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*****
She scrambled to sit up, smoothing her ssy hair, her heart hamring against her ribs.
"I... I fell asleep," she stamred, her voice thick with sleep. "I'm so sorry, Atlas. I didn't an to burden you. You must be tired too, and I just..."
"Relax, Rebecca," Atlas chuckled, his voice low and soothing. "You needed the rest. And I didn't feel like sleeping."
He reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a package of sweet buns and a fresh bottle of water.
"Here," he said, offering them to her. "Breakfast. Or lunch, technically. You need the calories."
Rebecca looked at the food. Her stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl.
She looked at Atlas. He was clean. He slled of soap and fresh cotton, not blood and death.
He had gone out, found food, cleaned up, and co back to watch over her while she slept.
The feeling in her chest expanded, tight and sweet. It was gratitude, yes, but it was sothing else, too. It was the feeling of being cherished. In the midst of a biological apocalypse, this man—this terrifyingly powerful man—had taken the ti to make sure she had a sweet bun.
She didn't ask where he got the food or how cleaned it up. She didn't care.
She took the water bottle, but before she took the food, she leaned forward impulsively.
She pressed her lips to his cheek.
It was quick, soft, and innocent.
"Thank you," she whispered, pulling back, her face burning.
Atlas blinked, surprised by the gesture. He touched his cheek, then looked at her. He didn't mock her. He didn't make a joke. He just smiled—a genuine, warm smile that reached his grey eyes.
"You're welco, Rebecca," he said softly. "Now eat. We have a long walk ahead of us."
Rebecca nodded shyly, tearing open the package. She took a bite of the sweet bun. It tasted like heaven.
As she ate, Atlas reached out and resud petting her head, his fingers moving lightly through her short hair.
Rebecca stiffened for a split second, then lted. She didn't pull back. She leaned into his touch, chewing slowly, letting the simple, comforting rhythm of his hand soothe the last of her anxiety. It was a dostic scene carved out of a nightmare—a quiet mont of peace shared between them.
"How are the Captain and the others?" Rebecca asked quietly, looking at the forest floor. "I hope everyone is still alive."
"Enrico is tough," Atlas said, though he kept the grim truth to himself. "And your team is elite. If anyone can survive this, it's S.T.A.R.S."
'Except they won't,' he thought. 'Most of them are already dead. But you don't need to know that yet.'
By the ti they finished eating and packed their gear, the sun was beginning its descent. The sky turned a deep, bruised purple, casting long, stretching shadows across the Arklay Mountains.
They began to walk.
The air was cooling rapidly. The forest was beautiful in a haunting way, the silence broken only by the crunch of their boots on the gravel road.
They walked side by side, their arms brushing occasionally. The awkwardness was gone, replaced by a comfortable silence.
Atlas led the way, his mind working through the lore.
"This place looks really old," Rebecca said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looked at the villa's ominous construction.
Atlas nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied the architecture.
It looked oddly similar to the Spencer Mansion—the entrance to the Hive he had escaped from earlier—just much smaller. It was like a dark echo of the main facility.
Atlas's mind began to race, piecing together the fragnts of information he had gathered from the internet before, combining it with the ga lore he knew by heart.
1972, Atlas recalled the date. Or at least, that was his best guess.
Due to the desperate need to study the Progenitor Virus in secrecy, Oswell Spencer had hired the then-famous architect, George Trevor, to design and build not just one, but many of these facilities. The main Spencer Mansion, the Hive beneath Raccoon City, and various smaller labs accessible by the public that are scattered around the Arklay Mountains and the city itself.
All of them were built with the sa paranoid blueprint: complicated internal structures, nonsensical layouts, and nurous traps designed to keep intruders out and test subjects in.
Atlas looked at the towering trees surrounding the estate, imagining the history buried beneath the roots.
When the construction was finished, Spencer decided to tie up loose ends. To control Umbrella's secrets, he "thanked" Trevor for spending more than ten years designing and building his empire in this city. He specially invited Trevor's family to take a vacation at the estate.
