Watching the two Tyrants charge up the hill like enraged bulls, Chris knew they were in deep shit.
"Fall back! Pull back! Spread out! Their coats are bulletproof—aim for the heads!" Chris's voice roared over the radio. His team fired while repositioning, bullets pinging off the Tyrants' bald skulls. The monsters didn't slow down. One hand shielded their vulnerable faces as they barreled forward, snapping trees like twigs. To make matters worse, the convoy's security team was returning fire. The situation spiraled out of control the moment the Tyrants hit the field.
BSAA operatives tossed smoke grenades and frags, trying to obscure the security team's sightlines and slow the Tyrants' charge. Useless. One Tyrant breached the line, shrugging off a hail of bullets. It grabbed a BSAA operative's head and crushed it like a watermelon, then hurled the corpse at another shooter. The body slammed into the second guy like a cannonball, sending him crashing into a tree, spitting blood, combat-ready no more. The Tyrant didn't care about mercy—it charged the downed man and stomped his upper body into pulp. Meanwhile, the other Tyrant gripped a dead BSAA operative's leg, swinging the corpse like a warhammer, sending nearby teammates sprawling.
"Withdraw! Scatter!" Chris's eyes were bloodshot. "Newman, get the vehicle!"
"Newman's being used as a hammer!" the sniper's voice crackled back.
"Goddammit!" Chris cursed. "Get Kirk—how long till he's here?!"
"Don't panic, I'm here! I see the fire!" Kirk's voice came through, followed by the roar of a helicopter overhead.
From the chopper, Kirk gaped at the Tyrants wreaking havoc. "What the hell are those things?"
"No time for questions! Everyone, spread out! Kirk, take those bastards down!" Chris barked.
"Got it, hang tight!" Kirk told the BSAA operative behind him, "Grab the RPG. I'll get us in position."
The operative snatched the RPG, leaned out to aim, but a burst of gunfire forced him back. "Can't—the guys on the road are shooting at us!"
Norman lowered his rifle, smacking his lips. "Should've saved a grenade for them."
Li Yexing popped out, unloading a burst toward the helicopter. It circled above, then veered toward the hill.
An RPG rocket streaked from the chopper, hitting one Tyrant square, dropping it to its knees. The other Tyrant spun, hurling Newman's mangled corpse at the helicopter. The body smashed into the windshield, splattering blood. Another RPG fired, catching the kneeling Tyrant before it could stand. The blast took off half its head, blood spraying as it collapsed, dead.
"OH NOOO! MY SECOND BEAR!" Freeman's pig-like wail echoed from the second truck's compartment. "You vermin! Trash! Filth! How dare you destroy my perfect art?! Die! You'll all die for Second Bear!"
He yanked out his tablet, tapping furiously, a deranged grin on his face, muttering, "You'll all die…"
On the hill, the surviving Tyrant's collar exploded with a pop. Rivets shot out, restraints fell away, and its muscles swelled, tearing its coat apart. Cracked skin revealed raw, red flesh underneath. Its gloves burst, hands morphing into razor-sharp claws. Freed from its restraints, the monster—now draped in tattered rags—let out a deafening roar under the firelight. It crouched, then leapt, slashing the helicopter's tail rotor. The chopper spun wildly and crashed.
"The other one's gone full beast mode too?" Norman slapped Li Yexing's shoulder. "Our insurance is done for. Ditch trucks one and five—we're out."
Li Yexing didn't respond, just stared up the hill, rifle in hand.
"Don't gawk, we're leaving," Norman said, issuing orders over the radio, urging Li Yexing to move. But Li Yexing wasn't listening.
"What're you staring at?" Norman snapped, annoyed.
Li Yexing turned, pointing at the Tyrant. "Why does it look like… it's coming for us?"
"What…?" Norman froze. In that split second, the second truck flew into the air with a bang, tumbling down the cliff with Freeman's screams echoing inside.
The unleashed Tyrant was too fast. From Li Yexing's warning to the truck's crash, it was mere seconds. "Spread out! Spread out!" Norman shouted, panic creeping into his voice. Li Yexing ducked behind the third truck, using it to block the Tyrant's line of sight. He watched Norman run, barking orders. The monster, now fully unhinged, attacked friend and foe alike. A security team member tried to retreat but got skewered by a claw, his bulletproof vest like tissue paper.
