The first breath, like a gulp of fresh air after a long stay in underground mines. It didn't make life easier, it just brought the mind to consciousness, pulling it from a near-death state. The monster's clawed paws had only recently pierced me through, leaving me to die, choking on my own blood. Only the T-virus prototype helped me open my eyes again and survey the half-destroyed laboratory.
My killer, Tyrant T-002, is already dead, so the blood feud is postponed.
Coughing a few more times, I slowly rose to my feet, trying to gather my thoughts. Am I Albert Wesker, or someone else? Several reels of memories mingled within me, as if I had lived two different lives, completely unlike each other. The only thing that united them was birth and death. In both lives, in the body of Wesker and William, I met the beginning and the end. This is similar; the differences lie further: different experiences, worldviews, intellectual abilities, and talents. So that the personality would not degrade, the subconscious intuitively discarded flaws, replacing them with advantages. Correct, no need to clutter oneself with contradictions; defects should be eliminated.
The body obeys me, but the flesh is too wounded, clothes covered in blood, a healing hole visible in my chest. These aren't all the problems; there's a critical lack of control over the T-virus Prototype, which plays against me in the long term. Inaction guarantees a third death. No, two are more than enough; I don't plan to make the same mistake thrice.
— Spencer Mansion will soon blow up, — I voiced the key thought, forcing my body to ignore any irritants. — There's still time; I need to retrieve the data and get far away from the explosion's epicenter.
I reminded myself of the goal again, my gaze sweeping across the laboratory where the Tyrant was bred. A dangerous monster — that ended my life; such will soon be mass-produced. Some parts of its organs could be seen in tanks, large, human-sized flasks where mutated scraps of flesh floated in green sludge. One such flask concealed a terminal connected to the database of the pharmaceutical giant "Umbrella."
The lighting left much to be desired. On the way to the terminal, I spent a few precious seconds assessing the situation. All clear, but specimens could flock to the smell of blood at any moment. Quickly connecting to the servers via the terminal, successfully, as evidenced by a sharp female voice.
All data was saved in the file "U.M.F. 013."
— Wesker… Albert. At midnight, I took it upon myself to revoke all your access to the main system, — the program, possessing artificial intelligence, replied. It deprived me of access rights, deeming my actions treacherous.
— Who are you? — I asked, continuing to try and bypass the security.
— Red Queen. My task: to manage and protect Umbrella's assets, — the new target for elimination decided to introduce herself.
The Queen is incredibly smart, ignoring any attempt to extract data until the result is almost in hand. At the very last moment, she changed the security, making me waste time in vain. Under normal conditions, she could be fought, however, every second is precious.
— I will personally destroy all your servers, erase every block containing your consciousness, — I threatened one last time, heading for the exit from the underground laboratory. — I'll have to adjust my plans.
Pulling out the "Samurai Edge 2" from its holster, designed for effective elimination of mutated creatures, I continued my way through the gloomy laboratory with much greater determination. This place can truly be called a labyrinth and a fortress; it's easy to get lost, difficult to destroy. Spencer Mansion was supposed to be a tomb for the "Alpha" team, investigating the disappearance of the "Bravo" team. They swallowed my bait, drawing the mutants' attention and allowing me to reach the research data. Unfortunately, the Red Queen interfered.
For a moment, I felt a burning sensation in my eyes, as if they were engulfed in flames, and goosebumps rose on my back. Making a lightning-fast dodge to the side, I managed to avoid an attack from an insectoid creature, which dropped from the ceiling, at the last second. Its paws were shaped like pointed cones and were intended for piercing flesh, but, otherwise, this beast had similar features to a Chimera. A mixture of human and fly. In exchange for reduced intellectual abilities, Chimeras gained an increase in raw strength and unique features of each species with which humans were crossed. For example, the thought of a spider-human hybrid made me smile. Only for a moment, then it stretched into a snarl as the creature let out a prolonged sound and lunged, aiming its vile maw at my neck.
— Slow, — I commented coldly, raising my leg and performing an Axe Kick; a heel strike from top to bottom, like an axe, directly onto the dumb creature.
Thanks to the newly acquired strength from the T-virus prototype infection; my physical strength, agility, and regeneration — surpass ordinary humans. However, every strength comes at a cost: I have too many flaws; still uncontrolled mutations and dependence on special serums, which spoil my mood with the difficulty of obtaining components for their production. But that's nothing. The foundation is laid: crooked, imperfect, limited. And if so, I'll just rebuild everything from scratch, elevating myself to the absolute.
The Chimera only managed to emit a squeak as it was pinned to the stone surface; its head shattered into pieces, and its flesh painted half the length of my trouser leg with dark yellow goo. How would I have reacted before? Showered the vile creature with curses. Now, I'm ready to ignore an insoluble problem. Next time, I need to be more careful and drown less in other people's shit and flesh.
