Umbrella Sub-Lab – L1 / Chemical Storage
The virus burned through him like fire in his veins.
Every breath came out as a growl, every heartbeat a thunderclap in his ears. The pain from the wound was gone—replaced by a violent rush that blurred everything except the target in front of him.
Jack didn't think. He moved.
He slammed into the creature before it could react, shoulder-first, driving it back through a wall of melted pipes. Metal shrieked under the impact. His hands tore at its limbs, ripping through tissue and chitin as black ichor splashed across his chest.
The Broodmother shrieked, clawing at him, but he ducked under its swing and drove his fist straight through one of its eyes. The impact cracked the skull beneath, splattering the wall with thick fluid.
A one-minute warning flickered at the edge of Jack's vision.
The virus whispered again—low and hungry.
…they're weak… let us out… we can end it…
He ignored it. For now.
Jack grabbed a length of pipe torn from the wreckage and swung it like a bat, smashing through one of the Broodmother's legs. The joint snapped, and the creature collapsed to one side.
It shrieked again, but Jack didn't stop. He grabbed its other forelimb and ripped. The sinew tore apart like wet rope.
1:50 had passed.
The virus's presence in his head began to feel like a good deal. Power hummed under his skin, whispering promises.
Then Rebecca's voice cut faintly through the haze. "Jack—hold on! Almost there!"
He turned toward her voice, not realizing that the momentary hesitation was a mistake.
That distraction nearly cost him.
The Broodmother's abdomen swung like a wrecking ball, catching him across the ribs and hurling him through a burning console. Sparks rained as he hit the floor hard.
He roared back up, coughing blood but smiling through it. "You hit like a tank, ladybug."
The creature tried to rise. Jack didn't give it the chance.
He surged forward, slammed both hands into its abdomen, and ripped it open.
The chamber filled with a stench so foul it overpowered even the chemical smoke. Ichor and molten silk poured across the floor, feeding the fires that spread around them.
2:30 had passed.
Jack felt himself slipping—losing control to the bloodlust, the intoxicating surge of power. The whispers clawed at the edges of his mind.
…let us out… let the beast within run free…
…do it… embrace the virus…
The temptation was real. The power was addictive.
But then—like a light cutting through the dark—he heard Jill's voice.
"Jack! It's ready! Get clear!"
Her shout cut through the haze just before he lost himself completely.
Jack ran straight at the Broodmother, leaping into a flying kick that hit with unnatural force and sent the monster staggering backward.
When he landed, his eyes locked on a red jerry can half-buried in the debris—gasoline.
Without a second thought, Jack grabbed it, spun, and hurled it straight at the Broodmother.
"Light it up!" he roared.
Jill didn't hesitate. She swung her MP5 up, sighted the spinning can in midair, and squeezed the trigger.
Three-round burst. The bullets hit dead center.
The jerry can erupted— a fireball blooming across the Broodmother's torso. The explosion drowned out the creature's shriek as fire crawled across its carapace, igniting the chemical residue sheeting its body.
The monster convulsed, flailing in blind agony.
Rebecca moved. She pulled the igniter cord on her improvised flamethrower—a jury-rigged mix of aerosol canisters and tubing—and unleashed a stream of fire. Flames roared across the room, engulfing the Broodmother's upper body in a torrent of orange and white heat.
The smell was unbearable—burning silk, acid, and meat.
Jill covered her mouth, backing away from the inferno. "Rebecca, that's enough!"
Rebecca held the stream one second longer, then let the canisters sputter out. The Broodmother collapsed, its legs curling inward as the fire consumed it completely.
The chamber went still except for the crackle of flames and the hiss of ruptured pipes.
Jack stood amid the heat, trembling, breath ragged. The red in his eyes faded. The black veins along his arms receded beneath the skin, leaving pale tracks where they'd surfaced.
Then came the crash—his knees giving out.
Jill and Rebecca caught him before he hit the floor. His pulse pounded, his skin hot under their hands.
Rebecca checked his wound, voice shaking. "The hole's already closing. God… the virus healed it."
Jill's grip tightened on his shoulder. "He's burning up."
Jack forced his eyes open, panting. "Pushed a little too far that time… but hey—I got you those three minutes, right?"
His stomach growled—loud, feral.
Rebecca blinked. "You're… hungry?"
Jack grimaced. "Feels like I haven't eaten in days."
Jill opened a pouch, shaking her head. "Our rations are gone. Used the last bars."
Rebecca checked her kit. Empty. "Same here."
Jack exhaled, wiping blood from his mouth. "Then I'll deal with it. Just gotta keep moving."
Jill met his eyes, firelight flickering across both their faces. "You sure you can?"
Jack looked at the blackened carcass, then at the sealed exit door. "Don't have a choice."
Before anyone could respond, a static pop cracked through the room's speaker system. A faint whine of feedback followed—then a voice.
Smooth. Calm. Chillingly amused.
"My, my… what a performance."
The three froze. Jill's weapon came up, scanning the walls. Rebecca turned to the nearest terminal, eyes narrowing.
The voice continued, dripping with satisfaction.
"To think, all that carnage—and yet the subject lives. Splendid. Truly splendid."
Jack pushed himself to his feet, muscles trembling. "Who the hell is this?"
A low chuckle echoed through the speakers. "Names aren't important. What matters is you, Mr. Hale. You're… extraordinary."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Flattery's not gonna work, pal."
"Flattery?" Isaacs's voice warmed, almost delighted. "No, no—this is admiration. You're a living anomaly. Weiss's crowning achievement. I must admit, I didn't believe his theories were possible until I saw you in action."
Rebecca's eyes widened. "Gregor Weiss… He's the one behind the Aegis project. I saw his files in the Training Facility."
"Very good," Isaacs replied, almost pleased. "Yes—Dr. Gregor Weiss. The man who first cracked adaptive genome theory. Brilliant, but shortsighted. He saw the virus as a cure—something to elevate humanity. I saw what it truly was: the key to creating the perfect soldier."
Jill lowered her weapon slightly, jaw tight. "So you've been watching us."
"Watching? Oh, no, Miss Valentine. Studying." Isaacs's voice softened, almost admiring. "Project Aegis, in theory, should have failed. The idea that a virus could push human limits has been tested for years—thanks in part to my teacher, James Marcus, and his work on the T-Virus. Marcus created monsters. Dr. Weiss created something Umbrella never dreamed possible—the perfect harmony between man and virus."
Jack, who had had enough of this lunatic, spoke before he thought. "Okay—so you saw what I can do. Are you scared to face me here and now?"
"My apologies, Mr. Hale," Isaacs purred. "But curiosity must be satisfied. I require more data. Please be a good lab rat and head to the lower floors. I have powered up the elevators."
Jack's sneer was bare and flat. "What if I don't?"
One of the monitors in the room flickered to life. The image resolved into a figure—bound, bloodied—and then Jill's voice cut through the smoke. "Chris!?"
The man on the screen was bruised and suspended—unable to move. The sight landed like a punch.
Isaacs's voice slithered through the speaker with a pleased undertone. "Oh, look—one of your teammates is in my hands. You wouldn't want him dead… or worse, turned into a test subject, would you? So, Mr. Hale… what do you say? Be my lab rat and I'll lead you to him."
Jack looked at Jill and Rebecca—at fear already carving lines into their faces. He thought of the people he'd lost, of the ones he couldn't save. Heavy in his chest, he turned away from the monitors and toward the elevator bay.
"Fine," he said, voice low. "I'll be your lab rat for now. But when I get my hands on you…" He let the words land. "I'll make you scream."