Soren didn't wait. The moment Rebecca collapsed, something inside him snapped into place—not panic, not fear. Clarity.
He didn't say a word. Didn't look back. By the time the others realized he had moved, he was already gone, boots slamming against the tile as he tore down the corridor, moving faster than he had any right to inside a place like this. The air in B3 felt heavier the deeper he went, humid and thick, carrying a faint organic rot that clung to the back of his throat.
The lighting shifted as he ran. Less white. More green. Vines had begun to take over the walls completely now. Not just creeping through cracks, but spreading. Thick, rope-like growths pulsed faintly as if something beneath them was breathing.
Soren didn't slow. A tendril snapped toward his ankle, and his knife flashed, severing it mid-lunge. The cut end writhed violently on the floor as he kept moving without breaking stride.
"Out of the way…"
Two infected stumbled into the corridor ahead—lab staff, their bodies half-consumed by growth. Vines had burrowed into their flesh, forcing unnatural movement as they staggered toward him. His pistols came up, and two shots dropped them both before he passed their falling bodies.
The path narrowed the deeper he went. More growth. More resistance. Somewhere further down the hall, something screeched, and Soren's grip tightened slightly around his weapons. He didn't stop. He couldn't. Rebecca's face flashed in his mind—pale, burning, veins spreading across her arm too fast for it to be a normal chemical reaction.
Poison.
~ Your fault.
His jaw tightened. "…Shut up."
A cluster of low-hanging vines lashed out from the ceiling. He ducked under the first, twisted past the second, and drove his shoulder through the third, snapping it aside as he forced his way through the overgrowth.
The corridor opened briefly into a wider junction. That was when they came.
Three of them.
Humanoid—but wrong. Their bodies were warped by plant growth, torsos split open by thick green mass, limbs elongated and uneven. One dragged a twisted leg behind it, while another's arm had been replaced entirely by a whipping vine. They moved toward him slowly, but they blocked the path.
Soren didn't break stride. His pistols fired in controlled rhythm.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
One dropped. The second staggered but kept moving, forcing him close enough that clean shots became useless. His knife came up in a sharp, brutal slash across the throat—if it could even be called that anymore—and the creature collapsed into itself. The third lunged, too slow to matter. Soren sidestepped, drove the blade up under its jaw, and shoved it off him without looking back.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't think.
~ You can't fix this.
"I will."
~ She will die.
His pace didn't falter, but his eyes hardened. "No, she won't."
The corridor sloped downward slightly, the air growing warmer and wetter with every step. Moisture clung to the walls now, dripping in slow, uneven patterns. Then the smell hit him—wet soil, decay, and something alive beneath it all.
Soren slowed just slightly. Not hesitation. Assessment.
The growth here was different. Thicker. Denser. Veins ran through the vines like a circulatory system, faint pulses moving beneath the surface. His instincts screamed at him. This wasn't just spread. This was a center.
~ Turn back.
"No."
He moved forward.
A low rumble vibrated through the walls, subtle but present. Soren's eyes flicked upward. The ceiling above was barely visible now, completely overtaken by interwoven plant matter. Something shifted within it, watching and waiting, but he kept going.
~ You're wasting your time.
"I said shut up."
A vine snapped down from above, faster than the others. Soren twisted to the side, feeling it whip past his shoulder close enough to brush his vest. He pivoted, fired once, and severed it at the base before it could retract. The cut end recoiled violently and slammed against the wall. More movement followed, the environment reacting to him.
He pushed forward harder. Speed over caution now. Every second mattered, and Rebecca didn't have time.
He rounded the next corner and stopped—not by choice, but because the corridor ended in a wide, reinforced doorway. It stood half-open, bent outward, like something had forced its way through from the other side. Thick vines spilled out from the opening, covering the frame and spreading across the floor like roots searching for something to consume.
A faint mist drifted from within. Green. Heavy. Alive.
Soren's breathing slowed. Not calm. Focused. This was it. He could feel it. The source.
~ You are not prepared.
He stared into the opening. "I don't need to be."
For a brief moment, silence held. Then he stepped forward and crossed the threshold.
The air changed the moment he stepped inside. It wasn't just thicker. It was alive.
