The helicopter was jolting violently.
The metal walls of the cabin vibrated with a tooth-aching intensity as fierce winds, carrying hot ash and a thick stench of burning, blew frantically through the gaps in the door.
It was a pungent odor—a mixture of burning plastic, decaying flesh, and the residue of nitroglycerin explosions.
The entire Rockfort Island was burning.
Looking out through the porthole, the once-military fortress and noble estate had turned into a massive ruin swallowed by fire and thick smoke.
The soaring flames dyed the pitch-black night sky a strange, ominous dark red.
The broken remains of buildings, like the exposed white bones of a giant beast, cast twisted and hideous shadows in the firelight.
On the ground, bodies that were once human dragged their broken forms, wandering aimlessly.
Their movements were slow and stiff, appearing like tormented demons in Hell under the reflection of the firelight.
The t-virus had completely spiraled out of control on this isolated island.
The helicopter slowly descended, finally hovering at the edge of a relatively intact concrete helipad on the western side of the island.
The massive airflow kicked up by the rotors blew away the thick smoke on the ground, exposing the purgatory-like scene below even more clearly to the four people.
A black fast-rope was nimbly thrown out from the cabin.
Two agile figures, without a moment's hesitation, slid down the rope one after another in silence.
Their movements were filled with the calmness and efficiency of professional soldiers.
Immediately following them.
Two other figures appeared directly at the open cabin door.
They didn't even look at the hanging fast-rope.
From a height of nearly ten meters above the ground, they leaped.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
Two dull thuds, like heavy objects hitting the ground, rang out almost simultaneously.
Two shallow imprints were left on the hard helipad.
The splashing dust and gravel formed a small shockwave that spread in all directions.
Inside the helicopter cockpit, the two blurry-faced pilots ignored this, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Leon had just steadied himself when he saw this scene, causing his eyes to twitch.
He looked at Noah and Claire, who stood up unharmed and patted the dust off their combat uniforms, and couldn't help but complain:
"Hey, guys."
"Could you give me a heads-up before jumping next time?"
"I almost thought two small meteors had made an early landing."
Standing beside him, Ada's almond eyes, which usually held a hint of scrutiny and playfulness, now held a trace of solemnity and recognition.
She looked at Noah's figure, still as steady as a mountain, and gave a subtle nod to herself.
The four quickly gathered and began a final check of their weapons and ammunition.
Noah and Claire's tactical backpacks were significantly heavier than the other two.
They were stuffed with various calibers of bullets, grenades, and heavy grenades.
Their enhanced bodies possessed a load-bearing capacity far exceeding that of ordinary people, so they naturally took on the responsibility of being mobile armories.
After confirming everything, the four spoke no more.
Like four shadows blending into the darkness, they moved quickly toward the interior of the island along a potholed path affected by the bombing.
The night was the best cover.
The path wound through the ruins several times.
Finally, a set of buildings exuding the Aura of death appeared before them.
It was a graveyard surrounded by high, rusty iron fences.
Cold, moss-covered tombstones stood askew, illuminated by the distant flames.
According to the markings on the map, this was the secret prison where Umbrella's enemies were held.
If Chris had really been captured, this was the most likely place he would be trapped.
Just then.
"Rustle..."
A slight sound of loosening soil came from behind a grave not far away.
Then, a rotting, stiff hand with black mud under the fingernails suddenly thrust out from the damp earth.
Then a second, a third... those dead who had been resting underground were awakened from their eternal slumber by the leaked t-virus.
They struggled and contorted, slowly crawling out of their graves.
Noah put on the hideous knuckle dusters specifically made for him.
The metal fit his knuckles perfectly.
He flexed his fingers, and the joints of the knuckle dusters glinted with a heart-stopping, sharp cold light.
He looked at the Zombies snarling and lunging toward them, a relaxed curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"I'll warm up first."
Before his voice had even faded.
Leon's vision blurred.
Noah's figure had already turned into an afterimage that was almost impossible to catch with the naked eye.
That afterimage instantly charged into the group of slow-moving Zombies.
There was no gunfire.
Not even the dull sound of fists hitting flesh.
Only a series of dense "squelch" sounds, like a sharp knife cutting through rotten wood, rang out.
The next second.
The afterimage returned to its original spot, as if it had never moved.
And those Zombies that were just clawing and snarling abruptly snapped in half at the waist.
Their upper and lower bodies were completely separated.
Dark green, foul-smelling blood and organs spilled out onto the ground with a splash.
Claire crossed her arms, watching the bloody scene without any discomfort on her face.
She tilted her head as if critiquing a work of art.
"Not bad."
"Much improved compared to before."
Ada's beautiful eyes also narrowed slightly.
"No wonder Mr. Trant thinks so highly of you."
"He's even willing to set up a department specifically for you."
Noah looked at Ada and gave a chuckle.
"I'm honored."
Leon was still in a state of immense shock.
He looked at Noah, spreading his hands and shrugging, his expression full of disbelief.
"What... what just happened?"
"I swear, I only saw your afterimage..."
Noah looked at Leon, his eyes carrying a bit of serious teasing.
"How about I get you a pair of reading glasses?"
Leon pouted exaggeratedly.
"Thanks."
"I'll consider it once I retire tomorrow."
Having dealt with these appetizers, the four didn't delay any longer and entered the main prison building, which exuded an Aura of decay.
The interior of the building was dark and damp, the air thick with the smell of blood and mold.
It was empty; there were no swarms of enemies or imprisoned captives as they had imagined.
Only one man was sitting weakly in a corner, leaning against the cold wall.
He had dark skin, a neat mustache, and a buzz cut, but his face was as pale as paper.
A white pill bottle lay discarded on the ground.
Bright red blood was slowly seeping from a wound in his abdomen, staining his clothes.
Rodriguez Juan Raval.
In the original game plot, it was this Umbrella Security Captain who had a change of heart at the last moment and released the imprisoned Claire.
Rodriguez noticed someone entering and only managed to lift his eyelids with effort.
He looked at these four well-equipped strangers with extraordinary Auras; there was no fear or surprise in his eyes.
Only peace remained: Money, status—for those ephemeral things, I sold my Soul and betrayed my country, only to end up like this... This, perhaps, is the ultimate punishment God has given me... He looked at them, his parched lips moving slightly.
The voice was so weak it seemed it could be blown away by the wind at any moment.
"Are you... here to save someone?"
"Maybe... maybe I can help a little."
"My time is running out..."
"At least let me do one... human thing in my final moments..."