killing every zombie in the way.
Whenever they stopped, he made sure to stand between Rebecca and the potential threat.
āAtlas moved toward the operator's carriage with a deliberate, measured pace. He didn't offer empty platitudes or commands; he offered silence. He walked in front, acting as a human shield against the unknown, yet he was careful to maintain a non-threatening distanceāa few steps ahead, giving her space to breathe without feeling abandoned.
āHe could feel her terror radiating like heat. To counter it, he actively softened his presence. He smoothed the sharp, predatory edge of his movements, unclenching his jaw and relaxing his shoulders, trying to appear less like a weapon and more like a shelter.
āRebecca followed in his wake, her arms wrapped tight around her weapon trying to hold her shattering reality together. Every shadow made her flinch; every creak of the train sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through her veins. The only thing grounding her was the broad, steady back of the stranger moving calmly through the nightmare.
It gave Rebecca time to adjust. To realize she wasn't alone.
After a minute, they reached the front of the train. A heavy steel door marked
[ CONDUCTOR'S ROOM ] blocked their path.
Rebecca tried the handle.
Locked.
"It's sealed," she said, looking around. "In the... usually, there's a key. Maybe back in the dining car? Or the office?"
She was already looking for a puzzle to solve.
The S.T.A.R.S. way.
Atlas didn't waste time.
"Stand back," he said.
He racked the slide of his Remington.
BOOM.
He blew the lock mechanism clean off the door. Metal fragments clattered to the floor.
He kicked the door open with a heavy thud.
Rebecca jumped, blinking. "That... works too."
"I hate looking for keys," Atlas muttered with a small smile, making her smile too.
They stepped inside.
The conductor's room was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the train. The conductor must have died outside, or been dragged away.
The hum of the engine was louder here, vibrating through the floorboards.
"Search the room," Atlas ordered. "Anything useful."
He walked to the main console. There was a suitcase on the floor. It was a high-security briefcase, locked with a digital keypad.
Atlas didn't look for the code. He dug his fingers into the reinforced lid. His muscles bulged under his leather jacket, the veins in his neck straining slightly.
CREAAAK... SNAP.
With a groan of tearing metal, he ripped the lid open by sheer brute force.
Inside was a Blue Keycard and a box of Magnum rounds.
"Jackpot," he whispered, pocketing the ammo.
"Atlas, look at this," Rebecca called out. She had found a map of the train on the wall. "We're in the second car. The engine is just ahead, but we need a keycard to access the brake controls."
"Got it," Atlas said, holding up the blue card.
"And I found this," she said, holding up a box of 9mm ammo she had found in a drawer. She looked relieved to have reloads.
They stood side by side, looking at the map. For a moment, it was quiet. The rain lashed against the windshield of the train, blurring the dark forest rushing by.
"We need to get to the rear deck to activate the emergency brake override," Rebecca traced the line on the map. "Then come back here toā"
"Don't move."
The voice came from behind them. It was smooth, cynical, and calm.
Atlas was already aware of his presence, so he promptly pointed his gun behind him.
Rebecca turned quickly, her hand dropping to her holster.
Standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, was a man. He had dark hair, a tribal tattoo running down his arm, and handcuffs dangling from one wrist. He was holding a military-issue pistol, pointed loosely at the two of them.
"Don't be nervous," the man said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm not one of those monsters. Though you two made enough noise breaking in here to wake the dead."
Rebecca gasped, her eyes widening in recognition. She knew that face from the file in the overturned truck.
"Billy Coen," she breathed.
The convict smiled. "You've heard of me. I'm flattered."
"You're under arrest!" Rebecca shouted, drawing her gun again. "Lieutenant Billy Coen, put the weapon down!"
Billy didn't flinch. He looked at Rebecca, then his eyes slid to Atlas.
He saw the size and height of him. He saw the shotgun. He saw the grey eyes that were watching him not with fear, but with the cold assessment of a predator deciding if it was worth the energy to kill.
"You've got a big friend, Officer," Billy noted dryly. "But I don't think this is the time for an arrest. Unless you want to end up like the rest of the passengers."
Atlas slowly turned around. He crossed his arms over his chest, blocking Billy's line of sight to Rebecca.
"He's right, Rebecca," Atlas said calmly. "We have bigger problems than a court martial."
"But he's a murderer!" Rebecca protested, though her aim wavered. "He killed twenty-three people!"
"Allegedly," Billy corrected.
"Drop the gun, Marine, As Ms. Rebecca said." Atlas said, his voice dropping an octave. "Or I'll feed it to you."
Billy Coen froze. He looked at the massive man standing between him and the rookie cop. He saw the way Atlas stoodāloose, relaxed, but with the potential energy of a coiled spring. He saw the shotgun on his back and the Magnum on his thigh.
Billy smirked, though the humor didn't reach his eyes. He recognized the tone. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. It was the tone of a man who had killed before and would do it again without a spike in his heart rate.
"Peace," Billy said, slowly lowering the barrel of his military-issue pistol. He didn't holster it, but he pointed it at the floor. "I'm just trying to survive the ride. Same as you."
"You are a death row prisoner," Rebecca snapped, her voice high and tight. She didn't lower her Samurai Edge. "And you killed the Military Police officers who were escorting you."
"I didn't kill them," Billy said flatly, his eyes hard. "But you wouldn't believe me anyway, would you, Officer?"
"The bodies were like that," Rebecca argued, stepping forward. "Human teeth marks. Slime residues. You expect me to believeā"
"I expect you to use your eyes," Billy interrupted, looking at her with disdain. "Those things out there? They did it."
"He's right, Rebecca."
Atlas placed a heavy, gloved hand on Rebecca's shoulder. The touch was firm, grounding. He felt her trembling under the S.T.A.R.S. vest. She was vibrating with adrenaline, stuck in a fight-or-flight loop.
"Don't be nervous," Atlas said softly, leaning down so only she could hear. "Look at him. He's got no slime on him. No blood spray. Those MPs were massacred hours ago. Billy Coen is telling the truth."
Rebecca looked up at Atlas, searching his grey eyes for confirmation.
"But..."
"We need guns," Atlas stated pragmatically.
"He has a gun. He knows how to use it. Right now, that makes him an asset, not a suspect."
He turned his gaze back to the convict.
"We get out of here together. Once we're off this train, you and the rookie can settle your differences. Agreed?"
Billy looked at Atlas, assessing him.
"That's it, isn't it?" Billy chuckled dryly. "It seems there is still a smart person among you. He's got a hell of a lot more sense than a certain Little Miss Boyscout."
He shot a provocative look at Rebecca.
Rebecca flushed with anger, opening her mouth to retort.
CRASH.
The sound of shattering glass echoed down the corridor outside the conductor's room.
It was followed by a heavy, wet thud.
Someoneāor somethingāhad breached the train.
The argument died instantly.
"Move," Atlas commanded.
He took point, racking the slide of his Remington 870. The three of them exited the room, moving into the narrow corridor connecting the conductor's cab to the passenger decks.