....
Meanwhile, at the same time on the northern side of Raccoon City, near the hospital and Clock Tower area, Leon and Kevin had just emerged from the underground sewer system.
"Damn… that was way too close," Leon muttered, still catching his breath. He couldn't help but regret not following Vector's advice—one of the Black Rose operatives—who had warned him not to enter the drainage tunnels in the first place. He had nearly been killed down there, chased relentlessly by a massive, mutated alligator. If Kevin hadn't been with him, he doubted he would've made it out alive.
"Yeah," Kevin replied with a strained smile. "I didn't expect something that vicious to be lurking down there either."
Leon wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced around the ruined streets. "So… how much longer do you think we're stuck in this city?" he asked. The exhaustion in his voice was obvious—he wanted out of Raccoon City as soon as possible.
"Well," Kevin said after a brief pause, "I'd say we've got about six hours left, give or take. We should head to the Clock Tower next. We can rest there for a bit once we arrive."
Leon nodded. He knew their objective—securing a new evacuation route so civilians could escape the city—was still far from over. After checking his gear and making sure his weapon was ready, he straightened up.
"Alright," Leon said firmly. "Let's move."
The two of them pressed forward, disappearing once more into the ruined streets of Raccoon City, the distant echoes of gunfire and moans of the undead following close behind.
....
As night fell, news of the riots in Raccoon City finally began spreading through the media. To the general public, however, it was framed as nothing more than a large-scale civil disturbance—just another riot spiraling out of control. As a result, most people barely paid it any attention. No one suspected the truth lurking beneath the surface.
Behind closed doors, the situation was far more severe.
The federal government had officially approved the Sterilization Program, classifying the incident as a matter of national security. The missile strike had been authorized and scheduled for October 1st, in the early hours before dawn. Once launched, Raccoon City would be completely erased from the map.
For the military, this operation was more than just containment. It was a race against time—an opportunity to field-test bioweapons in live combat conditions, assess their effectiveness, and simultaneously gather concrete evidence that could finally be used to bring down Umbrella.
At the same time, quarantine checkpoints were being rapidly established outside the city. Civilians who managed to escape were detained under the guise of "medical screening and protection." In reality, these facilities served a second purpose: information control. Survivors were fed carefully crafted narratives—propaganda designed to shape their memories, control the story, and suppress any testimony that could expose the truth.
This was the government's backup plan.
If they failed to secure enough hard evidence to legally dismantle Umbrella, public opinion would become their weapon. Umbrella was far too deeply embedded in the global economy—pharmaceuticals, military contracts, civilian infrastructure. A direct attack without public support would trigger economic shockwaves on a global scale.
They certainly needed the support of people to turn against Umbrella first.
Boycotts. Outrage. Fear.
Only then could the corporation be destroyed without bringing the world down with it.
Meanwhile, within the federal government itself, a new and far more dangerous initiative was quietly set into motion.
A large-scale campaign was approved to mass-produce biological weapons—Tyrants and other B.O.W.s—assets deemed capable of decisively turning the tide in limited-scale conflicts. To the people behind closed doors, these creatures were no longer seen as monstrosities, but as strategic tools.
In their eyes, biological weapons represented the future of warfare.
A single Tyrant could replace an entire platoon. It required no morale, no rest, no loyalty—only commands. Deployed correctly, such weapons could crush insurgencies, suppress rebellions, and end proxy wars before they ever escalated into full-scale conflicts.
.....
Meanwhile, Echo Six had already pushed deep into Spencer Memorial Hospital. The corridors ahead were dimly lit, emergency lights flickering weakly as bloodstains and overturned medical equipment lined the halls. Every step echoed with tension—until suddenly, they came face to face with another unit.
U.S.S. Delta Team.
At the center of the formation stood their leader—H.U.N.K.
The moment their eyes met, the air turned heavy with killing intent.
Without a word, Marissa reacted on instinct, pulling a grenade from her vest and hurling it straight toward the U.S.S. formation.
But H.U.N.K. was faster.