It was a trap.
Later, after tricking Trevor's wife, Jessica, and his 15-year-old daughter, Lisa, who had arrived early, into a temporary underground laboratory beneath the mansion, Spencer's n imdiately implanted them with the Type A and Type B variants of the ancestral virus.
The two beca the first living experints. Jessica died screaming. Lisa... Lisa survived. She beca sothing else. Sothing immortal and tragic.
The architect who built these horrors and his family died in the sa horror they helped create.
'At least, that's the most logical tiline,' Atlas thought grimly. 'Information on the net was little, and combined with ga lore made this tiline ssy. But the pattern fits. Trevor built the cage, and Spencer threw him inside it.'
"Atlas?" Rebecca touched his arm, sensing his dark mood.
"Just thinking about the history," Atlas said, shaking off the thoughts. "This place feels like a tomb, Rebecca."
Spencer loved his trinkets.
He knew that the main Spencer Mansion—where Dr. White was currently operating—was miles away. But this villa? This was clearly another site, perhaps the residence Alpha Team had stumbled upon in this mashed-up tiline.
"This place..." Rebecca said, shivering slightly as the wind picked up. "It feels wrong. The birds aren't singing."
"Animals know when to leave," Atlas said. "The T-Virus has leaked into the ecosystem. The dogs, the crows, the snakes... everything here is part of the food chain now."
They rounded a bend in the road.
There it was.
The Villa lood out of the twilight. It was massive, a sprawling gothic nightmare of stone and dark windows. It sat isolated in the dense forest, a monunt to arrogance and wealth.
"We're here," Atlas said.
They approached the main gate. It was heavy iron, rusted but imposing.
"It looks really old," Rebecca whispered, looking up at the dark facade. "Like a haunted house from a movie."
"It's haunted, alright," Atlas muttered. "But not by ghosts."
They walked up the stone steps to the main thick steel double doors. Rebecca tried the handle.
Locked.
"It's sealed," she said, pushing against the wood. "It feels barred from the other side."
"Or locked with a key we don't have," Atlas noted.
He knew that Wesker had unlocked this door for Alpha Team—Jill, Barry, Chris, and Wesker himself—hours ago. They were likely already inside, scattered, fighting for their lives.
"We need another way in," Atlas said.
They circled the periter of the villa. The grounds were overgrown, choked with weeds and dead leaves.
On the east side of the building, near the dining room exterior, they found it.
A window. The glass was shattered, the shards lying on the grass outside.
"The glass was broken recently," Atlas observed, kneeling to check the debris.
"Soone broke in. Or broke out."
"Alpha Team?" Rebecca asked hopefully.
"Looks like it," Atlas nodded. "This is our entry point."
He cleared the remaining jagged glass from the fra with his gloved hand. He vaulted through effortlessly, landing on a carpeted floor. He turned and offered his hands to Rebecca.
She took them, and he lifted her through the window, setting her down gently.
They were inside.
The air was stagnant, slling of dust, old wax, and that faint, underlying scent of rot that perated everything Umbrella touched.
They were in a narrow service corridor, wallpapered in fading floral patterns. To their left and right, the hallway stretched into darkness.
"It's quiet," Rebecca whispered, drawing her pistol. "Too quiet."
"Don't let your guard down," Atlas warned. "We need to link up with your team."
He looked down the corridor.
"Rebecca, we cover more ground if we split up. Just for a sweep. Stay on the radio. If you see anything—and I an anything—you call imdiately. Do not engage alone."
Rebecca looked hesitant. She didn't want to leave his side. But she was a S.T.A.R.S. officer. She had a job to do.
"Okay," she nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'll check the east wing. You take the west."
"Be careful," Atlas said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
"You too."
They separated. Rebecca moved cautiously toward the dining room entrance. Atlas turned left, heading toward the tea room and the bar.
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