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Noah, Phoenix Bell, and Bruce simultaneously raised their heads, casting their gazes toward the bottomless dark corridor ahead.
The grating dragging sound, "Zi la... zi la...", did not stop; instead, it grew clearer.
The source of the sound was approaching.
Accompanying the dragging sound was the "drip-drop" of some slick, viscous liquid hitting the carpet, along with a faint, subtle "hissing" sound, similar to a snake flicking its tongue.
The putrid stench in the air reached a nauseating peak at this moment.
Bruce MacWeen held his breath, holding his.45 pistol horizontally across his chest, the muzzle angled slightly down, his index finger resting lightly on the trigger guard.
Every muscle in his body was taut, like a leopard preparing to pounce on its prey.
Phoenix Bell, standing beside him, went a step further. She knelt on one knee, the stock of her mp5 submachine gun firmly braced against her shoulder socket, locking onto the corridor exit through the red dot sight on the weapon.
This posture minimized the area exposed to incoming fire while providing the most stable shooting platform.
Noah stood behind the other two, forming the apex of a triangular formation.
In the darkness, an outline slowly emerged.
It was an absolute monster.
It was entirely covered in dark red muscle tissue, devoid of skin, reflecting a slick, oily sheen under the faint scattered light of the tactical flashlight.
It had no eyes; its entire head resembled a skinned skull, with its swollen brain completely exposed, covered in thick, writhing blood vessels like earthworms, pulsating rhythmically.
Claws sharp as knives dug deeply into the flesh of a corpse, supporting its four-limbed crawl.
A tongue, half a meter long and forked at the tip, flicked out constantly from its mouth full of sharp teeth, hissing in the air, seemingly trying to catch the scent of living beings.
Licker.
The word instantly flashed in Bruce's mind.
He had seen this thing in countless files and simulation videos, but when this living monster, crawled out of a nightmare, truly appeared before him, the dual shock originating from sight and smell made his stomach churn.
What appeared next was a leg being dragged on the ground—a woman's lower leg clad in stockings. One high heel had fallen off, while the other was twisted at a grotesque angle.
Immediately following was the upper half of the corpse.
It was a woman who had once worn an elegant evening gown, but now a massive gash tore open between her chest and abdomen, mixing internal organs and bone fragments, dragging a shocking, dark red and blackened trail across the carpet.
And the Licker dragging this mangled corpse finally emerged completely from the darkness.
Bruce's heart lurched violently.
Phoenix Bell's breathing remained perfectly steady; she locked onto the Licker's pulsating, unprotected brain through the sight.
Just as she was about to pull the trigger.
"Wait a moment."
Noah's calm voice sounded in the communicator near her ear.
Phoenix Bell's finger, poised on the trigger, froze in place.
Bruce also glanced at Noah through his peripheral vision in confusion, not understanding why, when facing such a highly mobile and deadly B.O.W., they wouldn't choose to strike preemptively before it discovered them.
However, the next second, the Licker's exposed brain suddenly contracted. It stopped dragging the corpse, its entire body flattening low, like a startled beast.
Its long tongue probed the air at an extremely high frequency, seemingly sensing something... "Spencer," Bridge Main Control Room.
This place was completely different from the deathly silence and darkness elsewhere on the ship.
Dozens of massive LCD screen walls formed a circular monitoring center, clearly displaying real-time footage of every corner inside the cruise liner.
Cold white lights illuminated the entire room as brightly as day, and the spotless metal floor reflected a blinding glare.
A middle-aged man dressed in a white linen suit, his hair impeccably combed, was holding a glass of red wine, watching one of the screens with interest.
The screen showed the scene of Noah and the other two confronting the Licker in the grand foyer.
He was Morpheus D. Duval, a former high-ranking Umbrella executive, and now the sole "Captain" of this doomed cruise ship.
"Oh? Three little mice... and there's an Oriental person."
Morpheus swirled the wine in his glass, gazing at the crimson liquid, a morbid smile playing on his lips.
He was disappointed.
He had orchestrated this perfect hijacking to extort five billion US dollars as 'ransom' from two major nations.
He wasn't purely after money; money was merely a tool.
He intended to establish his own kingdom in Africa, that forgotten land of the civilized world.
A new world controlled by him, filtered by viruses, and dominated by evolution.
But now, the agreed-upon time was approaching, and the ransom had still not been deposited.
The people they sent were merely three seemingly insignificant agents.
This was an insult to him, a man destined to become the god of a new world.
The smile in Morpheus's eyes gradually cooled, replaced by a furious rage born of feeling slighted.
