Tyrant was the first to wade into the budding brawl. His right hook forced me into a backward roll, slipping out from under the blow. And of all the places to land, I had to roll right under Nemesis's feet.
The monster didn't hesitate for long and immediately tried to stomp on me. For some reason, the fate of a cockroach didn't appeal to a certain vampire, so I rolled again and sprang back to my feet in one elastic motion. To my left there was only T-103, just turning toward me. Not a bad roll, all things considered. I decided not to waste the opportunity—landing a double strike into the brute's side, and when he finally turned, following it up with a straight kick to the chest. Tyrant stayed upright thanks to his sheer mass, but the asphalt beneath us cracked.
I feel downright pathetic, hopping around these two hulks! Birkin finally lumbered over to our little "party," swollen to the size of a T-103, his right arm even larger than the rest of his body. There was a huge eye on that arm, right on the shoulder. As far as I remembered, that was his only weak spot—once infected with the standard G-virus, the monster no longer cared about bullets. In his massive hand he was gripping a broken piece of steel pipe, clearly intending to give me a loving tap with it.
I duck and move to the right; the tip of powerful swing clips the Tyrant as he steps forward. He drops into a crouch from the force of the blow, then immediately straightens, delivering an uppercut to Birkin's jaw. Excellent! At least two of them are from "different camps." Otherwise, things would be truly bleak for me.
A Nemesis tentacle comes flying at me next… and still, I want that function for myself—even if I don't yet know why! I extend my claws to their maximum length and shred the "living cable" into tiny pieces while it's still in midair, making Nemesis howl. And that was the exact moment the humans chose to appear.
Oh! Familiar suits. Another specialized unit. But what are they doing here? I'll need to leave at least one alive and have a bite—get the information I need.
Umbrella's mercenaries clearly hadn't expected to see such a crowd, or one of their "colleagues" nearby (my suit, even if nearly past its prime, was the right one), so whatever they'd planned to do, the poor bastards hesitated. And I took full advantage of that.
"Guys! I'm so glad to see you! Why don't you take care of them, and I'll go get some reinforcements in the meantime."
Rattling all that off, I shot between them like a bullet, slipping past the squad. Nemesis, deciding to get even with me, failed to repeat my trick and instead slammed straight into the unfortunate people, instantly putting three of them out of commission—permanently.
Tyrant and Birkin, already having damaged each other, repeated Nemesis's maneuver. Well, humans were clearly the preferable targets thanks to the virus; internal disagreements could wait. Unfortunately, my assumption was wrong. Only the two Umbrella monsters decided to tear into the squad. Birkin, retaining some twisted, virus-warped semblance of reason, chose the most dangerous opponent—the nimble and strong one. Me.
I had to duck, letting the monster's improvised club sweep over my head. Then a step to the right—he was surprisingly fast for his bulk, and it was as if he'd never heard the word inertia, calmly redirecting his improvised weapon mid-swing. To avoid the next strike, I used a rather extravagant method: I vaulted clean over Birkin.
I landed behind the monster and, turning toward him, drove a powerful elbow into his back. Immediately after that, I unleashed a flurry of blows on the still-turned-away Birkin; acceleration was clearly on my side. My fairly heavy strikes forced him to hunch over and stagger several steps forward. That was where their effect ended. As for me…
I was sent flying by a crushing blow from Nemesis, who had decided to join our little dispute as well. As I sailed away, I managed to notice the relentless monster smashing his fist into the jaw of the turning Birkin.
I myself flew backward several meters, crashed through a building wall, and got back up, grabbing the first thing that came to hand as a weapon. It turned out to be a shovel. Not the worst choice—and the opponent was obvious at once: steel pipe versus shovel. A classic!
A dash back outside, and my improvised weapon comes down flat against Birkin's head, just as he hurls Nemesis back toward the mercenaries, who were enthusiastically unloading on the Tyrant. A shame it had absolutely no effect.
The shovel's head—calling it a blade would be generous—bent upward, but it was still usable. I let another pipe swing pass over me and strike back with the reverse side, aiming between the legs. But of course—undead is undead, no matter where you go. A short, irritated growl was all I earned for my trouble.
Birkin was already swinging his pipe in wide arcs, trying to catch me—but no luck. For all that I was weaker and less durable, I was just as much faster. I calmly repositioned my feet, retreating slightly, shifting first one way, then the other, smoothly slipping past the monster's blows. Almost dancing.
Vector's skills are something else—I'm reminded of that yet again. And with my body's capabilities added on top, it becomes something truly beyond limits.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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