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*****
[The Elevator Shaft]
They crowded into the freight elevator. Atlas hit the button for the surface.
The gears groaned, and the platform began to rise.
HUMMM... CLANK.
For a moment, there was peace. Just the rhythmic clanking of the chain drive.
Then, the intercom crackled.
{ WARNING. SELF-DESTRUCT SYSTEM ACTIVATED. }
{ ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. }
{ DETONATION IN T-MINUS FIVE MINUTES. }
The robotic voice was calm, contrasting sharply with the terrifying message.
"What?" Rebecca gasped, looking at the speaker. "Who started the self-destruct program?"
"Cleaning house," Atlas growled, his eyes narrowing. He knew exactly who it was. Wesker or Birkin, watching from the shadows, deciding to bury their mistakes along with the evidence. "It doesn't matter who. We need to move."
The elevator shuddered as distant explosions began to rock the foundation of the facility.
"Hold on!" Billy shouted.
The elevator reached the top floor—the Heliport access tunnel. The doors slid open.
"Run!" Atlas commanded.
They sprinted. The facility was coming apart around them. Pipes burst, spraying steam.
Debris rained from the ceiling. The floor beneath them bucked and heaved as charges detonated in the lower levels.
In minutes they burst out of the facility and onto the mountain path leading up to the cliffside.
It was an uphill sprint.
Billy, driven by the desperation of a man who had cheated death twice, led the pack. Atlas was right behind him, moving with effortless strides.
But Rebecca was struggling.
She had been fighting for hours. She was eighteen years old, carrying a heavy grenade launcher, wearing a tactical vest, and running on pure adrenaline that was rapidly running out. Her lungs burned. Her legs felt like lead.
She stumbled, gasping for air, her pace slowing.
"I... I can't..." she wheezed.
She watched Billy's back getting further away. She forced her legs to move, but they wouldn't cooperate.
Suddenly, she felt a rush of air.
Atlas stopped. He didn't say a word. He didn't urge her to run faster.
He turned back, scooped her up, and kept running.
It happened so fast Rebecca gasped. One second she was stumbling on gravel; the next, she was airborne.
Atlas held her in a bridal carry, his left arm supporting her back, his right arm hooked securely under her knees. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing more than a feather.
"Atlas!" she squeaked.
"Hold on," he ordered, his voice rumbling in his chest against her ear.
He accelerated.
Even carrying her, he was faster than Billy. He ate up the ground, his boots pounding the dirt with rhythmic power.
Atlas found a valid excuse to carry Rebecca.
Smart man.
Rebecca's initial shock faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of safety. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder to shield herself from the wind and dust.
He reeked of slaughter—wet leather, spent gunpowder, old blood—and something rawer, unmistakably male: primal masculinity laced with the chill of a grave.
Touching him was strange. His skin radiated cold, not the feverish heat she expected, yet it wasn't repellent. It was magnetic, addictive, pulling her closer.
The contact sent a shiver through her, not of revulsion, but of dark fascination. She pressed closer, craving more of that unnatural chill against her fevered skin.
Beneath the thin shirt, his chest was carved muscle, unyielding. She pressed her palm flat and felt the deep, slow throb of blood circulation inside him—yet when she laid her cheek against the fabric and listened, no heartbeat answered. Only silence.
The absence registered somewhere distant in her mind, a faint puzzle she was too intoxicated to solve.
The missing beat flickered in her thoughts for half a second—then dissolved. She was already too far gone, drowning in the cold that somehow burned.
'He's got me,' she thought, her mind going fuzzy. He really has me.
For a fleeting second, amidst the explosions and the destruction, she closed her eyes and just let herself be held. It was the most secure she had felt in her entire life.
[The Cliffside]
They crested the ridge, scrambling up the final incline just as the countdown hit zero.
They dove behind a cluster of rocks at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Training Facility in the valley below.
Atlas crouched, shielding Rebecca's body with his own massive frame, curling over her like a protective shell.
