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Chapter 30: All Fear Stems From
🕑 Added 2025-10-08 20:07:38 +0000 UTC
"No time to explain, just run!"
In the smoke-filled room, Chris's voice crackled through the drone's speaker. Years of life-or-death partnership in S.T.A.R.S. made Jill instinctively trust his command.
"Run!"
Jill hadn't forgotten about Carlos either—the man who'd saved her life just minutes ago, even if he was one of Umbrella's U.B.C.S. mercenaries.
She grabbed his arm.
Carlos reacted fast. The two bolted through the blast-scorched doorway, and as she passed, Jill finally got a clear look at the monster engulfed in flames.
Humanoid. Undeniably a small giant, nearly nine feet tall. The bandages blown off its face revealed a blurred mess—no skin, exposed jaw and facial muscles grotesquely swollen.
The explosion had ignited its straitjacket-like black coat. Its torso, ground zero for the kamikaze drone strike, was splattered with blood. The creature's left shoulder and chest had been blown open, ribs jutting out with tendons still twitching, coated in flammable residue—a charred pink mess.
Jill could almost smell it: like poorly cleaned barbecue, reeking of burnt and rancid flesh.
"Follow the drone. Raccoon City's streets are all blocked. Survivors and zombies are mixed together. I'm still at least three blocks away from you..." The drone hovered as Chris's urgent voice transmitted through.
As she listened, Jill kept one eye on the creature across the street holding a rocket launcher. Suddenly, it moved. "Chris! There's more than one B.O.W."
"ROAR!" In a split second, the other Pursuer let out a guttural howl and raised its rocket launcher.
"Stop it." Through the drone's speaker, Jill heard Chris talking to someone else.
Immediately, the leading drone nosedived straight toward the Pursuer targeting Jill. "ROAR!" The Pursuer sensed the danger. Basic intelligence made it switch targets. Whoosh! The rocket launched, blasting the drone to smithereens.
Why wasn't that as powerful as the first one?
A massive hand tore through the smoke. The Pursuer dropped the launcher, its single eyeless socket fixed on Jill. Thud, thud! Its speed wildly disproportionate to its bulk—clang!
Watching it charge like a bull, ripping a fire hydrant from the ground and hurling it at her, Jill dove forward. Feeling the wind nearly graze the back of her head, she went numb.
Why was this thing so relentless? It was laser-focused on her!
Rat-tat-tat—
First pulling Jill to her feet, Carlos grabbed his M4A1 carbine one-handed, firing as they retreated. He even threw a grenade, but the Pursuer completely ignored him. When the Pursuer's tentacles caught the grenade and hurled it at Jill instead—
Boom!
Using hands and feet, crashing through a shop window to dodge the blast, thoroughly disheveled with cuts on her face, shoulder, and arms, Jill emerged from another direction, tossing a flashbang while shouting: "Fuck! If you can't throw, don't throw! Got any flashbangs or stun grenades? These B.O.W.s should all be vulnerable to high heat and bright light."
With a bang and a burst of brilliant white light, the Pursuer's movements were indeed affected.
"But I don't have any!"
"Fuck! Then what do you have?"
"Offensive grenades, tear gas, flares, signal flares..."
The two temporary teammates dodged the Pursuer's attacks while fighting back and running. From their initial awkwardness, their coordination was rapidly improving.
"Hey, Jill, where are your teammates? Have those flying things of theirs come help us out! I'm almost out of ammo..."
"ROAAAR—!"
Before Carlos finished, an even more inhuman roar echoed through the air. It was the first one!
In the distance, that charred, burning Pursuer that had been blown to its knees was moving again.
Splurt.
Pus-like fluid sprayed from its scorched, damaged body. Its muscles and bones writhed like spreading bacteria, rapidly swelling.
The monster knelt on the ground, howling, its muscle-swollen arms bursting through its clothes, periodically pounding the pavement. Carlos couldn't gauge the exact force, but judging by the way the nearby car was shaking, one solid hit would definitely send him to meet his maker.
"Oh no, that thing's still not dead."
Then—thud! Thud!
Heavy footfalls echoed. Several figures wearing black fedoras and black trench coats—but with those ghastly gray-black faces and physiques, definitely not normal humans—emerged from an alley in the side street and began accelerating toward them.
His lips barely moved, and Carlos wore an expression uglier than crying. "Jill, did you blow up the Umbrella CEO's house, or did you swipe his shares?"
"I just blew up one damned mansion! And I didn't even do it—it self-destructed!"
Jill was too depressed for words.
First the cleanup squad, then the B.O.W. Pursuers, Tyrants... They really thought highly of her.
Buzz... buzz...
The whir of propellers.
