The weight of the Spencer Mansion never truly left Barry Burton. It settled deep in his bones, a chilling reminder of the moment he’d aimed his weapon at a friend, his family held hostage by Albert Wesker’s ambition. Guilt was a poor companion, but it was a powerful motivator. In the weeks that followed, the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members—Chris, Jill, Rebecca, and, in a timeline spared some of its cruelty, Enrico, Richard, and Forest—met in hushed, smoke-filled rooms, their unofficial investigation into Umbrella’s global network taking shape. The first casualty of this new war was Barry’s home life. He couldn’t risk another threat against Kathy, Moira, and Polly. With a heavy heart and a promise to return, he sent them to the quiet safety of Canada. The years that followed were a blur of shadows and monsters. When the T-Virus devoured Raccoon City, Barry was stateside but miles away, watching the city of his life burn on a flickering motel television. He drove through the night, a desperate, reckless dash to find Jill, but arrived only to the smoldering aftermath. The city was gone, sterilized by a government missile, and the world had finally woken up to the Umbrella threat. His expertise with Bio-Organic Weapons made him an immediate asset. He was recruited into a black-ops unit under US-STRATCOM, a ghost team tasked with hunting Umbrella’s remnants. It was there he met Leon S. Kennedy, Now, years later, that respect was the only thing that mattered. The call came at 0400 hours, shattering the pre-dawn quiet. An Umbrella splinter cell had a new B.O.W. prototype loose on the luxury ocean liner Starlight. Leon had been sent to contain it. He’d been dark for over twenty-four hours.

That was all Barry needed to hear. He made one call before gearing up. “Enrico,” he’d grunted into the phone, “I need a wingman.”

The helicopter dropped them onto the slick deck of the Starlight under the cloak of a moonless sky. The ship drifted listlessly on the black water, a steel mausoleum. The silence was the first sign of wrongness—a profound, oppressive quiet where the thrum of engines and the murmur of a thousand passengers should have been. There were no bodies. No passengers, no staff. Only the chilling evidence of their final moments. Barry tightened his grip on the silver-plated handle of his customized .44 Magnum, the familiar weight a small comfort. They moved deeper, their boots crunching on broken glass. In a narrow service corridor, they found their first contact. It was humanoid, with waxy, grey skin stretched taut over a malformed skeleton. It staggered toward them, a wet, gurgling hiss escaping its lipless mouth. Two thunderous cracks from Barry’s magnum echoed through the hall, and the creature collapsed in a heap. It was too easy, a hollow victory that only heightened the tension. This ship was hiding something far worse. Then they heard it—a raw, terrified sound that cut through the silence like a razor: a child’s scream. Adrenaline surged through Barry’s veins. He broke into a run, Enrico right behind him. They burst through a set of double doors into a lavish ballroom, its crystal chandeliers casting jagged shadows. A little girl, no older than his Polly, was sprinting barefoot across the polished floor. Hunting her was a towering, slate-grey monstrosity. Its arms were too long, its head featureless, but the true horror was the writhing cluster of bone-white tentacles whipping from its abdomen. Barry and Enrico opened fire in unison, the reports of a magnum and a shotgun blasting through the ballroom. The creature recoiled with a high-pitched shriek, its gelatinous body spasming.

,The girl stumbled, her eyes wide with a desperation that twisted Barry’s heart. He didn’t hesitate. He moved past Enrico, planting his feet and raising his magnum, placing his large frame squarely between the child and the monster. His voice was a low, steady anchor in the storm of chaos, the same tone he used for his own daughters’ nightmares.*

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”