Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Damn bois, we really be climbing on the rankings fast!
___
Trotting along the cold steel roof of the Ecliptic Express in a rotting dog body was a highly undignified experience.
It was structurally necessary for the tactical surveillance of the Bravo Team rookie, sure, but absolutely terrible for my ego. If anyone caught me prowling around up here on all fours, I’d look less like a terrifying biological weapon and more like a lost, rabid stray looking for a fire hydrant to piss on.
Below me, the faint, rhythmic scuffing of combat boots confirmed Rebecca was currently navigating the second passenger carriage. She was sweeping each cabin with textbook military precision, her breath hitching every time she crossed a doorway. She was clearing her corners nicely, keeping her weapon up and sweeping her sectors like a goddamn pro.
I pressed my mangy snout against a cracked copper ventilation grate, catching the faint, trembling vibration of her voice filtering through the metal.
"This is officer Chambers from S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team," she called out, her voice echoing in the tight metal corridor. "Please identify yourself."
There was a long, heavy silence, followed by the sound of more cautious steps dragging across the carpet.
"Is someone there?" she asked, her tone dropping into a nervous register.
A wet, bubbling rattle answered her, immediately accompanied by the sharp, echoing reports of her standard-issue Beretta.
Three deafening gunshots tore through the cabin, vibrating through the metal roofing and directly into my highly sensitive canine eardrums.
Easy on the trigger, Becca, my ears are already doing a fantastic impression of a tin can inside a shooting range.
I padded toward the edge of the carriage, keeping my center of gravity low. The windows below were heavily shuttered with thick velvet curtains, keeping the luxury sleeper compartments wrapped in pitch darkness. Since my decaying dog eyes were basically decorative at this point, I let out a rapid sequence of high-frequency mouth-clicks to map the interior.
Click. Click. Click-click-click.
The returning sound waves painted a three-dimensional grayscale diagram directly inside my skull. I could outline her small, compact frame, her shoulder muscles locked tight as she kept her weapon leveled. Just down the corridor, four slow, jerky silhouettes were shuffling in aimless circles, practically lining up to be turned into target practice.
She was absolutely handling her shit. Every encounter ended with her dropping the infected efficiently. Sure, her breathing pattern grew a little more jagged with every room she cleared, and she was burning through her 9mm magazines like a frat boy shotgunning cheap beers on a Friday night, but she was hitting her targets.
A wet, ragged wheezing and the heavy crunch of gravel alongside the tracks drew my attention toward the tree line.
I flattened my mangy body against the cold steel, peering over the edge to watch the late arrival.
Edward Dewey was in a truly spectacular state of disrepair. He lurched toward the train with the pathetic wobble of a freshman after a keg stand, except instead of puking his guts out, he was leaking dark arterial blood from half a dozen jagged lacerations. His S.T.A.R.S. uniform was completely shredded, exposing a massive, messy crater on his shoulder where a local Cerberus had taken a generous, toothy sample.
With a final, desperate surge of survival adrenaline, he hurled his entire upper body through a low passenger window. The thick glass shattered inward with a loud, ringing crash.
"Edward!" Rebecca screamed, her voice cracking with pure panic as she rushed toward the noise. "Are you all right? What happened?"
"It’s worse than... we can’t... you must be careful, Rebecca," he gurgled, his vocal cords swimming in his own fluids. "The forest is full of... zombies and monsters."
A long, rattling sigh escaped his throat, and his head slumped forward. Edward Dewey was officially out of the game.
I stared at the broken window, watching the last traces of life drain from the seasoned co-pilot.
This world operated on an unforgiving, pathological realism that the video games completely glossed over. In the digital version, a player could take three massive bites to the neck, chew on a couple of green weeds, and sprint away with a full health bar. But out here, there were no healing cheat codes.
Those green herbs growing in the Arklay mountains were likely just primitive, highly localized antivirals or clotting agents. Useful for stopping a minor bleed, but completely useless against a full-scale systemic infection.
It honestly made me wonder about the lore I remembered from the later games. Somewhere down the line, it was stated that roughly ten percent of Raccoon City’s population possessed a natural, genetic immunity to the T-Virus.
Was Rebecca part of that lucky ten percent? Or did she just have massive, titanium-plated plot armor? Considering she totally bails from Raccoon City after the upcoming Spencer Mansion incident and misses the city-wide nuke entirely, maybe she just never rolled the genetic dice long enough to find out.
Either way, her ability to navigate this biological nightmare without getting a single scratch was highly impressive.
My monologue was abruptly interrupted by a low, feral growl from the tree line.
