The corridor outside the triage room is a blur of gauze, blood, and whispered orders, but her eyes are fixed on the corners—the dark places where a lens could hide, where a red dot might wink alive and turn her into a problem to be solved. HUNK came alone. That wasn't mercy. That was a probe. A measuring stick. If he'd brought the Alpha Team, the base would already be scorched earth.
"Adrenaline crash," George says, reading the tremor in her hands. His voice is steady, surgeon-steady. "You burned through a lot. Sit. You're done being a hero for the next Few hour."
She doesn't argue. "Yes, doc." She lets a wobble into her knees and a wince into her face, the picture of post-fight exhaustion.
George guides her into a makeshift Medical room partitioned by two curtains and a dented metal cabinet. A single, flickering lamp buzzes overhead. "Fifteen minutes alone. Hydrate. If you see double, shout."
"Got it." She lowers herself onto the cot like she weighs a hundred kilos.
He studies her a heartbeat longer. "You did good out there. Don't make a habit of it." Then he's gone, the curtain sighing shut behind him.
Silence.
Her pulse is a distant drum. She waits. Counts to ten. Then to ten again. She slides off the cot and moves—slow, controlled—checking the ceiling corner, the base of the cabinet, under the sink. No camera, no wire. She presses her glove to the plaster wall and sends a whisper of qi through the surface—nothing reflects back that feels like a circuit.
"Okay," she breathes, barely audible. "Privacy."
A translucent blue pane blossoms in the air:
---
[MULTIVERSE GACHA SYSTEM ]
Spin : 8 Gacha Spin available
Point : 1,500 Point available
--
Her mouth is dry. After HUNK, the presence of the interface feels like a loaded gun pressed against her brainstem. If Umbrella ever sees this… She pushes the thought away.
"Four spins," she whispers. "Just four."
Confirm?
"Confirm."
The pane ripples like water.
---
SPIN #1…
Item: CANNED FOOD (ASSORTED) x 6
---
Azizah sags in a half-laugh, half-groan. "Great. I can defeat hunger."
The cans thunk into her inventory with a soft pop of displaced air, then clatter into reality. One rolls under the cabinet and pings against the wall. She freezes, listening—no footsteps. She exhales. "We are not doing that again."
This time, she does everything on the bed—knees tucked, back to the wall, the blanket pulled up like a barricade. If the system decides to drop another surprise, at least it won't hit the floor.
---
SPIN #2…
Item: 9mm SEMI-AUTO PISTOL (STANDARD) + 2 Magazines
---
She inspects it: clean lines, workable sights, factory trigger."Oh well. You'll 'just happen' to end up in a drawer,"she mutters, and slides it under the pillow, the irony not lost on her.
---
SPIN #3…
Item: HEALTH PACK (LEFT 4 DEAD VARIANT)
---
She bites her lip. The red cross and game-bright labeling scream not of this world. But her ribs ache in colors, and a bruise blooms beneath her right shoulder like spilled ink. Carefully, she tears the label off, shredding it into confetti. The bandage beneath is blessedly normal once naked of its packaging—sturdy wraps, antiseptic pads, a clean scent that whispers mint and hospitals-that-still-work.
She braces her back, cinches the wrap, inhales as fiery warmth spreads under the skin—like heat lamps and hot tea, pain seared into dull memory. The ache recedes. Her hands stop shaking.
"One more," she whispers. "Then I'm done. Please, let it be something useful—like GANTZ Weaponry or some OP skill . . ."
---
SPIN #4…
Item: LEON KENNEDY BODY PILLOW
Bonus: +10 Morale (Personal).
---
Her soul leaves her body for a second, floats near the ceiling, then slams back into her skull with a burning flush.
"No. No-no-no-no—" A full-length, very committed pillow slides into existence with his face doing that Leon's smirk was the exact one he used when pretending he wasn't scared and was little too proud.. It's tasteful—mercifully tasteful—but unmistakably Leon.
Azizah seizes it in horror and rams it beneath the cot like she's hiding contraband under a dorm bed. The duvet rucks up. She tugs it flat. She steps back, deadpan, listening for the laugh track the universe surely owes her.
"System," she hisses, "we are going to have a violent conversation."
---
Tip: A good night's sleep increases The Bonus by 32%.
---
"Shut up," she whispers, and drags the sheet a little lower, just in case the corner of a jawline decides to peek out and destroy her life.
She takes three slow breaths. The urge to spin again claws at her fingers. It would be so easy. Roll the dice until she hits something rare, something that actually breaks a stalemate. "But after HUNK? After that measured retreat?" she muttered, tension still coiled tight in her chest. The thought of wasting more spins on useless junk made her stomach twist. "No. Not now. I'll save the last four for emergencies."
He came alone. That means Birkin isn't the only prize. Maybe not even the main one. I don't know their exact Mission. My "meta" is messy here; I never played that spin-of game Because they got mixed reviews, so I steered clear. I can guess, but guessing is how people die.
"Azizah?" Leon's voice, stifled by the door. "George said you need a rest, but—uh—do you need anything else? Water? Food? A… pillow?"
"I have a pillow!" she croaked, mortified by the accuracy. "Thanks! Sleeping now!"
A beat. The hint of a laugh he didn't mean to let slip. "Right. Okay. I'll—uh—be out here. If you need."
His steps retreated. She waited for the ceiling to forgive her for starring too much until she fall Asleep.
Azizah woke before the others, the cot beneath her creaking as she sat up. Her system was silent for once, the blue glow dormant. The quiet felt wrong, but she'd take wrong over dead. Across the room, Leon dozed in a chair, head tilted back, pistol balanced across his lap. Jill was already awake, nursing a cup of instant coffee that looked like motor oil.
