The stench of decay hung thick over Lanshiang's commercial district—rotting flesh mixed with burnt plastic and whatever the hell those C-Virus mutations left behind when they finally stopped twitching. Chris kept his rifle up, scanning rooftops through the acrid smoke still drifting between gutted storefronts.

Three blocks. Neo-Umbrella's transport was three blocks ahead before we lost visual.

"Piers, left flank," Chris ordered, voice clipped. His lieutenant moved without hesitation, boots crunching over shattered glass and spent casings. Good. The kid was learning to trust his instincts instead of waiting for the nightmare to make sense first.

A Chinese military transport rumbled past, loaded with shell-shocked civilians. Chris caught a woman's hollow stare through the canvas—she'd seen something. He forced his attention forward, can't save everyone if you're dead.

The tactical display showed two heat signatures disappearing into the subway entrance ahead. Of course. As if fighting bioweapons in tight spaces with limited sight lines is exactly how I wanted to spend my fucking weekend.

Chris signaled Piers to hold position at the entrance, then keyed his comm. "Alpha Team, we've got possible hostile movement in the metro station, northeast entrance. Converging now."

Movement flickered in his peripheral—someone emerging from the subway's darkened maw. Chris's finger found the trigger guard, weapon trained center mass.