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"Done." Noah closed the laptop, a relaxed smile appearing on his face.
A massive and complex electronic security barrier, built with the immense effort and wealth of the Ashford Family, had been established as an impregnable fortress.
Within these short two minutes, it had been effortlessly dismantled by a mysterious hacker far at the other end.
"Trant and his people are always... so efficient it feels unreal."
Leon walked over to a server cabinet and lightly tapped on the cold metal casing with his finger, making a "knock-knock" sound.
"I'm starting to like this feeling of using magic to defeat magic."
"It's not magic, Leon," Claire said, her voice carrying a hint of genuine admiration.
"It's technology and wisdom. It's another, more powerful kind of strength."
Ada Wong didn't say a word; she just stood with her arms crossed, quietly leaning against the doorframe... Meanwhile, in a secret study deep within the mansion.
Alfred Ashford was standing in front of the monitoring screens in the secret room.
From where he stood, he could clearly see everything outside, while those outside were completely unaware of his presence.
His face was flushed with a sickly, extremely excited glow.
In his slightly neurotic blue eyes flickered the fanatical light that only appears when a hunter finds the tracks of his prey.
He saw those damn rats enter the core of the facility through the underwater passage he had meticulously designed.
He saw them easily deal with the few "appetizers" he had left there.
Instead of making him angry, all of this made him even more excited.
He even felt a hint of... happiness.
Yes, happiness.
An unparalleled sense of pleasure at the prospect of personally offering up a sacrifice.
"Wonderful... simply wonderful..." he whispered to himself in a near-dreamlike aria.
His fingers lightly caressed the cold, smooth body of the German-made PSG-1 Sniper Rifle on the weapon rack against the wall.
The touch was like caressing a lover's skin, sending a pleasant shiver from his fingertips to his spinal cord.
"This cold, stupid electronic junk... as expected, it's unreliable after all." He glanced contemptuously at the screens glowing with a faint blue light in the secret monitoring room next to him.
To him, those defenses composed of code and programs were like fences made of paper—fragile and devoid of aesthetic beauty.
True art must be created by one's own hands.
A true hunt requires the hunter to be present on the scene.
"Only I..." He took the elegantly shaped yet deadly sniper rifle down from the weapon rack and affectionately nuzzled the cold stock with his cheek.
"Only I, Alfred Ashford, can end this boring farce in the most elegant and magnificent way."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The unique scent in the air, a blend of cedarwood, old book leather, and gun oil, intoxicated him.
In his mind, he had already begun to sketch a perfect, blood-colored picture.
He would be like a ghost, lurking in the shadows of the mansion.
He would choose an optimal sniping point, a perfect position overlooking the entire courtyard.
Then he would wait patiently.
Waiting for those poor wretches, who thought they were in control of the situation, to walk into his range.
He would first shoot through the Asian man's knee, making him kneel on the ground and howl in pain.
Then he would shoot through the blond man's chattering mouth, ending his nauseating American humor forever.
As for the two women... a cruel smile curled at the corners of Alfred's mouth.
He would break their limbs one shot at a time, like target practice, watching them crawl and struggle on the ground in despair.
"Yes... yes..." He trembled all over with excitement.
"Alexia... my dear, supreme Queen... when you wake from your slumber and see this artistic masterpiece I've offered you, you will be very, very happy, won't you?"
This thought was like the most potent stimulant, making him almost want to scream out loud.
Clutching his beloved PSG-1 Sniper Rifle, he strode out of the secret room... "Alright, since the doors are open, it's time for us to head back." Noah clapped his hands, breaking the silence in the server room.
"Don't forget, our ultimate goal is that 'Private Residence'."
The four of them didn't delay and headed back the way they came.
They took the Industrial Elevator again, returning to the Dock area with the massive steel drawbridge.
The remains of the zombies that Leon had just blasted into a bloody mess with his shotgun were still scattered about; the dark red blood had begun to congeal, leaving shocking stains on the cold metal floor.
Once again, they passed through the long Underwater Corridor made of reinforced glass.
Outside the corridor, the deep and dark underwater world remained heart-stoppingly quiet.
Occasionally, a large mass of black, unknown seaweed, pushed by undercurrents, would bump against the glass and then slowly drift away like the ghost of a drowned person.
They returned to the protruding Underwater Docking Bay and boarded the classically styled Small Submarine one by one.