BOOM!
The sound was earth-shattering.
A massive fireball erupted from the center of the facility. Windows blew out, spewing flames. The roof collapsed inward. The shockwave rolled over the valley, flattening trees and sending a cloud of dust and smoke billowing into the sky.
The ground shook violently, vibrating through their bones.
Then, silence returned, save for the crackle of the inferno below.
Billy sat up, coughing, wiping dust from his face. "Hell of a fireworks show."
Atlas remained crouched for a moment longer.
Rebecca was still in his arms. She hadn't moved. She was pressed tight against him, her face buried in his chest, her hands clutching the lapels of his jacket.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
She looked up.
His face was inches from hers. Even after the sprint, even after the explosion, he wasn't gasping. In fact, it felt like my lungs hadn't moved at all, looking down at her with a gaze that was intense and unreadable.
Up this close, Rebecca's breath hitched. She saw the sharp angle of his jaw, the silver flecks in his grey eyes, the way his dark silver hair fell messily over his forehead. He looked... perfect. Like a statue carved by the gods from marble and war, brought to life to save her.
She felt a heat spread through her body that had nothing to do with the fire. It started in her chest and flushed up her neck to her cheeks. Her heart, which had been slowing down, suddenly hammered a double-time rhythm against her ribs.
'Oh my god,' she thought, her mind racing. He is... he is so…
It was a crush. A violent, sudden, irrational crush born of trauma and adrenaline and the simple biological fact that Atlas had just saved her life multiple times in just the last twelve hours. It was the feeling of a girl who had spent her life in books and labs suddenly encountering a hero from a romance novel.
She realized she was staring. She realized her legs were tangled with his. She realized how intimate this was.
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a second, trying to clear the fog. 'Stop it, Rebecca. He's a mercenary. You're an officer. Focus.'
But when she opened her eyes, he was still there, still holding her, still looking at her.
"Umm..." Her voice came out as a tiny, pathetic squeak.
She cleared her throat, trying to regain some dignity.
"You can... you can put me down now," she whispered. Her voice was so quiet it was barely audible over the wind.
Atlas smirked. The expression was slow, lazy, and devastatingly charming.
"Did you say something, Rebecca?" he asked, leaning in slightly closer.
Rebecca turned a shade of red that rivaled a chemical burn.
"I said," she repeated, her voice trembling but slightly louder, "you can put me down."
Atlas chuckled—a low rumble she felt in her spine.
"As you wish."
He didn't drop her. He lowered her slowly, sliding her down until her boots touched the grass. He kept his hands on her waist for a second longer than necessary to steady her.
Then, he winked.
"Careful. Don't swoon on me."
Rebecca felt the heat hit her ears. She quickly turned away, pretending to check her gear, her hands fumbling with straps that were perfectly fine.
"I'm fine!" she squeaked. "I'm totally fine."
Atlas watched her, a softness in his eyes that Billy, watching from the side, caught instantly.
The convict smirked, shaking his head. Kids.
The dust settled. The sky to the east began to lighten, turning from bruised purple to a soft, hopeful gold.
The sun was rising.
Billy stood up, groaning as he stretched his battered limbs. He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the burning ruins.
"It's over," Billy said.
"The facility is gone," Atlas agreed, standing up and dusting off his coat. "But the nightmare isn't. Not yet."
He pointed down the valley.
Nestled in the forest, untouched by the explosion, stood another massive estate. The villa.
"That should be the villa that Captain Enrico mentioned," Rebecca said, her professional demeanor returning, though she stayed close to Atlas's side. "The designated rendezvous point."
Billy looked at the mansion, then at the sunrise.
He reached up and unclasped the silver chain around his neck. His dog tags.
"It seems like it's time to say goodbye," Billy said.
He held the dog tags out to Rebecca.
She looked at them.
[COEN, BILLY. USMC.]
"I can't take these," she said softly.