Where are all the commenters? Write some comments please. Give
Give me some power stones there you go~đ
*****
He knew this would put Umbrella on his back, but it's not like they already are and It's not like if he had shown his real face, they wouldn't do it. In fact, it would have made things easier for them..
Atlas acknowledged without arrogance. "Yesâif I were still human, I'd have far more to fear. There are countless ways to put a human down beyond the obvious ones. But as an undead, their tasers barely register. Pepper spray is a joke. Even firearms mean littleâunless they destroy the brain stem, I regenerate. Gas is meaningless to me; I don't need to breathe."
'Tranquilizers? Etorphine, carfentanilânames only. I'm not even sure they still work on me'
He was an undead now, immune to most of the tools of animal control.
'But killing innocents is messy. It's wasteful. And frankly, it's beneath me. And I very much hate needles killing.'
He wanted the police distracted. He wanted them chasing shadows and "wild bears" In a day or two, they would be handling "cannibals," not hunting Atlas.
'Let them worry about the Umbrella problem. Let them worry about Cannibal Sickness soon spreading in the suburbs. I just need two days of peace.'
He felt the weight of the cash against his thigh.
'30K allows me to buy things. It buys me a hotel room. It buys me a steak dinner. It buys me civilization for a few more hours. Before all this came down with nature rulings and zombies everywhere'
Atlas walked back into the city streets, a wealthy man in a doomed town, ready to spend his fortune before the world ended.
---
Chapter: The Vassal State
Location: Raccoon City â Downtown Commercial District.
Time: 06:40 AM.
The city was waking up, oblivious to its own execution.
Atlas walked down Main Street, the early morning chill nipping at his face whistling a tune. He passed a row of appliance stores and electronics shops, their metal security grates just beginning to rattle open.
He stopped in front of a large display window at "Midtown Digital." A wall of CRT televisions was flickering in unison, bathing the sidewalk in a blue-white glow.
On the screens, a digital clock read 06:40 AM.
[ BREAKING NEWS â NETWORK 23 ]
The chyron scrolled urgently across the bottom of the screen. A reporter stood in front of the White House in Washington D.C., shouting over a crowd of angry protesters holding signs that read "UMBRELLA KILLS", "SAVE VICTORY Lake,"TRICELL IS THE REASON" and "WHEN WP LEAVE HARVARDVILLE ALONE""
Another reporter was appearing on another TV.
"...Fierce conflicts have arisen between environmentalists and federal representatives regarding the Raccoon City industrial zone," the reporter announced. "Reports indicate that Umbrella Corporation's special waste processing plant, located on the outskirts of the Arklay forest, has significantly reduced its processing capacity due to an accumulation of untreated chemical waste."
The screen cut to grainy footage of a dark, sludge-filled river near the city limits.
"Although local residents claim contaminants began leaking into the water days ago, Umbrella officials maintain that the facility is closed for routine maintenance. However, inside sources suggest the Environmental Protection Agency is being blocked from inspecting the site..."
Atlas watched the screen, his grey eyes narrowing.
"It seems people still don't know the truth," he murmured to himself, watching a mother push a stroller past the TVs, ignoring the news entirely. "They think it's just chemicals. They think it's just poison."
He looked around the street. Raccoon City wasn't just a town; it was a fiefdom. The Umbrella logo was everywhereâon the billboards, on the manhole covers, on the sides of the buses.
"At this point, Raccoon City is a vassal state of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals," Atlas analyzed, his voice low. "Most of the city is employed by them. The police force is funded by them. The economy is completely dependent on them."
He watched a man in a business suit hurriedly buy a newspaper.
"Time has proven that when it comes to the stomach and the wallet, humans forget about long-term survival. They only think of today. They forget that every action has an equal and opposite reaction."
He glanced back at the screen, where an Umbrella spokesperson was smiling, denying everything.
He then looked at another television where the RNN was broadcasting a report on recent missings and deaths in the Arklay Mountains.
"The Raccoon City Departments must have received a massive payout to look the other way regarding the water toxicity. Greed," Atlas mused, tapping the glass. "It is the gravity that pulls humanity down. But it is also the engine that allows them to pluck the stars from the vast universe. Without greed, there is no ambition. Without ambition, there is no evolution."
He sighed, turning away from the broadcast.
"It seems the world is much different than I thought, with companies like TRICELL and WP only found in games, and there is no mention of them in the film stories.."
"Well, that makes things easier. I was already thinking of doing some research, and now I've got even more reasons to go for it.."
He looked up at the sign above the store: MIDTOWN DIGITAL. It seems to be a large chain store, seemingly the 'this world's equivalent of a Best Buy. Just the size of the store.
The lights inside flickered on. The "OPEN" sign buzzed to life.
Atlas adjusted his stolen tactical shirt, smoothed back his gray-silver hair, and pushed the glass door open.
[Inside Midtown Digital]
The store smelled of static electricity, new plastic, and floor wax. It was empty, save for a young man behind the counter who was busily arranging a stack of video game boxes.
The clerk was a classic archetype. Early twenties, already balding on top with a ponytail in the back, thick glasses, and wearing a name tag that read "EUGENE". He was currently organizing copies of StarBuilt and Half-Dead, treating them with the reverence of holy relics.
He knew it instantly. As a half-assed gamer himself who'd grown up yelling trash talk insane slurs and slangs in COD and Halo lobbies, he recognized that look. This guy knew exactly what he wanted.