"Hiss—"
The hatch closed slowly, driven by hydraulic devices, letting out a dull hiss that completely isolated them from the cold and oppressive underwater world outside.
The blue emergency lights inside the submarine flickered on, casting an ethereal glow on the faces of the four.
With a slight vibration, the submarine began to rise slowly.
Through the small round porthole, only a murky dark green could be seen.
In the cramped, enclosed space, there was only the low hum of the engine and the cold air from the circulation System, smelling of machine oil and ozone.
This brief, isolated tranquility only served to tighten their nerves further.
"Speaking of which," Leon suddenly broke the silence, leaning against the cold bulkhead with his hands behind his head, looking bored.
"Do you know why zombies walk so slowly?"
Claire and Ada both cast questioning glances.
Noah rubbed his forehead helplessly, already sensing what was coming next.
Leon cleared his throat, his face taking on that serious expression unique to telling bad jokes: "Because if they walked too fast, they'd become... 'Fast Food'."
"..."
"..."
The air instantly fell into a silence that was even more awkward and colder than before.
Claire's mouth twitched as she seemed to struggle to find the punchline of this joke, which was cold enough to freeze the Arctic Ocean, but eventually, she gave up.
Ada turned her head expressionlessly, pretending to study a button on the control panel.
"Alright," Leon shrugged, showing no self-awareness of having told a terrible joke. "It seems my sense of humor is still too advanced for you all."
"Leon," Noah sighed and said earnestly, "I think Alfred would probably love your jokes. Because they both have the same bone-chilling effect."
"Splash—"
Just then, the submarine jolted violently and breached the surface with a loud splash.
Light filtered in from the outside.
They were back in the huge underground pool located beneath the Pump House.
The submarine automatically docked at the metal platform from which they had departed.
The hatch opened, and a damp, cold wind smelling of earthy fragrance and decaying plants rushed in, refreshing the four who had grown used to the recycled air inside the submarine.
They filed out and walked up the narrow concrete steps they had taken before.
Pushing open the heavy, rusted iron door, they found themselves in the darkest hour before dawn.
In the distance, the fires from the Military Ruins seemed a bit dimmer than before, but they still illuminated half the night sky in a strange, dark red.
They had returned to that desolate courtyard forgotten by time.
It was a huge open space enclosed by high walls.
Overgrown ivy swayed in the night breeze like green phantoms.
The fragmented Greek-style statues stood like silent gravediggers, casting distorted shadows in the dark.
The air was filled with the scent of damp earth after rain and the cloying smell of rotting leaves.
"Alright," Leon stretched his somewhat stiff neck.
"The way is clear now. We can cross this courtyard directly to that so-called 'Private Residence' and give that little blond lunatic a surprise."
Almost at the same moment Leon spoke.
The hair all over Noah's body suddenly stood on end!
A cold sensation, like being stared down by a venomous snake, surged through his body like an electric current.
It was a primal danger warning originating from biological instinct!
A sniper!
No need for thought, no need for judgment.
He knew the lunatic was on the second-floor balcony of the mansion, at the corner with the best view!
He could even imagine Alfred's excited and distorted, perverted face at this moment, peering through the cold sniper scope and locking the crosshairs firmly onto the center of his forehead!
Claire and Ada felt that tangible, lethal killing intent at almost the same time.
Their bodies tensed instantly, and they instinctively moved to find cover.
But Noah was faster than them!
"Watch out!"
He only had time to let out a low, explosive shout.
In the next instant, his powerful body, fused with the g-virus, reacted beyond human limits.
The muscles in his legs instantly bulged and knotted, and immense power erupted in a flash!
"Bang!"
The stone-paved ground beneath his feet, covered in wet leaves, instantly shattered under his terrifying kicking force, sending mud and gravel flying in all directions!
Like a human cannonball launched from a barrel, he ignored gravity and soared from the ground at an unbelievable angle and speed, charging straight toward the second-floor balcony of the mansion, which was a full six meters high!
...On the balcony.
Alfred was leaning over the cold stone railing.
His eye was glued to the PSG-1's sniper scope.
The crosshairs were steadily locked onto the Asian man.
His finger was already resting lightly on the cold trigger.
A cruel and satisfied smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he prepared to harvest his sacrifice.
