[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 543 - Putting on an Act

The helicopter's rotor wash sent dead leaves spiraling in every direction.

Brad worked the controls and brought the fully loaded UH-1 to a steady stop on a patch of flat ground at the edge of the Arklay Mountains.

Chris shoved the cabin door open.

He pressed his headset and dialed in the frequency.

"Captain, Alpha Team has arrived at the designated coordinates. Over."

It wasn't long before the sound of shifting branches drifted from the tree line.

Albert Wesker walked out of the shadows.

Same crisp Tactical Vest. Same black sunglasses, immovable on the bridge of his nose, like they'd been welded there.

Under normal circumstances, Chris would have looked at that getup and thought: professional, cold, exactly what a captain should be.

Not anymore. With the ironclad evidence Leon and William Birkin had handed him still fresh in his mind, the bias had already set like concrete. Now every time he looked at those sunglasses, all he could think was: cover. Something to hide behind. A mask for whatever was really going on behind those eyes.

"You finally made it." Wesker closed the distance quickly, and for the first time in memory, there was something close to urgency in his voice.

The man's acting was genuinely impressive. Even his breathing was calibrated, the perfect rhythm of a superior worn down with worry for his people.

Jill fell in behind Chris, rifle up. Barry and Joseph spread to either side.

Four of them. Airtight formation.

"Captain, what exactly happened to Bravo Team?" Chris forced the heat back down his throat and played his part.

Muzzle down, eyes wide, the rookie who'd just sprinted onto the scene and needed answers.

Wesker sighed and pressed two fingers to his temple, the picture of a man running on empty.

"The situation is bad."

"I found the wreckage. Engine is completely gone. No one in the cabin."

He paused, then pointed toward the massive structure half-swallowed by fog in the distance.

"See that Spencer Mansion? We found traces of Bravo Team's movements all around the perimeter. Every trail leads there."

"There's more." Wesker dropped his voice, pressing the atmosphere down like a hand over a flame. "During my recon of the outer perimeter, I spotted unidentified armed patrol personnel."

"Well-equipped. Ruthless. My assessment is that Rebekah and the others ran into serious resistance and are being held inside."

Chris nearly laughed out loud.

Unidentified armed personnel.

You know exactly who they are, you son of a bitch.

Wesker's ability to flip black to white, he was genuinely wasted out here in the wilderness. Hollywood had a little gold statuette with his name on it.

Jill watched the performance with cold eyes.

The more dangerous Wesker painted this, the harder he pushed the angle that Rebekah was trapped inside, the more that undercurrent showed through, that barely concealed urgency to herd them all into The Slaughterhouse.

Joseph had no poker face. Listening to Wesker spin his fiction, his jaw locked down hard, and his finger had already found the trigger guard of his shotgun.

Barry moved fast. His broad palm came down on Joseph's back with a crack, enough force to knock him half a step forward.

"If Rebekah's in there, what the hell are we standing around for? Let's kick the door in and get her out!" Barry's voice came out rough and loud as he stepped smoothly in front of Joseph, blocking the angle.

The gentle giant could play the reckless brute without breaking a sweat.

Wesker was satisfied.

This was the effect he'd been building toward.

A team bound by loyalty, easy to ignite. Give them a reason they can't walk away from, and they'd throw themselves into the fire without needing to be pushed.

"Don't move yet." Wesker raised a hand in a measured, commanding gesture. "This place is wrong in ways I can't fully account for."

"They know the ground. We don't. Walk in blind and we'll be dead before we clear the entry."

"From here, I move with you."

"Assault formation. We cover each other."

"Safety first."

Every word: measured, righteous, the picture of command.

Chris heard it differently. He's afraid we'll bolt. He wants to babysit us personally, make sure every piece of expendable material walks into the right testing zone.

"Understood, Captain." Chris leveled his rifle and kept his face blank.

They fell into tactical formation and moved along a weed-choked path toward the Spencer Mansion. The fog thickened with every step. The air carried something strange, a specific, wrong smell that Chris would later learn to associate with the mutated Dobermans.

At the two heavy oak doors, Chris didn't knock.

A single kick sent them swinging open.

The main hall was a ruin.

Support pillars fractured. Marble floor black with dried blood and draped in shredded flesh.

This was what a fight between Leon and the Tyrant looked like afterward.

They had all told themselves they were ready for it.

They weren't. Every member of Alpha Team pulled a sharp breath through their teeth.

Wesker moved in the middle of the group.

He took his time scanning the hall, using the dim light, taking it all in.

What everyone else saw as carnage, he catalogued as a perfect stage set. Props already in place.

The fish are in the net.

Once those oak doors swung shut, the Hunters and the remaining specimens in the underground facility would be released. All the variables reduced to one question.

How long could a SWAT team last?

Ten minutes? Half an hour?

Didn't matter. Every second of that desperate, losing fight would feed data straight into his core terminal. Beautiful, comprehensive, conclusive data.

He thought of what came after, the pledge delivered, H.C.F.'s payment clearing, and something happened to his face. The corner of his mouth twitched, an involuntary contraction of the muscles beneath the skin. There and gone.

He smoothed it over. Let the cold smile surface.

He was certain no one caught it.

He was wrong.

Jill's attention had never left him. Not since the helicopter. As a trained observer with instincts sharpened well past the standard, she processed details that most people never consciously registered.

That smile registered.

It was not the expression of a commanding officer bracing for word of his people's fate.

It was the expression of a hunter watching prey walk into a snare.

Jill drifted a half-step toward Chris, smooth and unhurried. Through the layered bulk of their bulletproof vests, she put her elbow into his ribs, measured, deliberate.

Chris turned his head.

She didn't say a word. Just let her eyes slide toward Wesker.

Chris understood.

His jaw set. His index finger settled along the edge of the trigger.

The air in the hall thickened. No one spoke. Only footsteps, moving through empty corridors.

"We split up." Wesker broke the silence.

"Chris, you and Jill take the west side of the first floor."

"Barry, take Joseph and cover the east. I'll head upstairs and check the surveillance room."

"Radio silence from here. Contact means open fire."

➤ Next: Beginning Data Testing