Humidity wrapped around him like a second skin, warm and suffocating. Each breath tasted of wet soil and something bitter underneath—something chemical, unnatural. The space opened up into something massive. A greenhouse, or what used to be one. Glass walls stretched high above, most of them shattered or completely overtaken by dense layers of plant growth. What little light remained filtered through thick, overlapping leaves, casting the entire chamber in a dim, sickly green.
Water dripped constantly from the ceiling, the walls, and the plants themselves. The ground was uneven, overtaken by roots and thick patches of moss that shifted slightly under his boots. Soren didn't move at first. His eyes scanned slowly—left, right, up—listening and waiting.
Nothing lunged at him. Nothing charged. No immediate attack.
That was worse.
The room wasn't empty. It was watching.
A low, rhythmic sound echoed through the greenhouse.
Thump.
…Thump.
…Thump.
Soren's gaze shifted toward the center, and then he saw it. At first, it didn't register as a creature. Just a mass. A tangled knot of roots and vines rose from the center of the room, thick as tree trunks, coiling into each other in unnatural spirals.
Then it moved. Subtle. A slow tightening. A pulse, like a heartbeat.
The sound matched.
Thump.
His eyes narrowed. There was no single body. No clear shape. The thing in the center wasn't standing. It was grown, embedded into the room itself. The walls fed into it. The floor connected to it. Every vine in the chamber led back to that mass.
Plant 41 Alpha.
Even without the name, he knew what he was looking at. Not complete. Not stable. But alive. And aware.
A thin tendril slid across the floor near his boot, testing. Soren didn't move. Didn't react. Didn't give it anything.
~ You should leave.
His jaw tightened slightly. Not fear. Annoyance.
"I'm not leaving."
The tendril froze, then slowly retracted. The room shifted with it. Leaves rustled overhead, and something deeper inside the central mass pulsed harder.
Thump. Thump.
Soren exhaled slowly and stepped forward.
The reaction was immediate. Vines along the walls tightened. Several lifted slightly from the ground, hovering just above the surface like snakes preparing to strike. They weren't attacking yet. They were tracking.
He moved again, slow and controlled, placing every step carefully between the thicker roots. His eyes moved constantly—not just forward, but everywhere. The floor. The walls. The ceiling. He was reading patterns, waiting for the tell.
A faint patch of blue caught his attention on the left side, near a collapsed section of glass and metal.
There.
Blue herbs.
Clustered together, partially surrounded by creeping vines.
Too exposed. Too easy.
Which meant—
A vine snapped toward him from the side.
Fast.
Soren twisted, and the strike missed his torso by inches, slamming into the ground where he had been standing. He didn't fire. Didn't counter. He kept moving.
Another tendril lashed out, then another, faster now. Testing limits. Adjusting to his movement.
~ You can't do this.
"I don't need to fight it."
He cut sharply to the right, ducking under a low sweep as a thicker vine crashed through the space he had just occupied. The floor shifted beneath him, roots tightening, trying to trap him, but he stepped between them before they could close.
The herbs were closer now. Within reach.
The central mass pulsed harder, and the entire room reacted.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Multiple tendrils rose at once.
This time, they struck together.
Soren moved forward instead of back. He slipped between two incoming strikes, shoulder brushing against a vine as it snapped past him. One clipped his sleeve, tearing fabric but missing skin.
Close.
Too close.
He didn't stop. Two more steps. A final lunge.
His hand closed around the blue herbs.
The reaction was immediate and violent. The entire greenhouse came alive. Vines tore free from the walls, and the central mass convulsed, a deep, guttural sound echoing through the chamber as something larger shifted inside it, trying to move.
Soren ripped the herbs free, turned, and ran.
No hesitation now. No control. Just speed.
The vines weren't testing anymore. They were trying to kill him.
One slammed into the ground behind him, cracking tile and sending fragments into the air. Another swept low, aiming for his legs. He jumped it, landed hard, and kept moving. A thicker tendril dropped from above, and he twisted, barely avoiding it as it smashed into the floor and recoiled instantly for another strike.
Too fast.
The room was learning.
Adjusting.
Adapting.
~ You're not getting out.