He could even clearly see the subtle changes in the man's expression.
He saw him suddenly look up and open his mouth, appearing to shout something.
And then... then, he saw the man disappear from his sniper scope.
Then, in a way that completely defied the laws of physics, it magnified instantly!
Alfred was completely stunned.
What did he just see?
The prey that should have been under his gun barrel like a lamb to the slaughter had instead leapt from the ground like a black bird spreading its wings, charging straight toward the balcony where he was located!
That speed! That explosive power!
Alfred's mind went blank in an instant.
The carefully cultivated elegance and composure of a hunter, the morbid satisfaction of being about to complete a work of art—in this moment, it was all washed away by a sudden, massive surge of fear!
He felt like he wasn't the hunter anymore.
He was the one—the pitiful prey targeted by a prehistoric Vicious Beast wearing a human skin!
"Ah—!!!"
A scream so shrill it didn't sound human, filled with terror and confusion, erupted from Alfred's throat.
He even forgot to pull the trigger.
Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he suddenly jumped up from the ground and threw away the PSG-1 Sniper Rifle he had treated as a precious treasure.
He scrambled and crawled, turning to rush toward the door behind the balcony that led inside.
His movements appeared comical and pathetic due to his extreme panic.
Almost the very next moment after he rushed through the door—
"Boom—!!!"
A terrifying, heavy roar that made the entire balcony vibrate violently!
Noah landed.
His feet slammed heavily onto the stone floor of the balcony.
The powerful impact caused the hard marble floor to instantly shatter into countless terrifying spiderweb-like cracks, spreading wildly outward from his point of impact!
However, he was still a step too slow after all.
Or rather, the power of his leap just now was so immense that he overshot slightly, failing to precisely block the doorway.
By the time he stabilized himself and lunged toward the door, he only saw a corner of Alfred's ridiculous red military uniform disappear behind a wall at the end of the corridor.
Then, accompanied by a low mechanical hum and the grating 'click' of a slight mechanical engagement...
That seemingly ordinary wall, covered in dark red brocade wallpaper, actually slid shut slowly.
Noah rushed to the wall, fumbling with his hands against the seamless surface.
The wall was cold and hard; aside from the complex ivy patterns embroidered with gold thread, no gap could be found.
"Damn it, he ran fast," Noah cursed under his breath, punching the wall with a dull thud.
Just then, Leon, Claire, and Ada also rushed up from downstairs.
At a glance, they saw the terrifying scene on the balcony that looked like it had been struck by a meteorite, and the abandoned PSG-1 Sniper Rifle still vibrating slightly in the corner.
"Are you okay?" Claire was the first to rush up, only sighing in relief when she saw Noah was unharmed.
"Where is he?" Leon asked, holding his shotgun as he vigilantly scanned the empty corridor.
"Ran away." Noah pointed at the wall in front of him and shrugged, a look of both helplessness and amusement on his face.
Ada stepped forward, picked up the PSG-1 Sniper Rifle from the ground, checked it expertly, and then slung it over her shoulder.
She glanced at the seamless wall, the corners of her mouth curling into a playful arc as she teased, "It seems our noble heir to the Ashford Family is much shyer than we imagined."
"Maybe he just suddenly remembered he left the gas on at home," Leon added, walking over and offering a deadpan analysis.
"After all, for someone living in such a large house where it's so easy to get lost, that kind of thing is quite common."
Claire was prompted to let out a 'pfft' of laughter by his ill-timed dry joke, and the tense, oppressive atmosphere from a moment ago was instantly lightened... "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it—!!!"
On the other side of the wall, in a secret study filled with the scent of cedarwood and old books, a hysterical, frenzied roar erupted.
Alfred paced back and forth in the room like an enraged, trapped beast; his meticulously groomed, smooth blond hair was now a disheveled mess.
His pale face, characteristic of an aristocrat, was flushed bright red with extreme anger and humiliation.
He used his polished black riding boots to stomp frantically on the expensive Persian carpet over and over, as if trying to vent all the fear and pathetic embarrassment that had just cost him his dignity.
"That guy! That yellow-skinned monkey from the East!!" he shrieked, his voice becoming shrill and distorted from over-excitement. "It's all his fault! It's all his fault!! He ruined it! He ruined the perfect art of slaughter I painstakingly prepared to dedicate to my dearest Alexia!!"
