Umbrella Sub-Lab – L1 / Chemical Storage
The air stank of fuel and fear.
Even the steam had gone quiet—no dripping pipes, no groaning metal. Just the hum of power somewhere deep below and the faint rustle of something moving in the dark.
Jack's grip tightened on his shotgun. The back of his neck prickled—his skin reacting before his mind did. The infection in his veins stirred, whispering danger like static beneath his skin.
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "It's too quiet."
Jill's flashlight swept the ceiling, tracing the tangle of pipes overhead. "Stay sharp. I don't like this."
Rebecca's light passed over a torn web clinging to the ceiling. The strands trembled—not from the draft, but from something breathing.
She froze. "Jack—"
The ceiling moved.
A massive shape dropped from the pipes in a spray of dust and metal shards. It hit the floor with enough force to rattle their teeth.
The Broodmother uncurled from the impact—six meters of glistening, mutated flesh and slick carapace. Its abdomen glowed faintly, translucent veins pulsing with chemical residue. Webbing streamed from its jaws like oil, smoking as it hit the flammable puddles.
Jill barely shouted before the first burst of silk hit. It slammed her against a bulkhead, pinning her chest to the wall. Rebecca turned to help—and another jet caught her mid-turn, plastering her to the floor.
"Jill! Rebecca!"
Jack fired instantly, the shotgun's roar echoing through the chamber. The shot tore through the web line and splashed burning solvent across the ground. The flash lit the Broodmother in stark relief—a nightmare of fangs and segmented limbs.
The creature hissed and lunged. Jack barely rolled aside before a claw the size of a shovel blade gouged through the metal grating where he'd stood.
The sparks caught the vapor.
The room whoomped into light—flames racing up the spilled fuel, climbing the walls, rolling along the ceiling.
Jack coughed through the heat and smoke, eyes watering. "That's on me."
The Broodmother shrieked, its body flaring orange in the firelight. It moved like living steel, thrashing through the blaze.
"Rebecca! Jill!" Jack shouted, ducking under a spray of webbing. "Can you get free?"
Jill strained, tearing at the hardened silk, but it was like metal cables binding her arms. "Not fast enough!"
Rebecca twisted, her fingers brushing her med pouch. "The fire's spreading through the solvent lines!" she called. "You need to keep it busy—don't let it rupture the storage tanks!"
Jack fired another blast into its leg, forcing the creature back. "Fine, Becca—but if you've got any ideas, now's the time!"
Rebecca's voice came breathless but determined. "I can make something! There are still aerosol canisters and chemical oxidizers here—if I mix them right, it'll ignite on contact!"
Jack risked a quick glance back. "How long?"
She hesitated, scanning the wreckage, doing the math in her head. "Five minutes—maybe less."
Jill snapped, still straining against her bonds. "That's being optimistic!"
"Then I'll make it five!" Jack shouted, ejecting an empty shell. He slammed in another round and racked the pump with a metallic crack. "You two figure out how to kill it—I'll keep it busy."
The Broodmother lunged again, slamming down hard enough to buckle the grating beneath it. Jack dove sideways, rolling through the heat. The world blurred into orange and black, fire glinting off the monster's carapace.
It roared—half hiss, half shriek—and reared back, mandibles dripping with fire-fed venom.
Jack steadied his shotgun. "Let's dance."
He fired point-blank.
The blast hit like thunder.
Flames and gore splattered across the walls, but the Broodmother kept moving, unstoppable, dragging itself through the burning haze as Jack braced for another round.
Behind him, Rebecca had already torn free one arm and was dragging chemical canisters across the floor toward Jill's position. Jill, half-trapped but thinking fast, used a shard of broken steel to saw at the silk binding her waist.
They didn't have five minutes.
The Broodmother lunged through the fire, half its body ablaze, and Jack met it head-on.
