New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤
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Ambush.
The moment the brakes shrieked, Adrian knew exactly what had happened.
The lead truck was dead, and the four vehicles behind it had no choice but to stop.
“What the hell?
Why are we stopping?”
Freeman looked shaken.
He had not realized what was happening yet.
Norman moved faster.
As soon as the radio confirmed the lead truck had stalled, he calmly ordered everyone out.
Use the trucks as cover.
Prepare to return fire.
Adrian flicked the safety off his AR-15 and followed the others down.
The ordinary civilian from his previous life felt no panic.
That should have worried him.
Instead, he looked down at the rifle in his hands and found an unexpected calm spreading through him.
The danger, the darkness, the smell of metal, dust, and fuel all felt more natural than a smoke-filled grill joint or his old rented room ever had.
For one bright second, the plain soul and the violent memories fused into a single thing.
Under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear, he murmured, “God has mercy.”
A line of rounds clanged across the roof of the truck.
Adrian ducked behind the rear of the vehicle beside Norman.
He judged the first burst as warning fire.
Sure enough, a voice rang out from the trees after the gunfire stopped.
“We are an operations unit attached to the European branch of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance.
We suspect your cargo violates relevant United Nations regulations.
Lay down your weapons and submit to inspection.”
Freeman was still inside the truck.
Adrian could hear him cursing, probably trying to report the situation to someone above him.
Norman clicked his tongue.
While giving his team hand signals, he shouted toward the black treeline.
“We are with a local security contractor in Loplers.
The cargo consists of conventional weapons ordered by nearby local armed forces and other security contractors.
The compartment keys are with our employer, and we cannot open the compartments before reaching the destination.
I hope you understand and allow us to pass.
Once the mission is complete, our superiors can provide the BSAA’s European branch with the relevant documentation through official channels.
I doubt your command wants you involved in a local armed dispute.”
The answer came back from the mountain.
“We have sufficient evidence that your cargo consists of Bio Organic Weapons prohibited under United Nations law.
I repeat, we have sufficient evidence that your cargo consists of prohibited B.O.W.s.
Lay down your weapons and submit to inspection.
If you refuse, we will take enforcement action against this convoy under U.N.
authority.”
Adrian’s expression tightened.
He turned and stared at Norman.
“You brought the BSAA down on us.
What the fuck are you hauling?”
The Adrian Voss of this world would never have asked.
He would have waited for negotiations to collapse, then opened fire with everyone else.
The soul inside him came from outside the game.
He knew exactly what Bio Organic Weapons meant.
One thought of virus-loaded transport trucks and broken containment was enough to make his trigger finger hesitate.
He did not want to put a round into a tank behind them and learn the hard way what came spilling out.
Norman looked at him.
The sunglasses hid his eyes, but Adrian was certain the look underneath was complicated.
“Do your job,” Norman said after a long pause.
Then he disengaged his safety and raised his voice.
“Unfortunately, we were unable to reach an agreement.
In that case, I can only…”
He waved a hand.
A flare shot into the sky and burst with a crack.
Harsh light washed over the roadside.
In the trees, figures appeared in broken silhouettes.
“Wish you all a pleasant evening,” Norman called with that dead-flat face.
Then he spoke into the radio.
“Weapons free.”
The road exploded with gunfire.
Norman’s team opened up from behind the trucks, pouring rounds into the shapes between the trees.
Norman himself was attaching something to his rifle.
Adrian took one look and nearly swore out loud.
Grenade launcher.
“Are you trying to blow the cargo open and leak whatever’s inside?”
After seeing their attitude, he was almost certain the tanks held viruses or something worse.
Norman turned toward him, oddly calm in the middle of the gunfire.
“Blast-resistant.
It won’t rupture.”
‘So you’re not exactly denying it’s a virus.’
Maybe Norman understood what Adrian was worried about, because he suddenly smiled.
On that deadpan face, the expression was worse than no expression at all.
