Wesker seized the moment, darted behind the forklift and shoved with all his might, while ordering Brandon to be taken down.
The elite marksmen immediately switched to fixed-point sniping; the high-kinetic rounds punched through Brandon's shell, one bullet even landing between his eyes.
Staggered by the pain, Brandon lost his grip and was pushed a hundred meters off the sky-deck by Wesker's forklift.
Dead or not, no one knew—but any normal monster would have been smashed to pulp.
Wesker hurried his men down the tower; it was about to collapse and the self-destruct countdown had already begun.
Below the tower, Eddie had already left with Ada and the others, not even glancing at the falling Brandon; alive or dead, once you became this kind of monster you were no longer human.
A monster this conspicuous wouldn't last long even if it survived.
Outside the harbor, the Simmons Family navy—answerable only to Simmons, bypassing the Senate—was waiting.
On the yacht, sea breeze in their hair, they clinked glasses of red wine with Ada and the others.
A deafening explosion rocked the island; Wesker fled in panic, a three-meter armored giant in hot pursuit.
The offshore battleship, after confirming Wesker's location, trained its main gun on him; a one-ton shell was loaded and ready.
Bang—Wesker showed astonishing agility, leaping clear three seconds before the shell arrived.
The car-sized shell slammed into the bony-armored monster, the blast and shock perfectly absorbed.
Hit by the battleship, Brandon stood motionless, half his body already blown away.
Wesker fared no better—his trench coat shredded, sunglasses gone. Thanks to the Progenitor Virus and Dominant species Plaga, his wounds healed fast and he was back on his feet, hurrying away.
Engines roared as Subordinate Plaga-controlled soldiers dragged Wesker into the car and they escaped the island together.
Chapter 593: The Price of Offending Capital
"Wesker saving someone? Hard to believe. Isn't he the guy who uses people and tosses them aside? Even an iron tree blossoms?" Eddie joked, swirling his wine glass as he watched the island.
Claire and Moira were grilling the caught fish, humming tunes like sisters.
"People adapt. Wesker's with Simmons now; if he doesn't play smart, he'll end up a Lab rat." Alexia slipped on White gloves and clinked glasses with her husband.
"I suspect they'll boost him with Plaga plus Progenitor Virus—tolerance skyrockets. Side effects? Sure, but you might turn into a monster." Eddie's brain crunched the numbers almost instantly.
Sometimes he deliberately throttled part of his brain; full-throttle mode was terrifyingly efficient—and just as costly. No need to go all-out unless necessary.
Wesker boarded the yacht, looking bedraggled. "Eddie, I'm here for the data."
Eddie lounged on the upper deck and tossed the memory card over. "Go report. Brandon's not that easy to kill."
Wesker stood at the harbor, watching the yacht leave, lost in thought over Eddie's words.
A Marine captain walked up. "Hand over the data, then clean the site."
Wesker was irritated—another glory-stealer. That was his sore spot.
Furious, Wesker grabbed the captain by the neck and lifted. "No one takes what's mine. I'll report to Simmons myself. Try anything and I'll snap your neck."
Bang—Wesker flung him aside like trash. Even broke, starving, jobless, he'd never swallow this humiliation.
Three days later, a secret crate escorted by the military reached the Western Federation, all the way to Tall Oaks for Lab study.
In a disposal zone, countless failed test bodies were being incinerated.
These were the innocent women Simmons had abducted to remake Ada Wang; because the experiments failed, they were discarded and disposed of.
From this alone you can see how obsessed Simmons was with Ada Wang—and how cruel his nature truly was.
A simp, after all, always ends up with nothing.
Locked inside the crate was the corpse of Brandon; a barrage of shells had torn into his chest. Even with the Plaga parasite and the T-Phobos Virus, it had done him no good—he was still dead.
He was being shipped back because Brandon had immense research value; his ability to rejuvenate proved his line of inquiry was correct.
Complete research data plus a perfect specimen would surely yield the next step toward extending human life.
It was all a trap Eddie had deliberately left behind. Follow this route and the Family could indeed prolong their lives—yet they would grow weaker and weaker until, at some moment, they simply dropped dead.
No matter how potent a virus, it cannot defy the heavens. Eddie had spent untold effort recruiting top-tier prodigies like Alex and Alexia before perfecting the virus step by step.
Scientists whose intellects aren't top-tier still dream of surpassing Her Majesty?
There's only one scenario where that could happen—inside a dream!
After returning to Goddess Island, Eddie rested a while, then set out again to secure the final ingredient.
At The Pentagon University, Deborah strolled down the street laughing with a few close friends. Ever since Eddie stood up for her, no one dared look down on her; everyone knew this beauty had a colossal power backing her.
So what if she was labeled a gold-digger? As long as life stayed comfortable, who cared about the color of the hat?
The blonde-haired college student suddenly appeared, startling Deborah; she whipped out her pistol and aimed it at him. "What do you want?"
Thud—White dropped to his knees in front of her, definitely not proposing; he didn't have the guts. He was begging for mercy. "Big sis, elder sister, please be magnanimous and spare my family. We're already pitiful—my mother's missing, my father's bankrupt, and we're tens of millions in debt. Please, let us off, I beg you."
Several of his former hangers-on ran over and knelt as well; they were terrified, now knowing the true meaning of ruin.
Deborah frowned. "You can go. I'll keep an eye on this matter."
White and the others thanked her profusely as she walked away. Over the past months they had lost every shred of dignity.
Crushing debt had shattered their families—mothers fled, fathers languished, every business collapsed.
All because they had followed the wrong person and offended the wrong one.
As an agent, Helena obviously knew all this yet did nothing to stop Eddie; she was furious these people had targeted her little sister. For Deborah's sake Helena would pay any price—including herself.
White's mother hadn't merely "gone missing"; she had been "escorted" elsewhere. When she next video-called home she was visibly pregnant, reassuring them she was safe.
To any man this is an unspeakable humiliation—no one could bear it calmly.
Eddie was on a plane holding a sample when Deborah rang. "Got it. You don't need to handle it. Oh, aren't you on break soon? Get ready; I'll take you girls on a trip."
At the mention of travel, Deborah instantly forgot her classmates' misery. She was kind, not spineless.
After hanging up, Deborah laid out the itinerary to her friends. None of them realized this would be their last gathering as single girls—by this day next year they'd likely be mothers.
In Eddie's hand was a plant found in the ancient jungles of Latin America, rich in a unique compound—the final ingredient Carla required.
With nothing else to do, Eddie leaned against an exhausted Rebecca and opened a webpage showing terrorist attacks across the globe. The incidents were no longer confined to the broad stretch between the Middle East and Eastern Europe; a calm before the storm seemed to hang in the air—someone was plotting something.