The air in the alley was thick with the stench of decay, mixed with the echo of guttural groans that reverberated between the broken buildings. Cassian emerged from a dark portal, the hum of it fading behind him. His boots touched the cracked asphalt, and before he could orient himself, a horde of zombies lunged at him from the shadows, their deformed faces and trembling hands reaching out.
Without hesitation, Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, activating his blood at will—a skill he had perfected over the past two months of training, not just to open portals but to enhance his body. His eyes glowed golden for a second, and a surge of strength and reflexes coursed through his muscles. He unsheathed his dagger, the metal gleaming under the flickering light of a streetlamp, and threw himself into the fight.
The first zombie fell with a clean slash, the blade cutting through its neck as if it were paper, the head rolling across the ground. Another tried to bite him, but Cassian pivoted on his heel, dodging with almost inhuman precision, and drove the dagger into its skull, the body collapsing instantly. A third attacked from behind, but he spun, launching a high kick that shattered the infected's jaw, sending it crashing into a wall. Every movement was a brutal dance, his strikes combining lethal speed and martial control, the result of years of training and the power of his blood. In less than a minute, the alley was silent, bodies scattered around him, and Cassian took a deep breath, wiping the dagger on his jacket.
This world smelled of death and chaos, a place where survival was the only thing that mattered. He decided to explore, searching for clues about where he was. The streets of Raccoon City were a labyrinth of overturned cars, shattered glass, and dried blood. As he moved forward, the sound of falling cans alerted him. Inside a broken store, two figures rummaged through shelves: a woman with a camera hanging from her neck and another with a gun in hand, both tense.
A zombie emerged from the rubble, growling toward them. Cassian acted without thinking, activating his blood again, his golden eyes flashing. He ran, leaping over a counter, and plunged the dagger into the back of the infected's neck before it could touch the woman with the camera. The body fell, and Cassian straightened, calmly cleaning the blade.
"Who the hell are you?" the other woman demanded, pointing her gun at him. Her voice was firm, her eyes narrowed, assessing him. She wore practical, fitted clothing and carried an air of authority.
"Someone who isn't with them," Cassian replied, gesturing to the corpse. He kept his hands visible, his tone neutral, but didn't lower his guard.
"That doesn't answer anything," she shot back, not lowering her weapon. "Give me a name. Now."
"Cassian," he said, curtly. "And you are…"
"Jill Valentine," she answered, still distrustful. "S.T.A.R.S. Or what's left of them."
The woman with the camera stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly. She was slender, with her hair tied back and an expression of contained anxiety. "I'm Terri Morales," she said, her voice softer but nervous. "I worked for Raccoon 7. Or I did, before everything went to hell. How did you do that? That move was… fast."
"Practice," Cassian replied, shrugging. He didn't want to give details, not yet. Two months of training his blood had taught him control—not just to open portals but to move like a living weapon. But this wasn't the time to explain it.
"Practice, sure," Jill muttered, sarcastic. "No one is that fast from 'practice.' Where are you from? Umbrella? Military?"
"I'm not from Umbrella," Cassian said firmly, though he didn't know what Umbrella meant. "And I'm not military. Just a survivor, like you."
Terri adjusted her camera, her fingers fidgeting. "I don't know who you are, but you saved our skins. That counts. Although…" She glanced at the zombie's corpse. "I'm not sure I want to know how you do it."
A distant roar interrupted them, followed by clumsy footsteps. More zombies. Jill cursed under her breath. "No time for chit-chat. Follow us or stay here, but don't get in the way."
"I'll follow," Cassian said, sheathing his dagger. There was no point staying alone in an unknown place.
They slipped through the rubble, crouched low, heading toward an abandoned building across the street. Inside, they barricaded themselves behind an overturned counter, the sound of the horde approaching. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the nervous clicks of Terri adjusting her camera.
"So, Cassian," Jill began, her voice low but sharp, "if you're not from Umbrella, how did you end up in this hell? No one shows up out of nowhere fighting like you without a story."
"There's not much to tell," he replied, looking through a broken window. "I was somewhere, now I'm here. The only thing that matters is staying alive."
"That's a shitty answer," Jill said, crossing her arms. "Look, I don't trust strangers who dodge questions. If you're going to be with us, I need to know who I'm dealing with."
"And I want to know why a journalist is filming in the middle of this," Cassian countered, nodding at Terri's camera. "Doesn't seem like the best time for a report."
Terri flushed but lifted her chin. "It's not just a report," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "This is my ticket back. I got demoted at Raccoon 7 for a mistake, you know? They said I made up a story about corruption. But this…" She gripped her camera. "This is real. If I film what's happening, if I show the world what Umbrella did, I can get my career back. Maybe even win a damn Emmy."
Cassian looked at her, impressed by her determination, though he noticed the tremor in her hands. "That's ambitious," he said, with a slight gesture of respect. "Risking yourself like that for footage… not many would do it."
"It's not just for me," Terri added, softer. "People deserve to know. If I don't record it, who will?"
"She has a point," Cassian said, turning to Jill. "And you, what are you looking for? To get out of here or something more?"
Jill pressed her lips together. "To get out, of course. But also answers. Umbrella is behind this, and I'm not leaving until I know how to stop it. And you? What do you want, Cassian?"
"To survive," he replied simply. "And if I can help, I will. But don't ask for a biography. I'm not one to share my life."
"Great," Jill muttered, exasperated. "A mysterious guy with a dagger. Just what I needed."
Terri let out a nervous laugh. "At least he knows how to fight. That's more than I can say. I've never fired a gun in my life."
"That can change," Cassian said, looking at her. "If you want to keep filming, you'll have to learn to cover yourself."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Terri admitted, clutching her camera. "But… thanks for earlier. I don't know how you do it, but I'm glad you're here."
The sound of the horde faded, and Jill stood up. "There are rumors of a shelter at the cathedral," she said. "It's our best option for now. Are you coming or what?"
"I'm coming," Cassian affirmed, adjusting his jacket.
The journey was tense, the streets filled with shadows and debris. Cassian led the way, his senses alert. Suddenly, a licker dropped from a rooftop, its claws swiping at the air toward Terri. Cassian activated his blood and spun in the air, delivering a spinning kick that slammed the creature against a car. Before it could recover, he drove the dagger into its head, the body collapsing with a gurgle.
"Shit," Terri gasped, stepping back. "That was… thanks." Her voice was restrained, grateful but not exaggerated, though her eyes lingered on Cassian a second longer.
"Stay close," he said, wiping the dagger. Jill watched him, her distrust intact but softened by his actions.
They reached the cathedral at dusk, its shattered stained-glass windows reflecting a gray sky. Cassian paused at the entrance, gazing at the ruined city. Buildings burned in the distance, and distant screams filled the air. This world was on the brink of collapse, and he felt it in his bones. Surviving here wouldn't just be about fighting; it would be about enduring until nothing was left.