“Don’t worry.
What’s inside is our insurance for this operation.
Good stuff.”
‘That makes me worry more.’
Adrian began weighing his options.
He was only the guide.
There was no reason to throw his life into this.
The employer was paying well, yes, but a guide was still a guide.
He could avoid joining the fight, right?
He could keep his distance from the fighting, right?
He could slip away when no one was looking, right?
This was not a lack of professional ethics.
The job had gone miles beyond the original brief.
His first stage in the Resident Evil world was supposed to involve zombies, basic survival, maybe a chance to learn the controls.
What kind of opening mission was a firefight with the BSAA?
Norman fired the grenade launcher.
The round arced beautifully into the woods on the slope and detonated among the trees.
When Norman turned to reload, he noticed Adrian’s very serious, very thoughtful hesitation.
“Why aren’t you firing?”
Adrian said nothing.
“You’re not thinking of running, are you?”
The bald bastard probably would not let him leave.
Adrian leaned out of cover and fired two shots uphill, his face solemn enough for a funeral portrait.
The BSAA had clearly expected the convoy to keep talking a little longer.
The sudden shift from negotiation to grenades caught them off guard, but not for long.
They adjusted quickly and returned fire with discipline, suppressing the security team so thoroughly no one dared stay exposed.
One guard tried anyway.
The next second, a hole punched through his helmet.
Brain matter splattered across the road.
“I think I understand why you don’t wear a helmet,” Adrian said coldly.
“Sniper,” Norman replied, as if the dead man had belonged to someone else.
Adrian kept his head down, lit a cigarette behind the truck, and said, “This won’t work.
They’re BSAA.
They can call backup.
We can’t.”
He took a hard drag.
Norman looked at him.
Adrian glared back.
Finding no sympathy there, Norman took out his frustration on the BSAA position with the grenade launcher.
The next burst of fire and flame gave Adrian a chance.
Cigarette clenched between his teeth, he leaned out, fired in controlled bursts, shifted cover, and slid behind the third truck.
That put a little distance between him and Norman.
He was still looking for a chance to disappear.
The universe remained uncooperative.
Norman soon squeezed in beside him and loaded another grenade.
“Last round.”
Adrian gave him a look that clearly asked why that was supposed to be his problem.
Norman either missed the look or pretended to.
“We need to find that sniper,” he said.
“Otherwise they can pin us here until dawn.”
“The cargo compartments are bulletproof.
We should abandon the lead truck and push through.”
“No.
We cannot abandon the lead truck.”
“Isn’t that where your insurance is?
Isn’t this exactly the kind of situation where you use it?
Why are you afraid to ditch it?”
“Most of the lead truck’s electronics are disabled,” Norman explained.
“The BSAA used some kind of device.
We cannot confirm they haven’t prepared similar traps farther down the road.”
A grenade came flying toward them.
Adrian’s body moved before his thoughts did.
He kicked the grenade off the roadside and away from the trucks.
It exploded a second later.
Whether it hit anyone, he had no idea.
The fact that his reflexes had just kicked a live grenade without asking permission left him in a cold sweat.
He snapped at Norman, “How do we know if we don’t try?
It’s better than dying here!”
Norman shook his head.
“We cannot abandon the lead truck.
That insurance is not single-use.
It can be recovered and deployed again.” He paused.
“And it is too expensive to leave behind.”
‘You bald son of a bitch.
I am going to kill you.’
After a useless surge of rage, Adrian leaned out and fired toward the sound of gunshots.
In his head, he dragged Norman, Agor, and every person responsible for this job through the filthiest insults he knew.
Another unlucky guard was hit behind the next truck.
His shoulder opened like torn meat.
He clutched the wound while his teammates dragged him back, screaming, “I’m hit!
I’m dead!
I’m bleeding everywhere!”
Norman popped out like a cautious bastard, fired twice, ducked back, and looked at Adrian’s lifeless expression.
“Now,” he said, “let’s continue our discussion about the sniper.”
