Resident Evil: The Dead Must Breed (Zombie/Monster Evolutions Fanfic)

Chapter 55: Chapter 56: Last Words

Listening to Rebecca have a full-scale, Olympic-level mental breakdown over hypothetical child support, strict Catholic parents, woodland cabin real estate, and the sheer terror of giving birth to a litter of eight shape-shifting bat-lizard puppies was easily the best entertainment I had experienced since waking up in the Arklay dirt.

I mean, seriously. You couldn’t buy that kind of peak comedy. Watching an eighteen-year-old prodigy medic frantically calculate maternity leave and panic over parent-teacher conferences for a baby that might sprout scythe-claws during storytime almost made all the bullet-dodging worth it.

To be fair to her, her panic wasn’t entirely crazy. Sure, back in my original world, the Capcom games and movies kept things strictly PG-13 or M-rated without showing actual genitals or detailed reproductive mechanics. But in a grounded, flesh-and-blood reality powered by a hyper-mutable pathogen like the T-Virus? Someone getting knocked up by a mutated entity wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities.

Still, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of becoming a dad this early in my new life. I hadn’t even fully settled into my role as an interdimensional sex fiend yet. Managing diapers, formula, and toddler tantrums? Give me a fucking break. I was not about to let my action-horror survival story pivot into a wholesome slice-of-life domestic comedy.

Besides, as Rebecca pointed out, who knew what the hell my genetic material would even produce? Bringing a half-human, half-Hunter chimera into the world felt like a cosmic crime of cruelty unless I could guarantee it looked completely human.

Of course, that didn’t mean I was tossing her aside for the long haul. Rebecca was my medic now. She had a life, career goals, and apparently very explicit expectations about marriage and motherhood. Down the line—far, far down the line—giving her a kid or two to nurture wouldn’t be the worst fate in the world. And there was a fat chance in hell I was ever letting another guy, or woman for that matter, lay a finger on her. She was mine.

Fortunately for both our immediate stress levels, I had double-checked the fine print with the System while she was frantically pacing around Dr. Marcus’s office.

System, be real with me. Is my load actually fertile right now? Am I about to be paying child support in B.O.W. child care vouchers?

The System had chimed in with absolute, unfeeling mechanical clarity.

[Negative, Host. Through the absolute biological authority granted by <Controlled Infection>, all cellular excretions—including genetic reproductive material—are actively purged of living cellular vectors upon leaving your body. Your semen contains zero viable sperm cells.]

[Furthermore, this genetic sterilization functions at a baseline molecular level. Any tissue, fluid, or cellular debris shed by the Host is instantly rendered completely inert. Foreign entities cannot harvest your DNA to replicate your traits or create derivative bio-weapons.]

Reading that diagnostic report had felt like a massive weight lifting off my chest. Not only was I not going to accidentally impregnate my medic with a litter of monster puppies, but I also didn’t have to worry about Umbrella scientists finding a puddle of my jizz on a control panel and cloning an army of invisible, hard-dick Cerberus hounds. In a world where every single strain of viral garbage ended up traded like baseball cards on the black market, being completely immune to genetic theft was an absolute godsend.

Obviously, I didn’t bother correcting Rebecca’s assumptions. Watching her stomp down the hallway in her slutty cowgirl shorts, muttering about baby gates and rustic cabin floor plans, was far too funny to interrupt.

I padded ahead in my evolved Cerberus form, my armored claws clicking rhythmically against the pristine floorboards of NEST-02. I was sticking to the mental map I remembered from the original timeline, guiding her through the pristine white hallways toward the lower transit sector. That route would take us straight into the water treatment plant, which served as the final stage of this entire facility.

That was where K-pop idol-looking James Marcus was lurking, controlling his leech swarms from the shadows.

Even now, the leech-god clone was almost certainly watching us through the security feeds. And if the original sequence held true, he was getting desperate. Eliminator monkeys had failed. Hunter Alphas had failed. The giant centipede had been turned into a fast-food buffet.

Which meant he was about to unleash his heavy artillery: the Proto-Tyrant.

I felt a genuine spike of tension in my gut just thinking about it.

