Get those stones going boys and tomboys, we need to get those numbers up!
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"Let's dance, ugly."
Atlas closed the distance in a blur. He ducked under a second swing and drove his claws upward.
SHING.
The claws sliced through the Leech Zombie's torso, severing the connection between the mimicry leeches. The creature fell apart into a pile of writhing worms.
The two normal zombies stumbled forward, arms outstretched.
Atlas spun, retracting the claws and drawing the Lightning Hawk Magnum in one fluid motion.
BLAM. BLAM.
Two heads exploded like ripe melons. He got rid of the remaining zombies with ease.
Atlas holstered the gun. "Messy," he critiqued. "But effective."
He searched the room. Propped against a crate, clutched in the dead hand of a security guard, was a Winchester Model 1954 pump-action shotgun.
"An antique," Atlas noted, picking it up. "But reliable." He slung it over his shoulder as a backup.
In the corner, dusty and forgotten, sat a stone statue of an angel. It was small, white marble, holding a torch.
"Key item," Atlas noted. He pocketed it.
He found a metal staircase leading up. He climbed it, pushing open the heavy hatch at the top.
He stepped out onto the roof. The rain had stopped, but the wind was howling. Below him, the Arklay Forest stretched out like a black ocean.
Several zombies—former maintenance crew—shuffled across the gravel roof toward him.
Atlas didn't waste bullets. He drew his combat knife.
He moved through them like a phantom. A slash to the neck. A stab to the temple. A kick to the chest that sent one tumbling over the edge into the abyss.
He continued along the roof walkway. In a planter box, he saw them.
Herbs.
Red, Green, and Blue. Growing wild in the neglected soil.
"Gene banks," Atlas whispered. He carefully harvested the plants, placing them in a specialized pouch on his belt. These weren't just health items; they were biological gold
mines for future research.
Atlas collected them. In the future, when he has his own research department, he will be able to study these herbs.
He reached the end of the walkway and entered a door.
He found himself in a corridor blocked by an iron gate. Two armored knight statues stood guard, their halberds crossed, locking the way forward.
Atlas tried to push them. They were immovable.
"Puzzle mechanism," he sighed. "Needs a key or a trigger. Later."
He doubled back, finding another door that led him onto a balcony overlooking a massive room.
The Conference Room.
It was grand, with high ceilings and murals depicting the 'glory' of Umbrella. A long table sat in the center, empty. At the head of the table was a podium where Dr. Marcus used to preach his madness.
Atlas walked through the empty room, his footsteps echoing. He opened the double doors on the far side and stepped out onto the second-floor landing of the Main Hall.
"Atlas?"
A voice called out from below.
Atlas looked over the railing. Rebecca was standing near the stairs, looking relieved to see him.
"How did you get up there?" she asked.
"There's a restaurant below," Atlas explained, leaning on the railing. "Found a passage through the ventilation system. Did you find anything?"
Rebecca shook her head, her small ponytail bobbing. "Nothing but those monsters. But..."
She reached behind her back and pulled out a heavy, break-action weapon.
"I found this in a locker."
A Grenade Launcher.
Atlas whistled appreciatively. "Now that is a problem solver. Good find, Rebecca." Atlas praised her.
"It's heavy," she admitted, adjusting the strap. "Since Billy hasn't returned yet, let's continue the search on the second floor?"
Atlas nodded. "Stay close. This place is a maze."
He walked down the stairs to meet her. As they moved together, the dynamic shifted. Rebecca wasn't walking behind him anymore; she was walking beside him. She was checking corners. She was trusting his lead, but she was finding her own footing.
They stopped in the middle of the second-floor landing.
There was a large stone scale. Next to it, a statue of an angel—white marble, identical in style to the one Atlas had found—but this one held nothing.
"The Scale of Justice," Atlas mused.
He took the Angel Statue (White) from his pocket and placed it on the left plate of the scale.
The mechanism groaned. The scales tipped, but not enough.
"What is that?" Rebecca asked, watching the gears turn.
"A counterweight mechanism maybe," Atlas explained, pointing to the empty right plate. "It needs balance. Good vs. Evil. Or in Marcus's case, Obedience vs. Discipline. We need a second statue. Probably black."
"You know a lot about puzzles," Rebecca noted.
"I played a lot of games as a kid," Atlas winked. "Come on." Atlas gave her some clues since he'd played this game before and remembered how things usually worked.
They moved to the east wing corridor, walking towards a room on the second floor.
Atlas kicked open a stuck door.
BOOM.
The wood splintered.
"Subtle," Rebecca dryly commented.
"Effective," Atlas countered.
They entered a hallway with a staircase leading up. They climbed it, emerging into a massive, cathedral-like room.
In the center lay a huge, empty swimming pool. It was dry, the tiles cracked and stained.
"It looks like a training pool," Rebecca said, her voice echoing.
Atlas walked to the edge. In the center of the dry pool, inside a rusted iron cage, something glinted.
"A key," Atlas pointed.
"Where is the control device?" Rebecca asked, scanning the room.
Atlas found a control panel on the wall. A rusted winch wheel.