He racked the shotgun, fired, and advanced with every blast—each shell tearing into the creature's hide, black ichor splattering across the burning floor. The recoil hammered against his shoulder, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Rebecca's voice echoed faint through the haze. "Three minutes, Jack! Just hold it off!"
"Easy for you to say!" He ducked beneath a swinging claw that tore a crater in the floor where he'd been standing. The air shimmered with heat and smoke.
He yanked one of the breaching charges from his belt and slapped it onto a fuel line jutting from the wall. A few seconds later, the explosion sent a rolling wave of flame across the chamber, slamming into the Broodmother's flank and knocking it back into a wall of melted pipes.
It shrieked—a sound like metal screaming.
Jack reloaded fast, his movements automatic, every nerve firing on instinct. His Viral Sense pulsed with static—warning him, tracking every twitch of the creature's limbs, every vibration in the floor. It wasn't sight. It wasn't sound. It was survival.
The Broodmother shifted again—faster than before. One of its front legs shot out, slicing through the fire like a blade. Jack barely moved in time; the impact sent him crashing into a pile of debris.
He groaned, spitting blood, then rolled aside as another strike crushed the metal where he'd landed.
"Jack!" Jill's voice cut through the noise. "You're too close to the tanks!"
"I know!"
He reached for another charge, thumbed the primer, and flung it toward the creature's advancing legs. The explosion went off midair—flames curling up its limbs, the blast rocking the chamber.
But the Broodmother didn't retreat.
It reared back and spat another volley of webbing, thick as cables. The mass struck Jack mid-motion and threw him hard against the wall. He hit so hard the breath left his lungs.
The webbing spread instantly—sticky, fibrous, and hot from the firelight—locking Jack against the bulkhead. He struggled, muscles flexing, but the silk only tightened, digging into his skin like burning wire.
The Broodmother let out a low hiss and advanced, its massive form blotting out the light. Its abdomen swelled, pulsing with that same sickly glow. Then, with terrifying speed, one of its forelimbs snapped forward—sharp, spear-like, and coated in venom.
Jack couldn't move fast enough.
The claw drove straight through his chest.
He gasped, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. The world blurred, sound dropping into a distant hum. Hot blood spilled down his ribs, hissing as it hit the floor.
Rebecca screamed his name. Jill shouted something—but he couldn't hear them anymore.
The world around him pulsed red.
His Viral Sense went wild—flaring into overdrive, screaming in his skull like a thousand alarms. His veins darkened, black lines crawling up his neck. The infection reacted to the wound, surging, adapting, fighting back.
The Broodmother lifted him from the floor, impaled, its mandibles spreading wide to finish him.
Jack's head dropped forward. A growl escaped his throat—low, animal, wrong.
Then the virus took hold.
Every nerve in his body caught fire. His muscles convulsed, tendons bulging, flesh hardening around the wound. The black veins crawled up his neck and down his arms, pulsing like living wires beneath the skin. His breath came in low, feral growls.
Then his eyes shifted—blood-red, capillaries glowing faintly as the virus flooded his system. It wasn't light; it was heat—the infection burning through him.
With a snarl that shook the walls, Jack grabbed the Broodmother's impaling limb with both hands and snapped it in half.
[VSS]
Viral Fury – Triggered (Near-death imminent).
Jack felt a rush of strength flood his body, the pain fading to static. Every heartbeat hit like an explosion. But something was clawing at the back of his skull—an echo deep inside his mind.
…you…need…us…
…just…give in…to power… forget the rest…
But through the haze, another sound broke through—Rebecca's voice.
That was enough to anchor him.
Jack clenched his jaw, forcing the rage down. His voice came out low and guttural.
"You said three minutes… fine. I'll give you three minutes."
Then he moved—too fast for the eye to follow.
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A/N: Sorry for going quiet, everyone. I've been feeling really sick these past few days and couldn't focus on writing. I didn't forget about this story, I just needed a bit of time to recover. I'll do my best to be back next week with new chapters. Thanks for sticking with me — it really means a lot.