Wesker lay on the ground. He didn't move again.
Ryan's gaze brushed past the body and locked onto the massive shape rising from the shattered cultivation tank.
This was it. Umbrella's magnum opus, years in the making, built on the t-Virus from the ground up: the T-002 Tyrant. Nearly three meters of virus-enhanced flesh, muscles grotesquely swollen beneath rough grey-black skin. No eyes. No nose. No face at all, only a mouth split wide to the ears and packed with rows of needle-fine fangs. It felt no pain. It knew no fear. Every scrap of higher function had been stripped away, leaving nothing but a killing directive and a regenerative capacity that shrugged off conventional ammunition. The only way to put it down was to concentrate fire on one spot: the viral core buried deep in its chest.
A suffocating pressure crashed over the laboratory like a physical weight.
Barry kept his voice low, each word deliberate. "This thing isn't like the others. Regular gunfire won't cut it."
Jill braced the shotgun tight against her shoulder, breathing steady. "I know. The sample and the self-destruct console are behind it. We punch through."
Rebecca had gone pale, but she set her jaw and spoke anyway. "Its chest is the weak point! Focus everything there or it won't go down!"
Richard slumped against the wall. The wound in his leg had robbed him of mobility; all he could do was press his back to the concrete and stay upright.
Ryan stood at the front, a pistol in each hand, and didn't give an inch.
A low, guttural roar shook dust from the walls.
The Tyrant charged. Its massive feet hammered the floor with each stride, the impacts booming through the lab like artillery.
Ryan fired first.
Four rounds ripped out in rapid succession, punching into the creature's torso. Fast, steady, no hesitation. He pushed forward into the gunfire instead of retreating, using sustained volume to blunt its momentum.
"I'll keep its attention! Jill, flank it!"
"On it!" She broke left and opened up with the shotgun.
The blast staggered the Tyrant for a heartbeat. Then it surged forward again, one enormous arm sweeping in a horizontal arc, the displaced air alone enough to knock a person off their feet.
Ryan twisted sideways. The claws whistled past his ribs. Before his boots had fully planted, the barrel was back up.
Four more rounds. No gap in the rhythm. He held the front line alone, dragging every ounce of the Tyrant's attention back to himself each time it tried to turn toward the others. Dense, unrelenting fire yanked its focus like a chain around its neck.
Richard watched him hold the monster single-handed, then looked down at his own useless leg. His teeth ground together. He reached behind his back and unslung the weapon strapped there.
"Take this! My assault shotgun. Hits a hell of a lot harder than a standard model. You need it more than I do."
Ryan didn't hesitate. He flipped one of his pistols around and pressed it into Richard's palm.
"Keep that. Watch your own back."
The swap took seconds. Ryan holstered the remaining pistol behind his hip, wrapped both hands around the assault shotgun, and locked in. Arms taut, weight dropped low, every muscle settling into the most stable firing stance his body could hold.
"Thanks."
"Forget about me. Kill that thing!" Richard snarled.
The Tyrant went berserk. It dropped low like a battering ram and barreled straight at Ryan, the floor trembling under each footfall.
"Look out!" Jill screamed.
Ryan's eyes hardened. His feet nailed themselves to the ground. Both hands brought the assault shotgun level, bore centered on the viral core in the Tyrant's chest. He squeezed the trigger.
The kick was enormous.
Recoil slammed up through the stock and into his shoulder and arms, jolting his entire frame back half a step. His hands went numb at the webbing between thumb and forefinger, both arms shuddering from the impact, the shock radiating clear through his shoulder blades.
And in that exact instant...
Ding.
A single, crystalline chime detonated inside his skull.
His pulse spiked.
Again.
No time to think. The Tyrant was already on top of him. Ryan clenched his jaw, steadied his wrists, brought the shotgun level again, lined up the torn wound in its chest, and pulled the trigger without flinching.
The shot roared out.
And Ryan froze.
The recoil... was almost nothing.
That savage, bone-rattling force that had nearly knocked him backward a second ago was gone, bled away to a fraction of itself. The stock barely shuddered. The weapon felt feather-light, like it had been swapped out for a different gun entirely.
Understanding hit him like a thunderbolt.
A new ability. Zero recoil.
The instant that knowledge clicked into place, something wild ignited behind his eyes. Every ounce of restraint burned away.
Without recoil dragging him down, the assault shotgun was finally, truly unleashed.
A low laugh escaped his throat. Both hands locked around the weapon, and instead of falling back, he stepped forward. Straight into the Tyrant's path.
Three blasts in rapid succession. One after another after another, fire pouring out in a relentless cascade.
The gun didn't move. He didn't move. Rooted to the spot like concrete, steady as a bench rest.
A weapon that had nearly thrown him off his feet now handled like a toy.
Shotgun slugs hammered the Tyrant's chest in a merciless barrage. Its massive body shuddered with each impact, staggering backward step by forced step. Pain bled into its howl for the first time.
"Now, Jill!" Ryan roared, fully unleashed.
She seized the opening and sprinted low toward the platform. "I'm grabbing the sample!"
One hand closed around the sealed container. She tucked it away in a single motion. "Got it!"
The laboratory's red alert exploded to life without warning.
Sirens screamed through every corner of the floor. The central console's screen strobed crimson.
SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED.
COUNTDOWN: 10 MINUTES.
Barry's face drained of color. "Wesker triggered it before he died! We need to move, now!"
The Tyrant lost what remained of its composure and threw itself forward in a blind, thrashing charge.
Ryan was wilder.
The assault shotgun came up level, both arms extended, feet planted like pillars. The barrel tracked the viral core and stayed there. Rounds poured out like he had an infinite belt feeding into the chamber.
Three more blasts. Three more. Three more.
Recoil was a memory. An afterthought. Nothing.
He fired as fast as he wanted, at whatever angle he wanted. His entire body had become a mobile, recoilless gun emplacement, pinning the Tyrant inside an unbroken wall of lead from start to finish. The creature couldn't close to within ten meters of his teammates.
"Get to the elevator! I've got the rear!"
He barked the order without looking back, voice edged with something that sounded less like fear and more like exhilaration.
Muzzle flash lit the underground laboratory in strobing white.
This time, he held nothing back.