"Cover me," he said.
He grabbed the wheel and turned.
CREAK... CLANK…
The chains groaned. The cage slowly lifted from the floor of the pool.
"I've got it!" Rebecca said. She vaulted over the railing, sliding down the sloped floor of the pool. She ran to the cage, reaching through the bars to grab the key.
"Got it! It's the Key!"
RUMBLE.
The floor beneath her shook.
The drain grate in the center of the pool exploded upward.
SCREEEEEEE!
A nightmare erupted from the depths.
It was a Giant Centipede. Forty feet long. Its carapace was hard and segmented, its legs clicking like knives on the tile. Its mandibles were dripping with venom.
The shadow on the ceiling didn't just move; it struck.
Before Rebecca could scream, the Giant Centipede uncoiled, snatching her from the floor. Its segmented body wrapped tight around her waist, hoisting her ten feet into the air as its mandibles clicked open, dripping caustic venom inches from her face.
"Atlas! Help me!"
Atlas spun, his hand bypassing the shotgun—too much spread—and blurring to the Lightning Hawk at his hip.
He didn't panic. He stabilized.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Six shots in less than a second.
It was surgical. Every .50 caliber round hammered into the exact same inch of the creature's armored faceplate. The first round cracked the shell; the following five drilled into the wet brain matter beneath.
Green ichor exploded from the wound. The creature shrieked, convulsing in pain and flinging Rebecca across the room like a ragdoll.
Atlas was already sprinting.
He launched himself into the air, intercepting her arc. One arm hooked around her waist, locking her flush against his chest. He hit the floor, twisting his body to take the impact, his boots carving grooves into the tiles as they skidded to a halt.
He didn't let go. He kept her clamped to his side, his body a solid wall between her and the threat.
But the B.O.W. wasn't dead.
Half-blind and thrashing, the centipede reared up, its hundreds of legs rippling in a frenzy as it prepared to crush them.
"Rebecca! The Launcher!" Atlas roared.
She fumbled blindly for the M79, pinned against him, and fired.
THUMP.
KA-BOOM.
The grenade detonated against the creature's underbelly, blowing its midsection apart in a geyser of fire and gore. The monster collapsed, screeching, but its upper torso continued to drag itself forward, jaws snapping wildly.
Atlas didn't retreat.
With Rebecca still tucked securely under his left arm, he marched straight toward the dying beast. His right hand moved in a blur—mag drop, fresh clip, slide release—reloading with the mechanical efficiency of a machine.
He didn't stop until the muzzle was feet away from the thrashing head.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Chunks of carapace flew.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
He dismantled the skull, shot by shot, until there was nothing left but a smoking, unrecognizable stump.
Finally, the massive segmented body gave one last shudder and went still. Atlas stood amidst the smoke and gore, Rebecca's chest heaving, his arm still wrapped protectively around Rebecca as she huffed and puffed.
"That... that was really big," Rebecca panted, her voice shaking. "It seems that after the mutation, animals are much more dangerous than zombies."
She was trembling violently. The adrenaline dump was hitting her hard.
She realized suddenly that she was still held tight against Atlas's side. His arm was wrapped firmly around her soft supple waist, his hand resting on her hip. She could feel the heat radiating from him through his leather jacket. He was towering over her, a solid wall of muscle and safety.
She looked up at him. His face was close. Too close.
She felt a flush rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat.
'Calm down, Rebecca,' she thought frantically. 'It's nothing. He saved you. Don't make it weird.' But her heart was beating so fast she was sure he could feel it. She had rarely been this close to a man, let alone one like this.
"Umm... Atlas?" she whispered.
Atlas looked down. He saw the blush on her cheeks. He knew his hand was still clamped around her thin waist, pressing her soft body against his and it didn't want to let go of this beauty in its clutch.
"Oh," he said, blinking, pretending as if he hadn't just taken advantage of this situation..
He quickly released her, stepping back a respectable distance.
"Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feigning awkwardness. "Adrenaline. Didn't mean to... crowd you."
He blamed the biology, creating a graceful exit for himself in the manner of a seasoned player.
"No!" Rebecca said quickly, smoothing her vest. "No, don't apologize. You caught me. It might have broken my bones, or, even worse. Thank you.
She looked at him, her eyes soft.
"You saved me. Again."
"That's the job," Atlas smiled gently. "Come on. Let's get out of here before its mother shows up."
The moment lingered for a second longer—a spark in the darkness—before they turned to leave.
They stepped through the far door, leaving the smoking remains of the Giant Centipede that turned into a husk dry corpse behind them, but the dynamic between them had fundamentally shifted. The polite, hesitant distance of strangers had evaporated in the heat of the explosion, replaced by a raw, unspoken bond forged in the violence of survival; as they moved into the shadows of the next corridor, Rebecca stayed tight to his side, no longer just following a leader, but clinging to the only unshakeable thing left in her world.
[The Outdoor Porch]
They exited the pool room, stepping out onto an open-air balcony.
The cool night air hit their faces. There was a fountain in the center, dry and cracked, and a few stone benches. The view looked out over the dark forest.