Series E, Eveline
"Do you hate your mother?" Stephanie exhaled a smoke ring. "Want one? It's fun—these are Herbal Cigarettes. Get used to them now; once we're in space you'll rarely get to smoke."
"Space?" Zoe was puzzled, as if she'd stumbled onto something huge.
"Exactly. We're about to travel into space—probably two or three years. We won't be back much; the world's too dangerous." Stephanie's eyes flickered; she still kept one secret locked away. Secrets belong in the heart—only those who know, know.
"Well… I don't really resent Mom. She has her own life, and I know she's happy. She sends us plenty of support. I just haven't accepted that she left. She's happy, right?" Zoe said uncertainly.
"Of course. She's quite keen on having babies." Stephanie burst into laughter at the memory.
Outside the RV, a few Fungus Beasts crept forward to attack, only to burst into flames mid-stride and die.
Beyond the farm, Eddie arrived with his wives for a little exploration.
Clearly the farm had been abandoned for a while; dust lay everywhere, footprints crisscrossed in disorder.
Someone had been here, but no one had tidied up.
The moment the door opened, a stench of decay rolled out—rotting food mixed with thick dust.
Ada closed her fist, plucking drifting mycelium from the air. "Someone thinks they can control us with mold?"
Ada's cold smile showed her mood. A dominant woman—taming her felt all the more victorious.
"They can't. The Nanosuit auto-absorbs mold for energy—ignore it. And smoke less here; it's not safe," Eddie reminded.
Addiction? That's scorn for the weak-willed. The truly resolute smoke when they want, abstain when they don't—no such thing as Craving.
The group moved on; suddenly a silhouette flashed past, hiding in the gloom.
Eddie flicked a finger; a Gravity Field yanked the figure out—just a four-legged Fungus Beast, eyeless, all fangs, shrieking to devour anything it saw.
With its appearance, every patch of mold in the house rapidly birthed new beasts of mycelium.
Unlike classic zombies, these Fungus Beast could spawn anywhere—no organs, no innards—shrinking or swelling, emerging where least expected.
Monsters appeared; the beauties' eyes lit up—finally, some fun.
Punches, kicks, fire, annihilation—every brutal trick played until the mindless Fungus Beast were reduced to less than ash.
Eddie checked the room. On the desk lay a book titled "Truth of the Abyss," a novel based on the Terragrigia Panic, written by BSAA director OBrien.
These days OBrien had long since been forced into retirement, staying home to write novels.
"Interesting—finding a novel here." Eddie chuckled.
He kept looking. On the sofa sat a newspaper dated two months ago.
His daughter Modesty, using her mother Alyssa's name, had published a story about the Baker Farm area turning into a haunted zone; even the investigating agents vanished. No one cared—authorities simply let it be.
The article ran, yet drew no response—public opinion had clearly been muzzled.
With Biochemistrycrisis looming, such silence usually meant the place had become an experimental site—how could nothing be happening?
Perhaps the Western Federation had too much on its plate and chose to ignore it.
Eddie studied the wall photos. One showed the Baker family of four, dated 1993, location: Arklay Mountains.
Back then the Arklays had been a decent tourist spot—not famous, but respectable.
After the virus leak, Raccoon City and the adjacent Arklay range turned into Forbidden Ghost-Lands overnight.
Even today rumors surface of monsters spotted in those mountains.
The entire Arklay range is sealed; cross the Cordon and you die—no one to blame but yourself, certainly not the insurance company.
Nothing else here merited exploration—just an ordinary Attic House where normal folk once lived.
"Find anything, honey?" Ada didn't mind flaunting affection; she used to call him by name, but after repeated "punishments" she wised up—she had no wish to rush into a second Pregnancy; carrying a child was agony.
Eddie shook his head. "Just old memories. Been deserted for ages; without the Filter the stench could drop a cow."
Pfft—the women all burst out laughing; being with their man was pure joy.
Soon, in a Basement, Sherry spotted a girl of about ten.
"Hey, you okay? What are you doing here? Wake up." After confirming safety, Sherry helped the girl up; clearly she'd been locked down here.
A typical white child—soft black hair, not blonde, wearing a dress, eyes vacant.
"You shouldn't be here. Get out, now. It's dangerous." The girl urged them, frantic.
"Hi, Eveline. Mia sent me to find you. Didn't expect to run into you here. Don't worry—I'll get you out; we'll be perfectly safe." Eddie stepped forward, smiling gently.
From birth Eveline had known only cold labs, endless tests. She had no idea who her parents were, scant education—still bewildered by the world.
"You're a nice big brother." After a long look she finally spoke, visibly moved.
Chapter 645: One-Punch Woman Ada
"I'm no saint. To my family I'm good; to my enemies I'm a thorough villain." Eddie grinned, unbothered by his own self-mockery.
Eveline stared, dazed, then said, "Big brother… can I be your family? I want to meet Sister Mia."
Sure. But first I need to sever a control link—someone's trying to use you." Eddie nodded.
"Then please—bitch!" Eveline's once-innocent face twisted into something hideous.
She wasn't acting; her E-Mold Power had been stolen by someone else.
Eveline could still control others, yet in turn could now be controlled.
Eddie produced a Serum, quelling the rampage, and jabbed the needle into her neck.
Thick violet Serum slowly entered her veins, calming her frenzy and severing outside control.
After the injection Eveline passed out; her savage snarl reverted to a peaceful little-girl smile.
"Carry her. When she wakes we'll ask a few things," Eddie told Sherry.
Only Sherry enjoyed helping; Ada would never play saint—bleeding-heart behavior was strictly forbidden.
The sole violator, Claire, had to endure Pregnancy as punishment; no one wanted to be saintly.
Outside the old house rain poured, thunder and lightning crashing. With no pavement, the farm paths turned to mud every stormy night.
Uncle Baker trudged up the muddy road—he'd come to carry out an arrest.