Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Click. Click. Click-click-click.
I mapped out the uneven terrain, my mutated throat rapidly firing off echolocation waves to avoid a massive, moss-covered log blocking my path.
As I jerked my way through the thick brush, a deeply unpleasant thought crept into my decaying brain. I was a Tier 0 basic zombie. The absolute bottom of the survival horror barrel. I was the tutorial enemy designed to teach the player how to aim.
I had zero armor, terrible motor skills, and my bones were essentially made of wet chalk. If a trained S.T.A.R.S. operative spotted me dragging my feet through the woods, I was dead with a single, highly embarrassing headshot. It would be a comically abrupt end to my transmigration adventure. "Welcome to your new life, Host. Bang. You are dead again. Thanks for playing."
I needed to evolve. Fast. I needed to dump these garbage base stats and climb the food chain before someone turned me into target practice.
To do that, I needed constant biomass and Evolution Points.
My mind immediately flashed back to the wandering corporate drones I had encountered earlier. I hadn’t even tried using my absorption skill on my fellow undead. They were biologically active, technically speaking. They were completely packed with T-virus mutations.
I immediately altered my course, clicking my way toward the nearest shuffling heat signature. It turned out to be one of the businessmen in the tattered suits, endlessly walking into a thick patch of brambles, bouncing off the thorns, and walking right back into them.
I walked up behind him and grabbed his shoulder. He let out a weak, confused gargle, his jaw snapping at the air.
Activate [Better Evolved].
The familiar, tingling warmth rushed into my palms. The businessman’s decaying flesh began to dissolve into that thick, glowing crimson sludge. His cheap polyester suit collapsed empty to the forest floor as his entire biological mass slurped directly into my pores with a wet, vacuum-like hum.
[Biomass absorbed. Cellular integrity increased to 45%. Degradation halted for 24 hours.]
[Standard T-Virus Zombie absorbed. Evolution Points earned: +10.]
My rotted lips curled into a hideous, jagged smile.
Ten points for a standard zombie. It wasn’t the fifty I got from the Cerberus, but there were dozens of these brain-dead idiots wandering the Arklay mountains. I could literally farm them. Why was I starving when there was a free buffet of corporate middle-management shuffling in the woods?
I could wander around turning Umbrella employees into protein shakes until I had enough points to buy that Cerberus form, or maybe unlock some better sensory traits from the shop.
But basic farming was a slow, peasant grind. If I wanted the real, heavy-hitting evolutions, I needed to kill special monsters.
I highly doubted absorbing human survivors would give me a human form. The floating blue text in my head literally called itself the Monster Evolution System. Its entire purpose was to turn me into a terrifying, unspeakable horror, not a handsome anime protagonist. Expecting to turn back into a normal guy was a pipe dream.
The best endgame forms were the near-humanoid powerhouses. Things like the Tyrant T-002 or the Nemesis. Walking biological tanks that could shrug off rocket launchers, punch through concrete bunkers, and run down speeding cars.
But if I walked up to a Tyrant right now and tried to touch him, he would fold my spine into a pretzel and use my hollowed-out skull as an ashtray. I needed to start small and work my way up the evolutionary ladder.
And I knew exactly the best, greasiest way to do that.
I just needed to follow the protagonists.
Rebecca Chambers, Billy Coen, Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield. These people had incredibly thick, impenetrable plot armor. They were going to run through these underground facilities, solving ridiculous chess puzzles and leaving a massive trail of weakened or dead B.O.W.s in their wake.
All I had to do was follow their path of destruction, scavenge the boss fights, and suck up the leftover biomass like a giant, necrotic roomba. I would let them do the heavy lifting, dodge the bullets, and expend their ammo while I quietly reaped the evolutionary rewards from the shadows.
Plus, tailing the heroines provided some incredibly vital, high-priority visual bonus.
Huehuehue.
My mutated purple companion gave a warm, affirmative throb against my torn pants at the thought. The system demanded I dominate viable female hosts, and who was more viable than the main cast? It was a flawless synergy of leveling up my biological stats and completely emptying the tank.
A brief, fleeting thought crossed my mind about how incredibly twisted that logic was. I was actively planning to stalk, assault, and parasitize innocent survivors who were just trying to escape a biological nightmare. My human morals were completely dissolving, slipping away into the dark just like my rotting skin.
I shrugged my grey shoulders, dismissing the ethical dilemma instantly.
What humanity was I supposed to hold onto? I was a walking corpse. I smelled like a backed-up septic tank left in the July sun.
If I tried to wave a white flag and surrender to human authorities, S.T.A.R.S. would mag-dump their Berettas into my chest without a second thought. If Umbrella caught me, I would end up strapped to a cold metal table, getting my internal organs harvested by robotic arms while guys in hazmat suits took notes on my durability.
The universe had stripped away my humanity the exact second I woke up in the dirt. I was playing a brand new game now.