Sure, the Proto-Tyrant was a defective, prototype model with an exposed heart and a severely degraded spine, but it was still a fucking Tyrant. It was faster, stronger, and significantly more lethal than anything we had fought so far. One bad slip-up, one misplaced dodge, and those oversized bone claws could slice Rebecca clean in half before I could even deploy my camo.

As we turned a sharp corner into a pipe-heavy maintenance sub-corridor, my sensitive canine nostrils twitched.

The faint, chemical stench of floor cleaner was instantly eclipsed by a sharp, metallic tang.

Fresh human blood. Lots of it.

A second later, a ragged, wet coughing sound echoed down the narrow hallway, followed by the heavy scraping of boots against rusted metal grates.

The metallic tang of fresh blood grew thicker with every step, completely overwhelming the faint ozone smell of the ventilation shafts. Ghosty slowed his pace, his black claws clicking softly against the rusted iron floorboards as he rounded the corner into the maintenance sub-corridor.

Sitting slumped against a reinforced bulkhead, drowning in a widening puddle of dark crimson, was a man in a tactical S.T.A.R.S. uniform. His green vest was shredded, his abdomen mangled behind torn kevlar, and his face was smeared with dark, drying blood.

Rebecca gasped loudly behind him, her boots skidding to a sudden halt on the wet metal.

"Captain?!"

She didn’t hesitate. Dropping her heavy shotgun onto the grates, she rushed past Ghosty and fell to her knees right in the pool of blood beside the dying officer.

Wait, what the fuck? Enrico Marini?! What is he doing down here looking like a minced meat appetizer? Canon was already off the rails, but this is a whole new level of wrecked.

My milky eyes widened as I stared at the man’s battered face. He was supposed to be roaming around, totally fine, meeting Rebecca in the underground passages before making his way toward the Arklay Mansion tunnels. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be dying in a puddle of his own guts inside NEST-02.

Rebecca’s hands were moving with frantic medical precision. She unclasped her field pouch, pulling out rolls of pressure gauze and medical tape with trembling fingers.

"Captain! We—we just talked on the radio less than an hour ago! What the hell happened to you in that time?!" Her voice cracked as she tried to inspect the catastrophic damage beneath his torn vest. "Where are you hurt? I need to pack these wounds right now!"

Enrico’s eyelids fluttered open, his vision blurry and unfocused as he let out a harsh, wet rattle. "R-Rebecca...? Is that... cough cough... is that you, kid? I... I tried to find a way out, but... cough... the sublevels..."

"Don’t talk! Just hold still!" Tears of pure stress pricked the corners of her eyes as she tried to apply pressure to his shattered sternum. "I can stabilize you, just let me get the heavy bandages on!"

"Don’t... don’t waste the—cough—the supplies, Chambers," Enrico stammered, his body shuddering as bloody saliva ran down his chin. "There’s nothing... nothing left to pack. My lungs... I can feel the blood in my..."

"Shut up! You’re the Captain of Bravo team, you don’t get to die in a sewer!"

Enrico took a shallow, agonizing breath, his fading gaze drifting past her shoulder until his bloodshot eyes locked directly onto me.

I was standing six feet away, a seven-foot-long, black-armored hellhound complete with a massive scorpion tail swaying slowly behind my back. In the dim, flickering emergency lights of the corridor, I looked like an absolute nightmare straight out of Umbrella’s deepest black-budget lab.

Enrico’s combat instincts instantly overrode his failing consciousness.

"B-Behind you!" he yelled, his voice cracking into a violent, blood-choking wheeze. "Chambers—cough—get down!"

He dragged his 9mm Beretta from its holster with trembling hands and pulled the trigger.

A deafening gunshot echoed through the narrow pipe-lined corridor. The bullet struck my right shoulder plate, throwing off a bright shower of yellow sparks before ricocheting harmlessly off my chitinous armor and denting an overhead steam pipe.

Come on, old man! I didn’t even do anything! I was literally just standing here minding my own business! Why is the dying guy trying to give me a fresh bullet hole?!

I didn’t flinch, but I did let out a thoroughly indignant chuff. Chitin armor didn’t come cheap, and I didn’t appreciate being used for target practice.

"No! Captain, stop! Don’t shoot!"

Rebecca threw her entire body sideways, placing herself directly between Enrico’s smoking gun and my armored chest. She held her hands up in a desperate time-out gesture, her face flushed red with panic.