Atlas approached the counter. He walked with a silent, heavy confidence that made the air in the store shift.
Eugene looked up. He blinked, taking in Atlas's appearanceâthe intense grey eyes, the tactical build, the expensive-looking (albeit stolen) combat pants.
"Whoa," Eugene muttered, adjusting his glasses. "We just opened, man. You here for the Solid Engine pre-order?"
Atlas leaned against the glass counter, flashing a charismatic, knowing grin. He recognized the tribe.
"Not today, Eugene," Atlas said. "I'm looking for hardware. And I need the kind of hardware you keep in the back, not the consumer trash on the floor."
Eugene perked up, abandoning his box of games. "Oh? You talking custom rigs? Servers?"
"I need a laptop," Atlas corrected. "But not a brick. I need the highest spec sheet you have. I'm talking about the new Umbrella-Silicon chipsets. The experimental stuff."
Eugene whistled. "The Umbrella-tech 9000 series? Dude, those just came in. They cost a fortune. We're talking dedicated V-RAM, dual-core processing... stuff that NASA uses."
"I don't care about the price," Atlas said, waving his hand. "I need processing power. I need storage. And I need it to be portable."
"Right, right," Eugene nodded enthusiastically, diving under the counter. "I got this beast. It's the Phantom-X. Military grade casing. It's got a 5GB Hard Driveâhuge, right? And 512MB of RAM, dedicated V-RAM, dual-core processor. It can run anything."
Atlas suppressed a scoff. 5GB. 512MB of RAM. In his future knowledge, this was a calculator. But in the 2000s? This was a supercomputer.
It was the strange dichotomy of this universe. Umbrella could clone biological weapons, create AIs like the Red Queen that were sentient, and build underground cities... but consumer tech was stuck in the stone age.
"It will do," Atlas said. "Box it up."
"And a phone," Atlas added. "Something secure."
Eugene placed a sleek, black flip-phone on the counter. "TRICELL StarTAC. Digital encryption. Best signal in the city."
"Perfect," Atlas said. "And a prepaid G-Sim card. Maximum minutes."
"Alright," Eugene typed furiously into his terminal. "With the laptop, the phone, the extra battery packs, and the software suite... you're looking at $11,450. Including tax."
Eugene looked up, expecting the sticker shock to hit.
Atlas didn't flinch. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a stack of the stolen cashâcrisp, banded stacks of fifties from the ATM heist.
He counted out the money rapidly. Slap. Slap. Slap.
"Keep the change," Atlas said, sliding the pile across the counter.
Eugene's eyes widened behind his lenses. "Dude... are you a mercenary or something? Or a drug dealer? You know what, don't tell me. I don't wanna know. This is awesome."
While Eugene boxed up the laptop, Atlas leaned in, lowering his voice.
"You seem like a guy who has his ear to the ground, Eugene. I'm actually here investigating."
"Investigating?" Eugene stopped taping the box. "Like... the murders?"
"Exactly," Atlas nodded. "I'm a private contractor and reporter looking into the recent deaths."
Eugene shivered, leaning over the counter conspiratorially. "Man, it's messed up. My cousin works in sanitation. He says they're finding body parts in the sewers. Not like... cut up. Like gnawing on."
"And the mountains?" Atlas prodded. "The Arklay forest?"
"Don't go there," Eugene warned, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Hikers have been disappearing for weeks. Some people say it's a cult. But on the forums? The message boards I haunt?"
Eugene looked around to make sure they were alone.
"They talk about dogs. Wild dogs. But big ones. Skinless. They say you can hear them howling at night, and it sounds like... like hell."
He laughed nervously. "Sounds crazy, right?
Probably just some urban legend made up by a stoner who got too high in the woods. But still... I'm staying inside with my PC until this blows over."
"Smart man," Atlas said. "The internet is safer than the streets right now."
He grabbed the heavy laptop bag.
"One last thing, Eugene. I need a place to stay. Somewhere discrete. Somewhere with a high-speed connection. I need to upload my reports."
"Oh, easy," Eugene pointed west. "The Apple Inn. It's about six blocks down. It's a bit pricey, mostly for business types from Umbrella who come into town, but they have T1 lines in the rooms. Super fast."
He smirked, giving Atlas a knowing wink.
"And, uh, they have great 'Room Service', if you know what I mean. They don't ask questions. Man to man."
Atlas chuckledâa low, genuine sound. "High speed and discretion. Sounds perfect."
He grabbed the bag, throwing it over his shoulder effortlessly despite its weight.
"Stay safe, Eugene," Atlas said, walking to the door. "And if I were you? I'd take sick days for a few days. Maybe go visit relatives out of state."
"Huh?" Eugene blinked.
"Just a thought," Atlas called back.
He stepped out into the morning sun, leaving the baffled clerk counting a small fortune in cash.
Atlas checked his new flip phone. 07:05 Am. From his understanding, the city should be sealed tight in 24 hours. He had money. He had tech. Now, he needed a stronghold.
"The Apple Inn," Atlas muttered, hailing a cab. "Let's see if their room service can handle an Apex."
---
Location: Raccoon City â Downtown District.
Time: 07:30 AM.
The morning sun was climbing higher, burning off the mist that clung to the streets of Raccoon City. The city was fully awake now, the hum of traffic and the distant wail of sirens creating a symphony of urban life.
Atlas walked down the sidewalk, a solitary figure moving against the flow of the morning commute.
He was whistling.
"Oh, the misery... Everybody wants to be my enemy..."