— Criee!!! — a loud shriek burst from the beast that had galloped to the party. It had smelled its kin's blood and thought there was a free distribution of goodies here. Well, I have one dessert in reserve.
Aiming the sight at the creature's head, I pulled the trigger and blew its brains out. The accuracy was perfect, as were the special bullets with their penetrating power. However, there are advantages only when shooting ordinary specimens. Against Tyrants, a pistol is almost useless, especially against new models like "Ivan" — an improved and perfected version of Tyrant T-103. Against him, a special Magnum is needed, or, now, I can try to destroy him in close combat using a suitable environment. In a fair fight, right now, the chances are slim — they have only just emerged. The virus has entered a phase of slow mutations, and let's say it's still too early to fight Tyrants "fairly" and "openly." But with the use of weapons and the environment, no problem.
Turning into the next corridor, I spent a few more bullets to clear the path to the elevator. It was still working, allowing me to ascend to the upper floors, where the lighting system was severely damaged. The corridor lights were dim and flickering, constantly reminding me that at any minute, they would burn out. Here, I had to take off my sunglasses, storing them in my pocket, to react more quickly to surprises.
Not in vain. As soon as I looked into the left fork, another Chimera fell from the ceiling, managing to catch a bullet. I instantly recoiled, avoiding a treacherous attack from behind by a fellow fly-human hybrid. It, not getting what it wanted, lunged again, but this time met a High Kick. A kick to the head had always been considered an effective and powerful technique in my arsenal, but with newfound strength, it was akin to a cannon shot. The creature was slammed into the ceiling, then fell apart into pieces.
— What amazing power, — I chuckled softly, intoxicated by the feeling of might, already heading towards the door I needed. But I wasn't allowed to rejoice by the humanoid creatures emitting prolonged "uh-uh-uh-uh" sounds, something similar to a sputtering motorcycle engine.
Quickly turning, I bent my back and fell onto my left arm to do a cartwheel, and used my toe to hook the chin of a rushing dead man. Due to my awkward position or the enemy's luck, he simply collapsed to the ground. Even before he landed, I managed to shoot the second dead man precisely in the eye, and to save ammunition, I approached the lying specimen almost like a bullet and crushed his head with a well-placed strike. The crunch of bones and tearing of flesh followed, but I no longer cared. The result, that's what's paramount. Continuing down the corridor, I again approached the door and kicked it open, then lazily rested the pistol on my shoulder and pulled the trigger. A shot, the roar of a wounded creature, death. One magazine down, but the third zombie that ran to the noise lay down not far from its two comrades.
Accelerating, I covered a couple of corridors with a light sprint before jumping forward with a roll. Right from around the corner, an Alpha Hunter leaped out, the first prototype of the new "Hunter" series. The basis for its creation was laid back in 1981, but only ten years later did they achieve anything worthwhile. A humanoid creature, externally resembling a reptile, covered in green scales. It possesses razor-sharp claws and disproportionately developed musculature, as some orangutan genes were incorporated. And the creature is not only endowed with strength: fast running and high jumps. The monster is capable of catching and killing a fully equipped special forces operative in one blow.
— Nauseating lizard, — I evaluated it, jumping back and pushing off the wall to avoid a strike from its clawed paws. During its jump, the creature tried to carve a cross in the air, but I was no longer at the point of impact. By this time, I had bounced back again and reached the ceiling. Adapting to the inverted space, I quickly aimed and shot the lizard in the back of the head. As it turned out, the creature's skull simply rejected the bullet's existence. The creature growled angrily, letting out a couple of nasty shrieks, and prepared for a new lunge.
I didn't linger on the ceiling, pushing off it and landing on my feet. At that moment, the creature tried to approach me, controlling the distance. The nauseating lizard decided to cut me into pieces, and I decided to test the limits of my own power. However strong its skull, its brain still absorbs some of the impulse. I made a dangerous gamble: tensing all the muscles in my left arm, I struck vertically with my palm, as if trying to cleave the opponent in two with a sword. Of course, there isn't enough strength for that, nor enough mutation level. But to create a deadly impulse upon flesh contact — it's simple; the edge of my palm, at high speed, tore through the flesh and sent the remaining kinetic energy into the creature's brain. For what is a strike?
A strike is nothing more than a brief interaction of our bodies, during which kinetic energy is redistributed. The one with more wins the battle. Thus, my strike proved to be much more powerful, allowing me to destroy the creature's brain from within; the skull simply couldn't absorb everything.
— I'm even curious, did anyone survive in this mansion? — I asked a contradictory question, unclenching my fingers after the strong recoil. — After all, the most interesting things are always upstairs.