"Morning," Azizah said softly.
"Barely," Jill replied. Her voice was sandpaper and fatigue. "Scouts didn't report movement after 0400. Either they pulled back… or they're waiting."
"Umbrella doesn't wait," Azizah murmured. "They reload."
Jill gave a dry half-smile. "Then we move before they finish."
By the time the survivors gathered, the air was thick with the smell of canned food and gun oil. Marvin stood by the map table, the creases under his eyes deep enough to carry shadows. Carlos leaned on the far wall, arms crossed, every inch the soldier again — tired, but steel when it mattered.
"Status report," Jill said.
Marvin pointed to the map. "North sector's blocked. Fires took the overpass. East tunnels are unstable — no way to push vehicles through. That leaves us the west corridor, following the river toward the evacuation zone."
"Evacuation zone," Alyssa repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean the one that got napalmed last week?"
"Exactly that one," Marvin said. "But there's an old freight tunnel running parallel. The trains are gone, but the tracks might still lead us out."
Leon straightened. "What about the vaccine test?"
All eyes turned to Annette and George. The two had been quietly conferring near the medical area, where Ruiz — the officer who'd taken the first dose — sat alert and healthy, his color back to normal.
"It's working," George said simply. "But it's not stable. We need controlled conditions to refine it. Here, we're just gambling with lives."
Annette nodded reluctantly. "Until we're outside the city limits, the experiment's suspended. I won't risk the last samples."
Azizah folded her arms. "Then we treat the vaccine as cargo. Priority-one. Anyone carrying it doesn't fight."
"Agreed," Jill said. "We'll rotate guard duty on the transport."
Carlos looked around. "And what's our timetable?"
"Dawn plus one hour," Marvin replied. "We pack light, move fast, and pray the river's not crawling with the dead."
The next few hours blurred into motion. Azizah oversaw logistics — food rations from her secret stash quietly distributed under the guise of "lucky finds." Cindy checked medical packs. David and Kevin fortified the vehicles they'd scavenged: two old military trucks and a city bus stripped of seats, welded with steel mesh.
Alyssa recorded their inventory, voice steady despite the exhaustion. "Ammo down to 280 rounds mixed calibers. Fuel, sixty liters. Water, maybe two days' worth if we ration. And morale's… debatable."
"Morale's a luxury," Tyrell said from under a truck hood. "We're running on survival."
Sherry helped Claire load blankets and medical kits, her small hands careful but determined. "Is this really it?" she asked. "We're leaving the city?"
Claire crouched to meet her gaze. "We're leaving the worst of it, kiddo. The rest… we'll figure out."
Azizah passed them, her steps deliberate, her mind turning over logistics like chess pieces. Her system flickered alive just long enough to whisper across her vision:
---
[System Notification]
Mission: Operation Exodus
Objective: Evacuate all survivors beyond Raccoon City perimeter.
Bonus Objectives:
Maintain 80% survival rate.
Secure Vaccine Cargo.
Avoid HUNK Detection.
Reward: 200 Points + Unique Skill (Randomized).
---
She dismissed the pane and whispered under her breath, "No pressure."
by mid-morning, the group was lined up by the convoy. The air outside tasted metallic — burned concrete and stagnant water. Leon checked his weapon one last time, glancing at Azizah.
"You ever think about what's next?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I used to. Before all this. Now I just think about next steps."
"Yeah," Leon said quietly. "One step at a time."
Nearby, Ada stood beside a stack of crates, adjusting her gloves. "You're making quite the habit of impossible missions," she said to Azizah. "Evacuating an entire group under Umbrella surveillance isn't survival. It's rebellion."
Azizah smirked. "Maybe it's both."
Ada's eyes softened for the briefest moment. "Just make sure you live long enough to find out."
"Planning to help?"
Ada's lips curved in a small, cryptic smile. "I already have."
Before Azizah could press, Ada was gone—vanished into the ruins like smoke on the wind.
George secured the medical transport where Annette and Cindy prepared the vaccine cooler. He double-checked the temperature gauge. "Stable enough for twelve hours," he said. "After that, it starts to degrade."
Annette tightened her gloves. "Then we won't need thirteen."
Marvin climbed into the lead truck, map spread across his knees. "Azizah, Carlos — you're rear guard. Keep the convoy tight. If we lose radio, flash the flares."
"Copy that," Azizah said.
Jill swung into the passenger seat of the lead truck, looking over the crowd. "This is it, people. Once we're outside city limits, we reassess. But right now — eyes up, safeties off, and no heroics."
"Define heroics," Kevin muttered.
"Anything that gets you killed before lunch," Jill shot back.
Laughter rippled weakly through the group — the first real sound of life in days.
As engines rumbled to life, Azizah took one last look at the warehouse — their haven, their prison, their battlefield. The flickering lights, the patched walls, the echoes of arguments and laughter. Everything they'd built here would soon be gone.
She caught sight of Sherry peering out the window of the bus, hugging a small stuffed bear scavenged from somewhere. Claire waved, mouthing: We'll make it.
Azizah nodded back.
The drone rose above the convoy, its camera sweeping the streets ahead. Data streamed across her HUD: wind direction, temperature, movement patterns. So far, clear.
Carlos climbed into the seat beside her, tightening his gloves. "You ready, Supercop?"
Azizah raised an eyebrow at the nickname, a faint smirk tugging at her lips before she exhaled, her gauntlets humming softly. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Good," he said. "Because once we start rolling, there's no turning back."
The trucks lurched forward, tires grinding over broken asphalt. The convoy moved slowly, ghostlike, past burnt cars and ruined storefronts — the last remnants of a city devoured by its own creation.
To Be Continued . . .