"Jill! You go ahead. We'll cover you with kamikaze drones."
It was a drone—Chris's voice.
As he spoke, overhead, iron boxes with bulging centers and propellers on four corners buzzed past.
"First cut through the alley on your left. The zombie horde hasn't reached there yet. Through the drone's view, I just spotted a group of suspicious people circling around behind you. Head for the open area of Raccoon Avenue. The zombies aren't the problem there—there are several sniper positions set up by our own Umbrella forces on the high ground. They can cover you!"
Then the voice from the drone shifted to what sounded like Chris arguing with others:
"...That B.O.W., the earlier explosion didn't seem to kill it?"
"No worries. The small kamikaze drones didn't have enough explosives. I've already notified the evacuation point. The large kamikaze drones are deployed. They'll definitely kill it! It's not getting out."
"You guys, prep the rocket launchers. You, set up the recoilless rifle... Delay first, control your fire, let them come closer before engaging."
"Captain, intel just came from Supervisor Russell. Her contact in Paris got travel data. Paris headquarters moved a large quantity of test subjects from the labs—must be these B.O.W.s."
...
"Pursuers, at least two. T-103 mass-production Tyrants, over seven confirmed so far... Other T-virus mutants and derivative B.O.W.s, uncounted..."
San Francisco. Vera, monitoring the situation in real time, slapped her forehead.
Though the footage wasn't crystal clear, she could still make out the silhouettes of two Pursuers cornering a man and woman on a street.
This was honestly on her.
Sure, objectively and subjectively she'd never been involved in any virology or B.O.W. work, never designed prosthetic implants for grotesque creatures, but she'd made money for Umbrella.
Didn't matter which department earned it—with money, Umbrella's annual revenue increased.
Though Vera took a good chunk and redirected more into other fields because of her existence, the increased capital meant the board would definitely invest more in the Raccoon City, Paris, and African facilities.
Not to mention Spencer, that old bastard, liked to bypass official accounts, secretly embezzling company funds to dump into virus research.
Just gave Vera more ammunition for when she needed it.
Some things weigh nothing until you put them on the scale—then suddenly they're too heavy to lift.
Before Umbrella's exposure, what was wrong with the chairman moving around some funds? After exposure, in Western money-driven society, public opinion would surely show sympathy for Vera, screwed over by an old creep like Spencer.
"Someone get the car ready. I'm going to the airport. I need to fly to Washington."
Vera picked up the phone to notify her secretaries. As she spoke, her eyes remained fixed on the reconnaissance drone footage.
That stripped Pursuer—the Nemesis-α parasite inside was already secreting some biochemical substance. It was entering "Phase Two."
"Andreyev, prioritize eliminating the mutating B.O.W. When dealing with B.O.W.s, my AI analysis model suggests eliminating them while they're still humanoid—destroy the head, torso, and parasite. Letting them mutate often means uncontrollable and unknown risks."
Vera couldn't help micro-managing, using the AI model as an excuse to offer a reminder.
Her subordinates' sloppy cleanup job, letting the enemy "power up"—she couldn't stand watching it.
"Yes, ma'am!"
U.S.F. Mobile Team Four, Andreyev's voice came through the receiver.
...
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM—
Explosions rang out continuously. The surrounding blocks seemed caught in some chaotic symphony.
Clang, clang.
Rapid footsteps.
"Hey, miss, your buddy's loaded... Those things are drones, right? Using drones to carry bombs... When I was at the U.B.C.S. training base, higher-ups mentioned we might get issued these newfangled things for reconnaissance support. But you know, once they sent us here, any talk of new equipment went out the window..."
Carlos smashed his rifle butt into a zombie climbing over a chain-link fence along the way, knocking it to the ground.
Bang!
"Friend, just call me Jill." Speaking, Jill put a headshot into the zombie. "Where Chris found these Umbrella troops, I have no idea."
"OK, Jill."
Carlos said confidently: "I bet your buddy hitched a ride with the California branch. Only the Cali branch is that loaded."
Running, Carlos glanced back toward the sky at the end of the alley. Over there, thick smoke billowed, explosions constant. Using swarms of bomb-loaded drones to slow down those bio-monsters... Honestly, he already had a premonition about future battlefields and how miserable things would be for pure infantry like him.
"Stop looking. We're almost at Raccoon Avenue."
Following Chris's advice, Jill and Carlos stuck to alleys, cutting through buildings toward Raccoon Avenue. A T-virus-infected zombie dog stopped gnawing on a corpse when it heard them, but before it could even raise its head, Jill blew its brains out with two shots!
Then—BOOM—!