Enrico froze, his gun hand shaking violently as his eyes darted from Rebecca to me in pure, unadulterated shock.

"Chambers... are you—cough—are you insane?!" he barked, coughing up another dark spray onto his vest. "Get away from... from that thing! It’s a monster! An Umbrella cough... an abomination!"

"He’s not hostile! Captain, listen to me, he saved my life!" Rebecca stammered frantically, her hands waving in the air as she tried to shield my massive bulk. "On the train, in the research center—he killed the other B.O.W.s! He protected me!"

Enrico stared at her as if she had completely lost her mind, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged gasps. "S-Saved you?! Look at it! It’s got a—cough cough—a scorpion tail, Chambers! It’s a bio-weapon! The virus... did the virus get to your head, kid?! Are you... are you hallucinating?!"

"No! I’m completely fine! His name is Ghosty, and he isn’t going to hurt you!" She gestured toward me, her voice desperate. "Just please put the gun down! You’re wasting your ammo!"

Enrico struggled for breath, staring at me with deep, paranoid confusion. "A... a monster protecting a cop...? That’s... cough... that doesn’t make any... any sense... What did they do to you down here...?"

I gave a slow, deliberate wag of my heavy scorpion tail, trying my best to project friendly, domestic dog energy. Look at the tail wag, Enrico. I am a totally normal, friendly neighborhood hellhound. Ignore the razor-sharp stinger and the nightmare chitin.

Enrico let out a wheezing, defeated sigh, his gun hand dropping heavily back into the pool of blood beside his hip. He was simply too weak to process the sheer absurdity of his rookie medic adopting a two-hundred-pound bio-weapon.

"You’re... you’re crazy, kid," he whispered, his head thumping heavily back against the cold steel bulkhead. "Or maybe... maybe I’m the one... cough... who’s losing it..."

"Captain, please, let me try to stop the bleeding," Rebecca begged, reaching for his mangled torso again.

"Stop... stop, Rebecca," he commanded weakly, his voice trailing off into a quiet, raspy murmur. "I know when... when a man is done for. Don’t waste your time... on a ghost..."

Rebecca’s hands hovered over his wounds, trembling as tears finally spilled over her lower eyelids. The sheer volume of blood pooling around them made the medical reality undeniable.

"Who did this to you?" she sobbed, holding his cold, bloody hand. "What did this?!"

"It’s... it’s all Umbrella..." Enrico rasped, his eyes fluttering as he fought to stay awake through sheer, stubborn willpower. "The whole company... cough... a front. They made... they made all of this..."

He took a painful, rattling breath, his fingers feebly tightening around her sleeve.

"The rest of... of Bravo team... Richard, Kenneth... they found an estate... a mansion in the woods... You have to... to get to the surface... find them..."

"I will, Captain," she choked out. "I’ll find them. Just tell me what attacked you down here! What is in these labs?!"

Enrico’s eyes opened slightly, a flicker of raw, primal terror surfacing through his fading vision. "I don’t... I don’t know what it was... cough cough... It came out of the dark in the lower sector... My bullets... my bullets just bounced off it... It just... it tore through the doors... it wouldn’t stop..."

A giant entity that shrugs off 9mm rounds and tears through reinforced sector doors like wet tissue paper? Yeah, that narrows the candidate list down to exactly one giant gray nightmare.

Before Enrico could struggle through another word, a violent, metallic shudder echoed through the narrow maintenance hallway.

A heavy, booming impact rattled the steel framework around us. The reinforced titanium blast door at the far end of the corridor groaned in protest as a massive, fist-sized dent abruptly bowed the center of the solid steel structure inward.

Enrico’s face went deathly pale, his bloodshot eyes staring at the deforming door in absolute horror.

"N-No..." he whispered, a fresh wave of panic choking his weak voice. "It... cough... it followed me... it’s here..."

Another terrifying strike warped the metal even further, snapping the heavy locking bolts along the frame with a sound like firing artillery.

I shifted my weight, dropping low into a predatory crouch as my scorpion tail raised high over my back, chitin plates locking into combat readiness.

Oh, shit.

[To Be Gooned]

Sorry for the missed update. Had been a bit slow on writing these days.

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