At the same time, in an Umbrella laboratory outside the city.
"It's a shame we'll have to be so wasteful with the new samples and our people," John Rize said calmly, almost theatrically, as if playing to an audience.
"But a situation where all these harmful elements end up in one place is unlikely to repeat itself. For that, we can afford to sacrifice Nemesis—especially since there's a strong chance that this B.O.W. will simply move on to the next stage of evolution during combat," the head of the facility's security added, the very complex from which HiF-05 had escaped.
"I confirm the missile launch," John said.
***
Back in Raccoon City.
When the missile was deployed, a brilliant flash engulfed the entire street in front of the police station, followed by a shockwave that made life significantly harder for Claire and Leon. It unlocked most of the doors inside the building—which on the one hand made things easier for the survivors, but on the other allowed zombies previously sealed in specific sectors to spread throughout the station. And it certainly played on the police chief's nerves.
Those caught directly in the blast had it far worse. Nemesis, having sustained catastrophic damage, transitioned into his second, aggressive stage of evolution. The humans were simply killed outright, while the three other monsters were hurled into one another. The explosion tore HiF away from Birkin—but not completely. Cain was left holding one of Birkin's limbs, the one without the eye. The vampire himself was slammed against the chest of the Tyrant flying forward, whose suit once again endured fire and blast with honor, saving not only its wearer but also the unfortunate soul pinned to him on the side opposite the explosion.
Finally, after dragging the three monsters across half a block, the monstrous rampage subsided. After some time—long enough for sluggish zombies to begin converging on the blast site—signs of life appeared among the "dead."
Birkin was the first to stir. As he rose to his feet, anyone seeing him now could no longer call him human, as they might have during the first stage of infection. During the explosions and the time spent lying still afterward, he had undergone intense metabolic changes, advancing to the next step of evolution. Now absolutely his entire body had mutated: the claws on his right arm had grown significantly larger, the eye had become even bigger, and a grotesque growth had replaced his head. And yet, human traits were still visible—tattered remnants of clothing and scraps of a human face clinging to the left side of his chest. Two small, underdeveloped limbs could also be seen near the hip area.
Roaring, the monster—smeared with soot and his own blood—headed toward the police station.
The Tyrant lay face down on the ground and showed no intention of getting up. Of the three, he had taken the brunt of the blast and was badly scorched. On top of that, he seemed to have shrunk, likely having lost a great deal of blood or been thoroughly overcooked. As for the third—and smallest—of the monsters, his whereabouts were completely unclear. Perhaps he had been thrown even farther due to his lighter weight. Perhaps he had simply been torn apart or vaporized. Whatever the case, the fact remained: he was nowhere to be seen.
Another twenty minutes of silence passed before a quiet trickling sound could be heard. The blood left behind by Birkin, which had spilled from him as he departed, began to gather into rivulets and flow toward the prone Tyrant. Yet, contrary to expectations, the Tyrant seemed to shrink even further. Gradually, the effect intensified, eventually drawing in even the seemingly congealed blood of Umbrella's mercenaries toward the T-103's body.
And yet, in the end, nothing happened.
Everything fell silent again, and virus-altered crows began cautiously approaching the corpse of the Tyrant. But something made them suddenly take flight and retreat. A moment later, with a horrific crunch, a perfectly human arm—albeit pale beyond normal and tipped with claws—punched straight through the Tyrant's body.
Raising its middle finger to the sky, as if informing God that someone was still alive and very much saying, "Not today," the arm began to literally tear the giant's body apart. Soon, a second, identical limb joined in. After a couple of minutes of struggle, there was an especially loud crack, and punching through the Tyrant's torso, the upper half of a middle-aged man with distinctly German features emerged.
"Much better. I almost died under this hunk of meat," Cain snorted—and it was indeed him.
(End of Chapter)
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