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*****
But for now, in the golden light of the morning sun, they were safe.
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Location: S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Helicopter – Airspace over Raccoon City.
Time: 05:45 AM (Tuesday, June 11, 2002).
The rhythmic thumping of the rotor blades was hypnotic, a steady heartbeat that carried them away from the nightmare of the Arklay Mountains.
Fifteen minutes had passed since the explosion. The adrenaline that had fueled them for nearly twenty-four hours was finally dissipating, leaving behind a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion.
Atlas sat in the center of the bench seat, staring straight ahead. To his left, Rebecca Chambers was sound asleep, her head resting securely on his shoulder, her breathing soft and rhythmic. To his right, Jill Valentine had drifted off as well, her temple pressed against his other shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest even in sleep—a warrior resting, but not letting her guard down.
Atlas shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of the two women on his cold skin. A small, contented sigh escaped Rebecca's lips as she nuzzled closer to his neck.
Atlas couldn't help but smile. In any other life, this would be paradise.
But as the skyline of Raccoon City began to break through the morning mist on the horizon, reality intruded.
He looked at the city approaching. He knew what was waiting there. Chief Brian Irons, the corrupt police chief on Umbrella's payroll. A precinct filled with bureaucracy, mandatory debriefings, blood tests, questions and identification checks and even quarantined.
'I can't go to the R.P.D.,' Atlas thought, his eyes narrowing. 'I'm an undocumented variable. If I walk into that station, Irons will have my description sent to Umbrella headquarters within the hour. I'll be hunted by U.B.C.S. hit squads before lunch.'
He needed to vanish. He needed to be a ghost.
He checked his internal clock. They were over the industrial district, approaching the downtown area. It was time.
He moved his shoulders—a gentle, rhythmic shake.
"Rise and shine, ladies," Atlas said, his voice a low rumble. "The meter is running."
Rebecca stirred first. She blinked, her eyes unfocused, before realizing exactly where she was. She was practically draped over Atlas, her hand resting on his chest.
She gasped, pulling back as if she'd been burned, her face turning a brilliant shade of crimson.
"I... I fell asleep again!" she stammered, smoothing her hair frantically. "I'm so sorry, Atlas! I didn't mean to drool on you... did I drool?"
"You're fine, Rebecca," Atlas chuckled.
Jill was less easily flustered. She opened her eyes slowly, lifting her head from his shoulder with the grace of a cat. She didn't blush; she just fixed him with a groggy, playful glare.
"You have terrible timing," Jill murmured, stretching her neck. "I was having a very nice dream where nothing was trying to eat me. Why are we waking up? We aren't at the station yet."
The other men in the cabin—Chris, Barry, Enrico, and the wounded—looked over, puzzled.
"Yeah, we're still five mikes out," Brad called from the cockpit. "Sit tight."
Atlas stood up. The sudden movement drew every eye in the cramped cabin.
"You guys are five mikes out," Atlas corrected, adjusting his belt. "I'm getting off here."
He walked toward the open side door of the helicopter. The wind whipped into the cabin, roaring loudly.
Rebecca scrambled up, grabbing his hand with both of hers. Her eyes were wide with panic.
"Atlas? What are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why so suddenly? You... you can't just leave! We need to get you medical attention. We need to debrief!"
Atlas looked down at her small hands gripping his scarred knuckles. He softened his expression, squeezing her hands gently.
"Rebecca," he said softly. "I told you before. I'm Pest Control. I work alone, and I work in the shadows."
He looked at the group—at the S.T.A.R.S. badges on their shoulders.
"If I go to the station with you, I get buried in red tape. I get questioned. I got detained. And right now... there are plenty of pests to be controlled in this city. I can't do that from a holding cell or quarantine."
"But..." Rebecca bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes. She knew he was right, but she didn't want to let go.
Atlas turned to the men. He nodded at Barry Burton.
"Barry," Atlas said. "Take care of your family."