"Watch me."
He cut left, then right, breaking the pattern as he sprinted toward the exit. The doorway came into view, half-covered in thrashing vines.
Almost there.
A final strike came from behind. He felt it before he saw it—air shifting, pressure building.
Soren dropped low. The tendril tore through the space above him, close enough that he felt the wind of it across his back. He rolled forward, came up on one knee, and pushed off hard.
Two more steps.
Three.
He burst through the doorway.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the vines stopped. Not instantly, but they didn't follow. They recoiled, pulling back like they were bound to the room.
Soren didn't slow until he cleared the corridor beyond. Then, just for a second, he stopped, breathing heavily as a barely visible layer of steam rose from his skin. His heart pounded hard. He had pushed his body again.
He looked down at his hand.
The blue herbs were still there. Intact.
"…Good."
Behind him, deep within the greenhouse, something shifted again. But it didn't follow.
Soren didn't look back. He turned and ran.
The moment he cleared the greenhouse corridor, he was already moving again—faster now, with no hesitation and no wasted motion. The blue herbs were clenched tight in his hand as he tore through the overgrown halls, boots slipping slightly on damp tile before correcting instantly. His breathing was heavier now, controlled but strained, faint wisps of heat still rising from his skin.
His body was starting to feel it.
He ignored it.
A vine snapped toward his face. He didn't even fully turn. One shot split the tendril apart mid-air, and he kept running.
~ You're burning yourself out.
"…Don't care."
A shape lunged from the side—a half-formed plant creature dragging itself across the wall, its body fused with roots. Soren drove his shoulder into it, knocking it aside without breaking stride.
~ You won't make it back in time.
"I will."
The corridor forked. He didn't slow, didn't think. He picked the path instantly.
Left. Faster route.
~ Guessing now?
"Memory."
His voice was sharper now. Irritated. Focused.
The growth thickened again as he moved deeper, but it wasn't like the greenhouse. This was spread. Residual. Manageable. Something grabbed at his ankle, but he stepped through it, tearing the vine apart as it tightened too late to stop him.
Rebecca's face flashed again.
Still.
Too still.
His jaw tightened.
~ She's already dead.
That one almost made him falter.
Almost.
His stride stuttered, then stabilized.
"No."
The word came out low. Firm. Final.
"I'm not letting that happen."
The whisper didn't respond. But it didn't leave either.
The corridor opened into a smaller lab space, and Soren slowed just enough to assess. Dim lighting. Emergency power. Functional. Barely. Tables overturned. Equipment scattered. But usable.
Good enough.
He moved inside and immediately cleared the nearest surface with one sweep of his arm, sending broken glass and debris crashing to the floor. The herbs hit the table, and his hands were already moving. Fast, but controlled. Precise because they had to be.
He didn't have time to think about fear. He didn't have time to think about guilt. So he reduced the problem to steps. Crush the herbs. Extract what he needed. Stabilize the compound. Deliver it before the toxin finished spreading.
Improvised tools—barely intact—were forced into use. A cracked vial. A half-functioning injector unit. Chemical stabilizers still sitting in sealed containers. Lucky, maybe, but not impossible. Umbrella always prepared for controlled synthesis. If this sector worked with plant-based B.O.W.s, then the equipment to process botanical samples had to be nearby.
He just had to make it work.
~ Too slow.
"Shut up."
His hands didn't stop. He ground the herbs down into a usable extract, mixed it with stabilizing compounds, and watched the color shift as the solution began to settle. Every motion had to be measured. Exact. Any mistake and it wouldn't work. Too much stabilizer, and the active agent might become useless. Too little, and it might not hold long enough to matter.
~ You're shaking.
"…I'm not."
But his hands were. Just slightly.
He forced them still. Focused. Rebecca. Not the whispers. Not the pressure. Just Rebecca.
The mixture settled from deep blue into something lighter, clearer, and more stable.
~ You'll fail.
"…FUCK OFF!"
He pulled the injector closer, loaded the solution, and locked the mechanism into place. The click sounded small in the empty lab, but final.
Done.
Soren froze for just a second, waiting for the voice. Waiting for the next push. The next doubt.