BSAA operatives moved toward the road. Some security team members tried to escape in the fourth truck—the only personnel carrier left. The scene was pure chaos. Li Yexing held his fire, crouching behind the third truck, listening to gunfire, the Tyrant's roars, and BSAA's futile surrender demands, urging the security team to team up against the monster. But the panicked security team was beyond reason, shooting wildly while scrambling for the fourth truck. The Tyrant, after shredding the team near the first truck, charged the fourth. Screams like terrified kids spotting a monster in the closet rang out from the truck's vicinity. Then, from the BSAA side, a shout: "R! P! G!"
A rocket screamed through the air, hitting the Tyrant. It stumbled, crashing toward the third truck, its massive weight flipping it onto its side.
"Motherfucker, no slacking for me, huh?!" Li Yexing cursed, scrambling away. The Tyrant sprawled across the flipped truck, struggling to rise. Another RPG hit, followed by grenades and explosives, blasting around the Tyrant and the third truck. Thanks to BSAA buying time, the fourth truck's engine roared to life. Survivors piled in, flooring it to slip past the dazed Tyrant and BSAA.
But as the fourth truck neared escape, the battered Tyrant lunged, roaring. It rammed the truck's front, flipping it into the flames. Wails and screams erupted from the compartment.
"I've seen this in games and movies, but up close, it's something else…" Li Yexing, playing possum on the roadside, muttered to himself. The more he witnessed the Tyrant's power, the more he feared Resident Evil's protagonists. These monsters got wrecked by them? What kind of gods were they?
BSAA kept firing. The Tyrant clawed at the fourth truck's compartment, ripping it open like a tin can. Likely to avoid hitting survivors inside, BSAA stopped using explosives. From behind the third truck, Li Yexing's view was blocked, but he could see the Tyrant's towering back as it tore into the truck amid gunfire, screams, and curses.
Then, the fourth truck exploded!
A mushroom cloud shot skyward. The blast wave sent Li Yexing flying, slamming him into the cliffside railing. His hearing faded, consciousness slipping, thoughts offline. Clutching his head and aching back, he staggered up, searching for his rifle. Muffled gunshots rang in his ears. Through blurry vision, he saw the bloodied Tyrant charge BSAA again, the third truck's tank leaking, its hatch slowly opening, and… a naked girl tumbling out.
Wait, a girl?
What?!
…
Just past noon, Li Yexing, bandaged and exhausted from a sleepless night, sat at his table. He lit a cigarette, sipped an ice-cold beer, and stared at the naked girl on his sofa, lost in thought.
Last night, while BSAA and the Tyrant duked it out, a shell-shocked Li Yexing had slung the girl over his shoulder and trekked through the mountains, getting her back home as dawn broke.
The girl lay with her eyes closed, under 1.7 meters tall, with waist-length silver-white hair. Her face was like a finely carved doll's, her skin sickly pale and grimy, as if she hadn't seen light in ages.
Hard to believe that two security teams and two Tyrants were escorting this—a girl.
Li Yexing had imagined the cargo might be a virus or some monster, but a silver-haired beauty straight out of an otaku's wet dream? Never crossed his mind.
She was really cute.
He slapped his cheeks. What am I thinking? Single too long? His relationship with this girl was simple: he was the escort mission's guide, she was the client's cargo. That's it. …But damn, she was cute.
He swore it wasn't him—it was the upgraded Li Yexing's memories messing with his head, stirring up this restlessness.
Forcing his eyes off her, he decided to eat, then call Argall to get the client to pick up their "cargo."
In the kitchen, he whipped up a batch of egg fried rice, plated it, and dug in. Nothing beat his own cooking—well, except maybe his parents'.
Mid-bite, a chill crawled up his spine, like a predator had him in its sights. He knew that feeling. Freezing, he set down his spoon, raised his hands, stood slowly, then spun, drawing his Glock and aiming behind him.
There, in the kitchen doorway, stood the silver-haired girl, barefoot, draped in his grimy jacket. Her ruby-red eyes locked not on him—but on the pan of fried rice.
Moments later, Li Yexing leaned against the wall, watching her devour the entire pan like a leaf-stripping autumn wind.
"How's the fried rice?" he asked.
"Delicious," she replied coldly, licking her glossy lips.
"You've slept, you've eaten. So, what's your name?"
"Name…" A flicker of confusion crossed her blank face. "T-Lilith. That's what they call me."
"T-Lilith? What kind of naming convention is that?" Li Yexing studied her ethnically ambiguous face, pondered, then gave up. No clue.
"How much do you know about yourself?"