Another infected dog, slightly smaller than me but far more frantic, sprinted toward the tracks. Most of its ribcage was exposed to the wind, and one cloudy eye swung wildly from its socket on a thread of bloody nerve tissue.
Drawn by the smell of Edward’s fresh blood, the creature launched itself straight through the broken window.
Rebecca let out a sharp, terrified shriek, immediately followed by five rapid, deafening gunshots.
On the fifth report, the frantic snarling cut off into a heavy, wet thud.
I flinched, imagining those high-velocity 9mm rounds tearing through my own skull instead of my mutated cousin. Going through the front door to say hi was officially off the table. She would totally ventilate my brain pan before I could even wag my tail.
I waited on the roof, listening to her ragged breathing slowly stabilize before the quiet scuff of her boots moved further down the carriage.
The moment she cleared the area, I slipped over the edge of the roof, twisting mid-air to land silently inside the shattered window frame.
The interior smelled like stale tobacco, expensive velvet, and a very heavy, metallic dose of fresh slaughter. Edward’s body was slumped against the wall, and the dead hound lay in a heap beside an overturned beverage cart.
I trotted over to the dead dog first, pressing my grey paw flat against its bloody ribs.
Time to test the buffet.
Instantly, the flesh of my paw split open. Hundreds of small, wet, dark red tendrils erupted from my skin like a swarm of starving tapeworms.
They aggressively burrowed straight into the dog’s corpse, tearing through fur and ruined muscle to anchor themselves deep inside the meat.
I had tested earlier and found that I could only consume dead biological matter. Good thing these lower-tier mutants died so easily when properly motivated by high-velocity lead.
The dead dog’s flesh rapidly began to bubble and liquefy beneath my paw. The tendrils acted like biological straws, eagerly sucking up the dissolved tissue and pumping a thick, glowing crimson sludge directly back into my own veins. Within seconds, the carcass vanished entirely, leaving only a dark, greasy stain and a few brittle bones on the ornate carpet.
[Biomass absorbed. Cellular integrity increased to 52%.]
[Cerberus genetic material absorbed. Evolution Points earned: +50.]
[NOTICE: Sufficient specialized genetic material [Cerberus] has been accumulated. Secondary Mutation triggered for current form: Cerberus.]
I barely had time to process the system notification before a savage, grinding ache erupted along my spine.
My front legs gave out, sending my snout plowing straight into the carpet as my skeletal structure began to violently snap, pop, and reassemble itself. It felt exactly like my muscles were being stretched over a biological torture rack, layering dense, corded fibers over my frame.
My ribs expanded with a series of wet, metallic pops, the exposed bones darkening into a dense, charcoal-grey calcification.
I let out a strangled, gurgling yelp as my skin rippled, patches of necrotic flesh falling away to reveal much denser, darker tissue underneath.
My claws lengthened, curving into thick, wicked talons that carved deep gouges into the floorboards beneath the carpet. When the mutation finally settled, I pushed myself up, feeling a massive surge of raw, unadulterated power in my haunches.
[Cerberus Form: Secondary Mutation complete.]
[Physical parameters increased. Bite force improved. Sprint speed improved. Durability improved.]
[New trait unlocked: Pack Leader’s Focus — Minor increase to perception and reaction speed when tracking a specific target.]
That last one had me internally cackling. The system had literally given me a simp-tracking buff for stalking a single target. The universe was basically slapping me on the back and telling me to keep up the good work.
I flexed my newly thickened limbs. I was still a rotting, skinless hound, but I looked significantly more lethal now. I was a bulkier, meaner, highly optimized engine of destruction.
My gaze drifted over to Edward’s cooling corpse. That was fresh, high-quality human biomass just begging to be recycled. I padded over and pressed my freshly mutated paw against his chest, letting the tendrils erupt and go to work.
The co-pilot’s body dissolved into a red slurry, rushing into my pores in a matter of seconds.
[Biomass absorbed. Cellular integrity increased to 58%.]
[Human genetic material absorbed. Evolution Points earned: +10.]
[No unique genetic traits detected.]
I let out a highly disappointed huff, my new snout wrinkling in disgust.
There went my grand dream of returning to a human form. Just a measly ten points and zero unique traits. Sorry, Ed. You were a brave pilot, but genetically speaking, you possessed all the complexity of a soggy piece of unbuttered toast.
Still, his sacrifice would keep my cells glued together a little longer, fueling my ongoing pursuit of post-apocalyptic tail. A highly noble cause in my book.
I shook my expanded, muscular frame, letting the stray glass fragments fall from my fur before leaping back out through the shattered window. My newly upgraded hind legs launched me back onto the cold metal roof in a single, effortless bound.
Flattening my bulkier body against the steel, I prepared to resume the stalk.
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