“What?
You have a brilliant plan?”
“In a moment, I’ll have them fire another flare.
You run between trucks two and three to draw fire.
I’ll locate the sniper and give him the last grenade.”
Adrian’s face changed.
“Is this a comedy routine?”
“I’m serious.”
“Under a flare?
I won’t need a sniper to kill me.
They’ll shred me.”
“No, they won’t.”
Adrian studied Norman’s dead face and realized the man was not joking.
His expression twisted.
“You bald fuck.
Did your mother drop you on your head, or were you born this stupid?”
Norman raised his rifle and aimed it at Adrian.
“Go.
Wish you a pleasant evening.”
Adrian gave a humorless laugh, spat out the half-burned cigarette, and smiled coldly at him.
“You really think I can’t deal with you?”
Up on the slope, Chris frowned down at the convoy.
The people behind the trucks kept popping up, firing a few rounds, and dropping back down.
It was starting to feel like a shooting gallery with bad lighting.
“These guys are stubborn,” someone complained over the radio.
“Stay sharp,” Chris said.
“Keep them suppressed until air support arrives.
Once it’s here, this is over.”
As he finished speaking, another flare climbed into the sky.
In the instant it burst, Chris saw someone who was not dressed like the convoy’s security team bolt out from behind the vehicles.
The man half-ran, half-stumbled through the fire lane between the second and third trucks, ducking and rolling like a lunatic, then vanished back behind cover.
Chris stared.
For one rare second, he had no idea what he had just watched.
Adrian dropped onto the road beside Norman, clutching his rifle and breathing hard.
Cold sweat ran down his forehead.
He wiped it away and turned to the security captain.
“Did you see him?”
Norman did not answer.
He only took off his sunglasses.
In those blue eyes, Adrian saw pure embarrassment.
“You useless bald fuck!”
“It appears there is no other option.”
Norman fired the last grenade into the trees, then switched to the radio.
“Freeman.
Freeman, come in.
We’ve lost control of the situation.
Request permission to open Happy Tree One and Happy Tree Five and release Bear One and Bear Two.”
Adrian looked at him as if he had just grown a second head.
From the start of the operation, Norman had been working very hard to lower Adrian’s opinion of him.
Norman called Freeman twice and got no answer.
Following his line of sight, Adrian looked into the cargo compartment of the second truck.
Freeman was crouched inside with both hands over his head, completely shut down.
The cheerful corporate golden boy had folded into himself and looked as if he were repeating, “You can’t see me.
You can’t see me.”
Norman spat, charged into the truck, and kicked Freeman to the floor.
Then he grabbed the man’s collar and roared something in his face.
Whatever Norman said worked.
Freeman snapped back to life as if someone had injected adrenaline straight into his heart.
He grabbed a tablet with a feverish expression and began stabbing commands into the screen.
Then it happened.
Hiss.
With a soft mechanical release, the iron-maiden tanks behind the first and fifth trucks opened a narrow seam at the same time.
White vapor poured out.
Across the battlefield, the gunfire stopped.
Mist spread around the two tanks, thick and pale.
As the containers opened wider, something enormous shifted inside the fog and slowly sat up.
“Chris!” the BSAA sniper shouted over the radio.
“Do you see that thing?
Chris, do you see it?”
“Yeah,” Chris said, lifting his night vision and staring at the two giant figures rising from the tanks.
“I see it.”
He stared, jaw tight.
So this was their conventional firepower.
The weapons they claimed were being sold to local thugs and security contractors.
They called this conventional?
“Damn it,” Chris snapped.
“Ask Kirk how long until air support gets here.
We need heavy weapons!”
Behind the third truck, Adrian forgot to breathe.
The giant shapes rising through the white vapor were Norman’s “insurance.” As a longtime Resident Evil fan, he knew exactly what they were.
Burn them to ash and he would still recognize them.
‘Oh, fuck me.
Tyrants.’
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Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.