The elevator groaned as it descended, its frame rattling with every shudder of rusted steel. Jack leaned against the wall, his pistol—a Beretta M9—heavy in his grip. Two spare magazines Ada had left him sat snug in his pocket, a lifeline he wasn't sure would be enough.
The red lipstick-stained napkin burned in his mind.
Sublevel C – Containment Wing. Subject: Walker.
The name pulled at his chest like a hook. Walker—the loudmouth, the joker, the guy who could make anyone laugh, even during a ruck march. If Walker was down here… if Dr. Weiss had twisted him like Chu and Klein…
Jack clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away before it could finish.
The elevator shuddered to a stop with a heavy clang. The doors groaned open.
Heat and stench slammed into him instantly—the reek of rot, chemicals, and dried blood. Red strobes pulsed in the ceiling, painting the hallway in a sickly rhythm. Each flash revealed claw marks gouged into the walls, bloody handprints smeared across reinforced glass, and the shredded remains of Umbrella security armor.
Jack raised his M9, the steel rod strapped across his back. Each step echoed too loudly in the suffocating silence.
The VSS flickered suddenly in his vision:
[VIRAL SURVIVAL SYSTEM]
Warning: High biohazard concentration detected in the air.
Passive Adaptation: Viral Resistance (Tier 1) active.
Jack's pulse quickened. The air itself was toxic down here.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "The goddamn air wants me dead."
He passed the first cell. Inside lay what was left of a villager—its body twisted, ribs forced outward, mouth frozen mid-scream. Flies buzzed lazily around the corpse, undisturbed in the stale air.
At the next cell, claw marks raked deep furrows into the walls. Jack crouched, tracing the grooves with his eyes. They weren't random scratches. They were deliberate. Almost like the thing had tried to count the days.
He moved on.
Another cell door hung twisted, hinges bent outward. Inside, a Marine's helmet lay in the corner, cracked clean through. A dark smear of dried blood trailed across the floor where something had been dragged out.
Jack swallowed hard, grip tightening on the M9.
"Hang on, Walker… please don't be one of these things."
At the next junction, a faint glow caught his eye. A monitor still hummed on backup power, the Umbrella logo pulsing weakly in the corner. Jack hesitated, then tapped a key.
The screen shuddered, pulling up a log file.
Experiment Log – Subject #197: Cpl. James Walker
Initial condition: Resistant to early-stage degeneration.
Psychological status: Volatile. Heightened aggression.
Secondary injection approved by Dr. Weiss.
Update:Subject demonstrates abnormal durability and increased motor strength. Neurological degradation is severe. Mental state unstable. Restraints ineffective. Subject transferred to Containment Wing – Sublevel C.
Jack's blood went cold.
He staggered back, chest heaving with anger.
"Fuck…" His knuckles whitened around the pistol. He wanted to smash the monitor, to scream, but he knew any noise would only draw attention.
As if on cue, a crash echoed from deeper in the wing. Heavy. Deliberate.
Jack spun, M9 raised, heartbeat hammering in his ears. The sound reverberated through the halls, followed by something worse—
A guttural voice. Low, primal.
"...Ja…ck… is… that… you…"
Jack froze. His body screamed to run, but his legs locked in place.
Then it stepped into view.
Broad shoulders. Muscles warped beneath torn flesh. Claws where hands should have been. Its breathing was a ragged growl, its eyes glowing with something inhuman.
And then Jack saw the face. Twisted, distorted—but familiar.
His hands shook. His breath caught.
He knew this thing.
Corporal James Walker.
Half his face was a twisted mask of scars and mutation, yet fragments of the loudmouth Corporal remained—the crooked grin lines, the familiar eyes, now pale and milky.
Jack's hands trembled. "Walker…"
The creature tilted its head, lips peeling back into a snarl. And then, in a voice distorted and guttural, came words that nearly broke Jack:
"...Jack… where… were you… when I screamed… for help…"
Jack's chest ached. He remembered the man who kept morale alive in the squad—throwing barbecue cookouts during downtime back at base camp, making sure deployment didn't eat away at them with his jokes and constant chatter.
That man now stood as a nightmare in front of him.
"That crazy doctor Weiss did this to you," Jack said, his voice trembling. He tightened his grip on the pistol. "Not me!"
Walker roared, the sound raw, broken, filled with hate. He lunged forward with terrifying speed.
Jack fired—BANG! BANG! BANG! The rounds tore into Walker's chest and shoulders, but the beast only staggered. Snarling, Walker swiped, claws cutting through steel like paper.
Jack dove aside, rolling across the floor. His ribs screamed in protest.
"Don't… lie to me…" Walker growled, each word a struggle. "You… ran… we screamed… you left us to die!"
The accusation hit harder than the claws. Jack's pulse hammered, fury and guilt colliding in his chest. "Goddamn it, I didn't abandon you! I couldn't save you!"
Walker slammed a clawed hand into the wall, tearing through concrete. Debris rained around Jack as he scrambled to his feet. He unloaded the rest of the magazine—BANG! BANG!—shots ripping through Walker's face and arm. The beast recoiled but didn't fall.
With a guttural roar, Walker barreled into Jack, knocking him across the chamber. His pistol skidded out of reach. Jack's back hit a broken console, sparks showering over him. Pain lanced through his chest.
The VSS flickered across his vision:
[VSS]
Due to minor wounds incurred, passive is activated.
Enhanced Recovery (Tier 1): Active.
Jack's pain dulled slightly, but not in time. Walker loomed above him, claws raised. His pale eyes gleamed.
"Brothers… and you let me… rot…"
Jack's teeth clenched, anger overriding fear. He grabbed the steel rod strapped to his back, swinging upward just as Walker's claws came down. Metal cracked bone with a wet crunch. Walker reeled, snarling.
Jack roared and swung again. Once. Twice. Sparks flew as steel met claw, bone, and flesh. Walker shrieked, blood spraying across the wall. But still, he stood.
Breathing hard, Jack's metal rod was now bent and mangled. He caught a glimpse of his fallen pistol. Desperation surged. He rolled, snatched it up, and shoved the muzzle against Walker's chest. His voice broke with fury and pain.
"You want me to end it?! Then fine!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Walker staggered back, each shot tearing chunks of him apart. Blood poured freely, his movements jerking, uncoordinated. Jack advanced, screaming, emptying the weapon into his former squadmate's chest and skull.
Click. Empty.
Walker collapsed to one knee, his claws twitching, his breath ragged. His monstrous form shook as though every cell was breaking apart.
For the first time since the fight began, his voice softened. Broken, but clearer.
"...Jack…"
Jack froze, chest heaving.
"...Thank you…" Walker rasped. His pale eyes blinked, almost human again. "…for ending it…"
Jack's throat tightened. He stepped closer, lowering the empty pistol.
Walker's huge frame shuddered one last time, then slumped to the floor. Still.
Jack stood over him, shaking, bloodied hands gripping the pistol so tightly his knuckles ached. His chest burned with guilt, grief, and rage—all tangled together.
"Rest easy, Walker. I'm sorry I didn't get here in time…"
He knew he couldn't have stopped Walker from turning into this monstrosity. But that didn't stop the guilt from gnawing at him.
The room went quiet. Jack scanned the chamber, and his eyes fell on a fallen Umbrella guard. He hurried to the corpse, looting spare magazines and reloading his M9 before holstering it again.
For a moment, Jack allowed himself to breathe. To feel the weight of what he'd just done.
Then—heavy footsteps echoed from deeper in the wing.
There was no time for mourning. Not here. Not now.