In a blur of motion, he stepped forward and kicked the grenade back toward Echo Six with brutal precision.
"Move!" Jertigham's shout to his team.
BOOOOM!
The explosion thundered through the hospital hallway, shaking the walls and sending debris flying. Fortunately, the members of Echo Six managed to dive for cover just in time, narrowly avoiding the blast.
There was no pause.
Bang!.... Bang!..... Bang!....
Gunfire erupted from both sides almost simultaneously. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark corridor as bullets ripped through walls, shattered glass, and destroyed abandoned medical equipment. Echo Six returned fire relentlessly, while U.S.S. Delta advanced with cold, calculated movements.
But the situation was clearly unfavorable for both sides. Ammunition was being wasted, visibility was poor, and neither unit had a decisive advantage. Realizing this, Jertingham raised his fist, signaling his team.
"Cease fire!" he ordered sharply.
Seeing Echo Six halt their attack, H.U.N.K. immediately mirrored the command. His voice cut through the smoke-filled corridor, calm and authoritative.
"Hold your fire."
The gunfire stopped.
An uneasy silence fell over the hospital hallway, broken only by the distant moans of the infected echoing through the building and the crackle of damaged emergency lights.
From behind a concrete barrier, Jertingham shouted, his voice firm but controlled.
"Who are you people? We are acting under federal authority. Raccoon City is currently under investigation by the Federation and has been placed under controlled time. I suggest you surrender now. If you don't, you'll be labeled as terrorists."
There was a brief pause.
Then H.U.N.K.'s voice replied from the shadows, cold and unwavering.
"We are U.S.S. Delta Team—a private military unit employed by Umbrella. Spare us the nonsense. This hospital is a corporate asset of Umbrella. We were deployed here to protect company property from intruders."
He stepped slightly into the light, visor reflecting the emergency lamps.
"And you are the ones who should be standing trial—for infiltrating restricted property and opening fire on us first."
Jertingham clenched his jaw.
"Even if that's what you claim," he shot back, "the Federation is actively investigating Umbrella. Authority over this facility has been transferred to us. Stand down and surrender—don't make this worse by resisting."
Despite his words, his grip on his weapon tightened. He didn't trust them—not for a second.
Both sides remained in cover, weapons still raised, fingers close to the trigger.
While the negotiations dragged on, H.U.N.K. was already preparing to move.
Behind his visor, his eyes scanned every shadow, every corner. His hand slowly reached toward a grenade at his waist. No matter how this standoff ended, one thing was certain—he would not abandon his mission. Surrender was never an option.
Then—
Footsteps echoed from another entrance.
Heavy. Uneven. Dragging.
Out of the darkness staggered a bloated, middle-aged man, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated, as if his body no longer fully obeyed him. His face was pale, soaked in sweat, and bite marks were clearly visible along his arms and neck.
It was Chief Brian.
"Allen…?" he muttered weakly, his voice trembling. "Allen, is that you…?"
Jertingham's eyes widened. He immediately raised his hand, signaling his team.
"Hold fire. Don't shoot."
He recognized Brian instantly. The man was important—a key figure in the city's administration, and more importantly, a potential witness who could be used by the Federation to bring Umbrella down.
At the same time, H.U.N.K. also signaled his unit to stand down.
Brian was valuable to Umbrella as well—an executive with a high clearance level. Killing him here would only complicate things.
Brian staggered forward, clutching his chest, mumbling incoherently.
"Damn it… where the hell are you, Allen…?" he groaned. "I need that antivirus… now… ahhh—shit, it hurts…! Why hasn't that bastard arrived yet? Don't tell me he lied to me…!"
His words immediately drew the attention of both Echo Six and USS Delta.
An antivirus.
Both sides needed it.
Their people were fighting on multiple fronts, and infection was spreading fast. Whoever controlled that vaccine controlled survival.
Sienna, already aware of Allen's ability to produce a vaccine, subtly shifted her aim—ready to shoot Brian if necessary.
But Brian suddenly realized he wasn't alone.
He looked up, eyes darting wildly.