"Since you are unwilling to pay the price in money... then you shall pay with your lives to appreciate my artwork."
He murmured to himself, downing the red wine in his glass.
Then, he walked slowly to the control console, extending his long fingers, and elegantly, as if playing a piano, input a string of complex commands onto a touch screen.
"Command confirmed. B.O.W. Experimental Zones One through Twelve, ecological locks, disengage."
"All exhibits will be deployed to various sections of the hull in one minute."
A cold, synthesized voice echoed in the control room.
Morpheus turned around, spreading his arms wide like a god welcoming the worship of his believers.
His face was filled with the fanatical and satisfied smile unique to a creator.
"Come, let the world see what true... fear is."
...In a conference room.
Behind the massive obsidian round table, the waterfall of data projected onto the huge screen had switched from Noah's physiological data to another set of models that were more complex and more enticing.
"Based on long-term tracking comparisons of the physical data of Noah and Claire Redfield, we can draw a preliminary inference."
Trant's voice sounded in the extremely quiet room, carrying the calm and rigor of an academic report.
"The cellular-level enhancement brought about by the g-virus seems to be able to transmit and supplement the other party through high-frequency, deep-level fluid exchange between males and females in a safe and gentle manner."
He paused, seemingly giving those present time to digest this astonishing conclusion.
"Simply put, their intimate relationship is causing Claire Redfield's body to also begin evolving toward a non-human realm. However, this enhancement process is extremely slow and shows no rejection reaction."
"This is a more optimized reproductive model spontaneously chosen by the virus for the continuation of the species."
This conclusion caused everyone present to momentarily hold their breath.
"However," Trant shifted his tone, "currently, this is merely an inference based on the isolated sample of Noah and Claire, and it is not reproducible. We lack enough test subjects to verify this hypothesis."
The man in the pure white suit immediately spoke up, his voice carrying a hint of eagerness.
"Actually, we have another ready sample."
Everyone's gaze focused on him.
"Albert Wesker."
The man brought up Wesker's file on the holographic projection.
"According to intelligence received from within the Tricell Corporation, Wesker has an intimate lover at the African branch named Excella Gionne."
Trant stroked the gold-threaded amber ring on his finger, seemingly intrigued by the topic.
"Does that woman show any signs of enhancement?"
"Currently... there doesn't seem to be any obvious change in physiological characteristics observed," the man in the white suit replied with some regret.
In the corner, the old man who had been silent the whole time slowly picked up his unlit briar pipe.
"Things are back to square one."
His voice was hoarse and flat, yet it was like a basin of cold water, extinguishing the interest that had just ignited in everyone.
The topic was temporarily shelved.
However, the curve of Trant's lips became playful.
"Anonymously leak this inference to Derek Simmons."
This suggestion made the man in the white suit pause.
Trant explained lightly, "A fool who has been stripped of power and is eager to prove himself will do many things inconvenient for us to do personally. He will gladly help us verify whether the spark we desire can be struck between Wesker and his lover."
"Making use of waste, worth a try," the old man said, gently tapping the table with the stem of his pipe, signifying his agreement.
Just then, the expression of the man in the white suit suddenly became extremely animated; he looked as if he had discovered a new continent, quickly calling up another top-secret file on the operation interface.
"Gentlemen, perhaps... we have found a better sample."
A woman's photo and file appeared on the screen.
"Kandy Muller, a woman of Idoonian Republic nationality, immigrated to the United States in 1990. According to our intelligence network, she had a private contact with Albert Wesker shortly after arriving in the US."
The man in the white suit zoomed in on a candid photo of the woman, drawing everyone's attention.
The woman in the photo was young, with the sharp contours characteristic of East European people, but her eyes and some of the soft lines of her face bore a seven or eight-tenths resemblance to the Genius scientist from the BSAA, Rebecca Chambers.
(Or rather, Rebecca resembles this woman; Rebecca debuted in 1998 at age 18, while she was only 10 in 1990.)
"The most crucial point is," the man in the white suit's voice trembled with excitement,
"When investigating her, we discovered... she returned to Idoonia in 1991 after becoming pregnant."
"Judging by the timeline, there is a very high probability that it belongs to Wesker."
This sentence struck everyone present like a bolt of lightning.
An offspring who inherited Wesker's perfect viral genes, naturally, without any artificial intervention...
"Excellent!"
"Investigate her! Immediately! Right now! Investigate all current physical conditions of her and the child in her womb!"
Excited and impatient commands rang out one after another in the room.
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