"How dare he?! How dare he do this to me?!"
He rushed to the glass display cabinet lined with porcelain dolls, looking at the hundreds of pairs of hollow glass eyes as if crying out his grievances to his supreme deity.
"I... I could have been very elegant... I could have been like a true aristocratic hunter... but he... he..."
At the thought of his ridiculous appearance just now—scared out of his wits, throwing his gun, and fleeing in a pathetic scramble—a wave of immense shame overwhelmed him.
He lunged at the massive mahogany desk, propping himself up with both hands as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently.
After a long while, he finally calmed down slowly.
A colder, more venomous madness crept back onto his face.
"Fine... fine..." he muttered in a low voice, his tone as raspy as sandpaper rubbing together. "Since you don't like elegant art... then..."
He snapped his head up, a bloodthirsty, frenzied light flashing in his eyes.
"Then I'll use a more direct, more wild method to crush you!!"
He sat back down on his throne—the leather chair in front of the control console.
He didn't yet know that the master control System he took such pride in had already become a hollow shell at someone else's mercy.
His fingers began to tap elegantly and rapidly across the cold metal keyboard once more.
"Since you want to see my Queen so badly... then I shall grant your wish."
A cruel and morbid smile appeared on his face.
"But before that... I'm going to send you a little gift."
He entered a command.
"I want my favorite little darlings to use your blood and shredded flesh to paint the most beautiful abstract painting in my arena!!"
... "It looks like the mechanism here won't be opening anytime soon." Noah studied the wall for a while before finally giving up.
"Then we stick to the original plan and go to the Private Residence," Ada said. "Since all the security locks are open, we'll find a way."
The four of them didn't linger any longer on the balcony that had left behind a comical memory, turning to enter the gloomy corridor inside the mansion.
With unobstructed access rights, their progress was much faster.
They followed the corridor all the way in, passing through an empty lounge.
Then, through a set of double oak doors, they arrived at a room that looked like a temporary storage area.
The room was stacked with several waist-high cardboard boxes bearing the red and white umbrella logo of the Umbrella Corporation.
In the corners, some old junk was scattered about, and the entire room was filled with the unique musty smell of dust and damp cardboard.
This place seemed ordinary enough, appearing to be just a passage leading deeper into the mansion.
However, just as they were about to cross the room—
"Zzz-la—"
A piercing static noise suddenly rang out from the corner of the ceiling.
Following that, an androgynous, shrill, and bizarre laugh echoed throughout the room through an old loudspeaker.
The laugh was filled with a deliberately theatrical madness and neuroticism that made one's scalp tingle and skin crawl with goosebumps.
"Hehe... hehehehehehe~~~~"
"Welcome... welcome, my dear, lowly little mice..."
"Welcome to the stage of death that I, Alfred Ashford, have painstakingly prepared for you!"
Claire's brow furrowed tightly. Her beautiful face was undisguised in its expression of loathing and disgust.
Toward this kind of posturing, perverted lunatic, she didn't have the patience to listen to even one more word.
She didn't even bother to look for where the speaker making the sound was hidden.
She raised her hand, the muzzle of the HK mp5 submachine gun tilting slightly upward.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Three precise shots.
The bullets instantly blew the old speaker, disguised as a vent in the corner of the ceiling, to pieces.
Black plastic fragments and broken wires fell from above.
The nauseating, bizarre laughter came to an abrupt halt.
The entire room returned to a deathly silence... meanwhile, in that secret monitoring room.
Alfred was closing his eyes with his arms spread wide in an exaggerated pose of embracing the whole world, completely immersed in his own passionate speech.
He had no idea that his artistically inclined voice had been completely cut off by a simple, crude bullet.
He continued to roar passionately into a microphone that had already lost its signal:
"...You will see the ultimate gift I have prepared for you in the arena I built specifically for you!"
"It will tear your skin! It will gnaw on your flesh and bone! It will turn you into a puddle of the most beautiful, blood-colored mush!!"
"So, I beg of you... please, please, do not die so quickly... hehehe... hahahahaha!!"
His solitary, bridge-mad laughter echoed in the empty monitoring room.
While at the other end of the corridor, there was only dead silence.
If the scene were witnessed by a third party, it would certainly seem comical to the extreme.
A self-important, mad director who thought he controlled the whole situation...
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