An especially violent explosion erupted from the blocks behind them, deafening. The shockwave created a pushing sensation. Feeling the tremor through the ground, Jill and Carlos looked back. A mushroom cloud of smoke and flames was rising, with shattered debris falling like diminishing rain from the sky.
"That's got some real punch. Must be an aerial bomb."
...
"Shit!"
About a hundred meters from Jill's position, on the top floor of a building, windows shattered by the blast, a silver-haired man in a U.B.C.S tactical jacket furiously brushed glass shards off his clothes and slammed his fist against the wall.
Directly below his position, roughly fifty meters down, where the Pursuer had shed its restraints and suppression devices and been mutating and repairing its damaged body just half a minute ago—its form had vanished.
The street was unrecognizable. Nearby telephone poles and street trees had been uprooted. Collapsed buildings, scattered rubble, overturned vehicles left the scene in ruins, dust everywhere.
Like a wrecking ball had slammed down hard, the cratered, fractured ground radiated outward from ground zero, covered in dark red and charred blood, mixed with several unidentifiable black objects crackling as they burned.
Beep.
Picking up his radio, his expression grim, he said: "Pursuer-02 has lost vital signs. Confirmed dead. S.T.A.R.S. member Jill Valentine still alive. Her backup has arrived."
...
Somewhere in eastern Raccoon City.
"What was that?"
"Did a city gas station blow up?"
"Doesn't seem like it. Earlier it was gunfire and continuous explosions. U.B.C.S.?"
That explosion—particularly jarring and prominent even in chaotic Raccoon City—made the fully armed men and women moving through shadows, heading into the city against the flow, stop and exchange glances.
They all wore highly individualized, non-standard pure black combat suits, boots, and varying grades of protective vests, with gas masks, and on their shoulders, red-and-white umbrella patches.
"Lupo?" They all looked toward the tall woman leading them.
"..." Head down, hand on her earpiece, seemingly communicating with superiors, Lupo only nodded silently. Then she raised her head, surveying her teammates. Through the full-face transparent gas mask, her expression seemed involuntarily tinged with worry.
"Everyone, the mission has changed."
She said in a somewhat hoarse voice: "U.S.F. forces from Umbrella's California branch have entered Raccoon City. Command is being vague, but one thing's certain—they're hostile."
"This mission, it seems we've gotten caught up in some serious conflict between company higher-ups."
...
Raccoon City streets.
"Chris, I've reached Raccoon Avenue!"
The chaos of the street—toppled wire barriers, piled-up police cars, ambulances in chain collisions—tangled together like an impossible knot. Jill, struggling through the narrow alley, felt increasingly oppressed.
Firing several rounds to blow the heads off zombies crawling from an overturned vehicle, she followed the plan, stepped into the street, and waved toward the coordinates Chris had given.
Whoosh!
Soon, she saw a signal flare shoot from atop a building.
Buzz...
A black dot rapidly flew toward Jill's position. Just as Jill began to relax—bang!
A muffled gunshot. Though it wasn't aimed at her, Jill immediately took cover. Carlos pulled her behind cover. "Ahh—!" With a pained cry, a figure and weapon tumbled from a building across the street, clearly dead.
Tank top and tactical vest, Umbrella logo. Obviously one of those guys sent to silence Jill earlier.
"Fuck! They're still trying to kill me?"
"Jill, use smoke grenades. Walk along the street. We've cleared most of the zombies for you." The drone arrived, Chris's urgent voice transmitting. He must be running.
"Got it."
Tightening her shoulder strap, Jill locked eyes with Carlos. Then Carlos popped smoke and they ran toward the signal flare's direction.
Bang!!
Bang!!
Muffled gunshots rang out continuously. For the first time, Jill felt this relaxed. All along Raccoon Avenue, she sensed at least five sniper teams watching her. Every zombie that emerged from an alley was immediately headshot.
"I see you!"
Not from the drone's speaker, but a shout from across the intersection.
Jill looked over in delight. A group of armed personnel whose equipment put every unit she'd encountered in Raccoon City to shame appeared, with one figure waving to her.
"Chris, recon's reporting those trench coat B.O.W.s seem to have been released and are about to enter Raccoon Avenue."
"Captain Andreyev says to keep clear to avoid friendly fire splash damage."
This was the conversation Jill and Carlos heard as they ran over.
B.O.W.s coming?
"ROAR!"
CRASH! A concrete wall in a side alley off the main street was breached, chain-link fence sent flying. A massive gray-black giant thundered out. A T-103 Tyrant!
Just as Jill was about to warn them to be careful—whoom-BOOM!
A searing trajectory from the distance hammered into the Tyrant. The surging firelight from the explosion flickered amid the splatter of torn gray-black flesh and blood.
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