Nothing came.
The pressure that had been sitting in the back of his mind was gone. Not eased. Gone.
He stared at the injector in his hand.
"…done."
No relief. No smile. Just confirmation.
Then he moved.
The door slammed open as he burst back into the corridor, the injection gripped tight in his hand. Now there was no noise in his head. No distraction. No interference. Just focus—pure, cold, direct.
Something lunged at him from the darkness. He didn't slow. Two shots dropped it before it even fully entered the light. Another creature crawled across the wall, and he didn't even look before a third shot brought silence again.
He moved through the corridor like a blade. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Every step calculated. Every movement efficient.
Faster.
He had to be faster.
The distance felt longer now. The corridors tighter. The air heavier. Or maybe time was just running out.
He turned the final corner and saw them.
The team was gathered ahead, too still and too close together. Jill was on the ground with Rebecca in her arms. Chris and Barry stood nearby, weapons lowered, frozen in a way Soren understood before anyone said a word.
His pace didn't slow, but something inside him did.
Just for a second.
He closed the distance fast.
Too fast.
"Move."
His voice cut through them as he dropped beside Jill. She looked up at him, and he saw it.
That look.
The one he didn't want to see.
Not now. Not here.
Rebecca wasn't moving. Her skin was worse. The black veins had spread further. Her breathing—
No.
There was no breathing.
Soren grabbed her wrist and checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
His jaw tightened.
"Rebecca."
No response.
Jill's voice broke slightly. "…She's not—"
"Don't."
Soren didn't raise his voice. Didn't panic. Didn't hesitate. He adjusted Rebecca's position instantly, pulling her arm into view as he prepared the injector.
"One shot," he said under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "This has to work."
He positioned it, then stopped for only a fraction of a second. Not doubt. Not fear.
Timing.
Then he drove the injection into her arm and pushed down.
The black veins beneath Rebecca's skin pulsed, then twisted violently. Her body arched as the convulsions hit, and Soren moved instantly, both hands coming up to steady her head and keep it from striking the floor as her body shook uncontrollably.
His grip was firm, but careful. Controlled.
His eyes weren't.
The calm was gone, replaced by something raw. Desperate.
Barry noticed it first. That look. Soren wasn't just focused. He was worried. More than any of them.
Jill stayed close, one hand hovering near Rebecca's shoulder, the other checking her pulse again and again like she didn't trust the answer.
"Come on…" she whispered.
Chris paced once, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. Frost muttered something under his breath—frustration, nerves, maybe both. No one moved away. No one spoke louder than they had to.
Seconds stretched.
Too long.
Then Rebecca's body jerked once more.
And stopped.
Silence.
Soren didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The veins shifted.
Retreating.
Slowly pulling back beneath her skin, receding toward the burn on her forearm like something being dragged back to where it started. Color returned, faint at first, then stronger.
Her chest rose.
A breath.
Shallow.
But real.
Soren exhaled like he had been holding it the entire time. Her pulse followed. Weak, but there.
Jill felt it too.
"…She's back," she said quietly.
Rebecca's eyes fluttered, slowly opening. The world came back to her in pieces—blurred shapes, light, voices. And then Soren. Right above her. Closer than she expected.
His face wasn't composed. Wasn't controlled. It was open. Relief. Guilt. Both hitting at once, unguarded in a way she had never seen before.
For just a second, she didn't look away.
"…that was unpleasant."
Her voice was soft. Dry. But steady.
A faint, almost tired smile touched her lips. Her hand lifted slowly. Not rushed. Not instinctive. Deliberate. And she took his.
Her fingers wrapped around his hand, holding it just a little tighter than necessary.
"Thank you."
She didn't ask. Didn't question. She knew.
For a moment, she didn't let go.
Jill saw it. Didn't react. Didn't interrupt. Just watched quietly.
Then looked away.
Soren didn't notice. He was still looking at Rebecca like he was making sure she was real. Still here. Still breathing.
"…Don't do that again," he muttered, the edge in his voice dulled by something heavier underneath.
Relief.
And something closer to guilt.
Rebecca's grip softened just slightly. Then she let go.
And just like that, the moment passed.
Like it had never been there at all.