If it takes a monster to survive this nightmare, then so be it. I was going to be the absolute worst one on the entire mountain.
Click. Click. Click-click-click.
I adjusted my makeshift pants knot, mapped out a clear path through the brush, and started shuffling toward the distant, billowing smoke of the helicopter crash. I was eager to see what kind of mess the Bravo team had already stumbled into, and maybe scavenge some highly valuable leftovers.
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Rebecca pressed her back against the rough, damp bark of a massive pine tree. Her lungs burned with every frantic breath. She clutched her standard-issue Beretta M92F so tightly her knuckles were completely white under her tactical gloves.
A distant howl echoed through the Arklay woods. It didn’t sound like a wolf. It sounded like a rabid dog gargling broken glass and thick mud.
Jesus... what the hell were those things?
She swallowed hard, trying to force her heart rate down from a panicked sprint to a manageable gallop.
Rebecca Chambers had graduated from university at eighteen with a bachelor’s degree in chemistry. She was a certified child prodigy. She knew the periodic table backward and forward. She could synthesize complex biochemical compounds in her sleep. Absolutely none of that prestigious academic training had prepared her for being chased through a pitch-black forest by a pack of Dobermans that looked like they had been turned completely inside out.
One minute, Bravo Team was conducting a totally standard, somewhat creepy investigation of an overturned military police wagon. They were looking for Billy Coen, a disgraced marine on his way to execution who had apparently murdered his escorts.
The next minute, Edward was screaming in the dark, the bushes absolutely exploded with teeth and rotting fur, and the highly trained special forces unit scattered like startled pigeons.
She peeked around the edge of the pine tree, sweeping the barrel of her handgun across the dark brush. Nothing moved.
"R-Richard?" she whispered into the freezing air. "Captain Marini?"
Nothing. Just the sound of the wind rattling the branches and the quiet drip of condensation falling from the pine needles. She was completely alone.
Her green S.T.A.R.S. uniform suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous. The bulky Kevlar vest felt three sizes too big, weighing down her shoulders, and her medical pouches kept snagging on every single thorny bush in the tri-state area.
Okay... okay, think. You are a trained police officer. You can do this.
She tried to hype herself up, but the internal pep talk felt horribly hollow. She had been on the team for barely a month. Her biggest contributions so far consisted of reorganizing the precinct’s medical cabinet and playing intramural basketball with the guys on holidays. Sending an eighteen-year-old medic into the woods to hunt a mass murderer was already questionable HR policy. Throwing in undead dog monsters was just a massive, screaming lawsuit waiting to happen.
She reached up and fumbled with her shoulder radio, pressing the transmit button with a shaking thumb.
"This is Bravo team medic Chambers... does anyone copy? Edward? Richard, are you there?"
A long, aggressive burst of white static hissed back at her. The Arklay mountains were completely dead-zoning her signal.
Another wet, gargling bark echoed from the tree line, much closer this time.
Rebecca didn’t wait around to see if the mangy bastards had picked up her scent. She pushed off the tree, keeping her Beretta raised, and started moving quickly through the thick ferns. Every snapping twig under her combat boots sounded like a firecracker.
The R.P.D. briefing had mentioned a series of localized cannibal murders. They had explicitly failed to mention that the local wildlife was participating.
She pushed her way through a dense wall of wet bushes and suddenly stumbled out of the mud, her boots clanking against solid, wet wood.
She blinked, lowering her gun a fraction of an inch to take in the sight in front of her.
Sitting completely dead on a set of rusted tracks, right in the middle of the absolute nowhere wilderness, was a massive luxury train. The metal exterior gleamed faintly under the moonlight, completely out of place among the towering pines.
She walked closer, stepping over the wooden railroad ties.
The side of the rear passenger car bore a very familiar, highly corporate red and white umbrella logo. Painted in elegant, gold-trimmed letters across the steel hull were the words Ecliptic Express.
Why is there a luxury commuter train parked in the middle of a haunted forest?
She looked back over her shoulder. The woods behind her were pitch black, freezing, and currently occupied by creatures that wanted to rip her throat out. The train, on the other hand, had solid walls, a roof, and heavy metal doors.
It was basic survival math.
"Okay. Inside it is," she muttered to herself.
She holstered her radio, kept her Beretta leveled in front of her, and slowly climbed the metal stairs leading up to the rear car’s sliding door.
The door was slightly ajar. A faint, yellowish light spilled out from the interior corridor, along with the distinct, metallic smell of old blood and stale air.
Rebecca nudged the door open with her shoulder, stepping inside the narrow, carpeted hallway of the Ecliptic Express. The heavy metal door slid shut behind her with a loud clack, completely sealing her inside.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking hands. She was a S.T.A.R.S. operative. She was the medic. She just had to sweep the train, secure a communication line, and wait for Richard or the Captain to find her.
She stepped further down the hall, completely unaware that the worst night of her life was just getting started, and that something far more degenerate than a zombie dog was currently watching her every step from the shadows.
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