Barry stood up, despite his exhaustion, and pulled Atlas into a bear hug. "I will. Thanks to you, I might actually get to see them again. You're a crazy bastard, Atlas, but you're a good one."
Atlas moved to Chris Redfield.
"Chris," Atlas said, shaking his hand firmly. "Keep your eyes open. This isn't over."
"I know," Chris said, his grip like iron. "If you ever need backup... you call us. S.T.A.R.S. owes you a debt."
He nodded to Enrico, Kenneth, and Richard. "Good to see you alive, gentlemen. Don't waste it."
"We won't," Enrico said, saluting from his seat.
Finally, Atlas turned back to the women.
He pulled Rebecca into a hug. She buried her face in his chest, holding on tight, breathing in his scent one last time.
"Don't do anything reckless," she whispered into his shirt.
"That's my line, Rookie," Atlas smiled, kissing the top of her head. "Stay sharp. You're a survivor now."
He pulled away and turned to Jill Valentine.
She was standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the frame of the door, watching him with an unreadable expression.
Atlas stepped into her space. He didn't ask; he just wrapped his arms around her.
Jill hesitated for a split second, then melted, hugging him back. She wasn't young or naive like Rebecca, but the relief of holding the man who had fought a Tyrant for them was overwhelming.
"You're really just going to disappear?" Jill whispered near his ear.
"Only for a little while," Atlas whispered back.
He pulled back slightly, keeping his hands on her waist. He looked into her blue eyes.
"So," Atlas said, flashing a charming, confident grin. "When the dust settles... how about that dinner? I know a place that serves steak. No leeches."
Jill laughed, a bright sound over the roar of the rotor blades. She raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her gaze.
"Asking a girl out while hanging out of a helicopter?" Jill smirked. "That's a new one. Even for me."
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
"Find my number, Atlas," she whispered, her voice husky. "If you're as good an investigator as you say you are... you'll find me. Then? We'll talk about steak."
"Challenge accepted," Atlas grinned.
He stepped back to the center of the cabin. His expression shifted from playful to serious. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick packet of documents, dairies—the photos of Wesker and Birkin, John's letter, and the facilities maps and experimental logs.
"I hope you put Umbrella and its scientists on death row with this," Atlas said, handing the stack to Jill. "This is the proof. The smoking gun. Don't let them bury it."
Jill took the documents, glancing at the top photo. Her eyes widened.
"This is..."
"Everything you might need," Atlas said. "I don't want this world to turn into a graveyard. Finish the job."
And it was true: no matter how much raw power a world-ending cataclysm might pour into his veins, no matter how many advantages it could carve out for an undead thing like him, Atlas still didn't want to let that nightmare movie timeline come to pass.
Ninety-nine percent of humanity wiped out—billions of lives snuffed like candles in a storm—wasn't a price he was willing to pay. Not for strength. Not for survival. Not even for the godlike edge it would give him.
Atlas had seen enough death. He carried enough of it already. He wouldn't become the architect of more—not when the cost was every last person who still had a pulse, every kid who might one day laugh again, every ordinary soul just trying to make it through the day.
Deep down, beneath the bone claws and the cold that never warmed, something stubbornly human still held the line: some lives were worth more than any amount of power.
Jill nodded, clutching the papers to her chest. She passed a few sheets to Chris and Barry, whose eyes went wide as they realized what they were holding. Evidence of murder, corruption, and bio-terrorism.
Atlas stepped to the edge of the open door. The city passed by five hundred feet below—a grid of streets and buildings.
"Well," Atlas said, turning back to them one last time. He flashed a two-finger salute. "See you guys soon."
"Wait!" Chris yelled, realizing what he was doing. "We're too high!"
"Atlas, don't!" Rebecca screamed.
Atlas didn't hesitate.
He stepped backward into the empty air.
"Holy shit!" Barry shouted, rushing to the door.
The entire team crowded the opening, looking down with horrified faces. They expected to see a body plummeting to its death. They expected a splat.
*****
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