"Who… who are you people…?"
"We're Echo Six," Jertingham called out firmly. "We're on an active operation. Chief, you should hide—Umbrella troops are blocking our advance."
"Umbrella soldiers…?" Brian muttered, his eyes lighting up with desperation. "Ah—then they must know where the vaccine is…"
He stumbled toward the USS Delta position.
"Hey! You there! Come out! You're Umbrella people, right?! I need the vac—"
He never finished his sentence.
A sharp pain ripped through his body.
"AAAAAHHHH!!"
Brian screamed as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest. From another entrance, four sets of footsteps echoed closer.
The doors burst open.
Allen stepped in first—followed closely by Ada, Claire, and Svetlana.
Both Echo Six and USS Delta immediately froze again.
Weapons lowered—barely.
Allen had just become the most valuable piece on the board.
"Allen… help me…" Brian gasped, eyes locked onto him. His hands trembled violently as he pressed against his chest. "Something's… wrong…"
Then—
CRACK.
CRACK.
The sickening sound of bones snapping one by one echoed through the hallway. Brian coughed violently as blood poured from his mouth, choking him.
"HELP—AAAHHH!!"
His body convulsed uncontrollably on the floor.
Then his chest burst open.
A grotesque creature tore its way out, spraying blood across the tiles before leaping free with an inhuman shriek.
The sight was straight out of a nightmare.
Claire staggered back, horrified.
"Holy shit… what the hell is that thing?!"
Allen stared at the scene, eyes widening as if in shock.
"…Damn," he said quietly. "Looks like I really did come too late. I'm sorry, Brian."
His voice sounded heavy with regret.
But behind him—
Svetlana and Ada exchanged faint smiles.
They knew better.
Allen wasn't sad at all.
Claire froze when she saw the creature burst out of Brian's chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and without thinking, she instinctively moved behind Allen, clutching the back of his jacket with trembling fingers.
"Oh my God…" she whispered, her voice shaking.
"Get away from there!" H.U.N.K shouted, already raising his weapon and locking his sights on the writhing creature. He immediately identified it—a G-Larva, freshly born and extremely aggressive. The thing screeched unnaturally, its slick, blood-covered body twitching as it turned its attention toward Allen's group.
Before anyone could react further, chaos erupted.
From multiple corridors, distorted howls echoed through the hospital halls. The sound of claws scraping against tiles followed almost immediately. Zombie dogs burst through shattered doors, their flesh torn and hanging loose. Behind them came several Lickers, crawling along the walls and ceilings with horrifying speed, their exposed brains pulsing as they shrieked.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Gunfire exploded throughout the hallway.
Echo Six reacted instantly, spreading out and opening fire to cover the advancing threats. Jertingham ducked behind cover, firing controlled bursts before shouting over the noise.
"Hey! How about we work together for now?!"
H.U.N.K didn't hesitate. This wasn't the time for pride or corporate loyalty. Survival came first.
"Fine," he replied coldly. "Ceasefire. Temporary truce."
Both sides adjusted their positions almost instinctively, forming an improvised defensive line. Umbrella operatives and federal soldiers fought back-to-back, mowing down zombies as they poured in from every direction. Shell casings clattered across the floor, mixing with blood and broken glass.
Allen grabbed Claire by the arm, snapping her out of her shock.
"Stay close to me," he said firmly.
Without waiting for a response, he pulled her toward a safer route deeper into the facility. As they ran, Allen fired accurately, dropping zombies that staggered into their path. Each shot was calm, precise—too calm for a normal civilian.
Ada and Svetlana followed closely behind, moving with practiced efficiency. Ada fired while retreating, her movements fluid and controlled, while Svetlana provided rear cover, putting down anything that got too close.
"More incoming!" Svetlana warned, blasting a zombie that lunged from the side corridor.
The hospital hallway descended into absolute hell—alarms blaring, monsters screaming, gunfire echoing endlessly. Above the chaos, the G-Larva screeched again, disappearing into the shadows, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
This wasn't just a firefight anymore.
It was a full-blown outbreak.