Marvel and Beyond

Max gritted his teeth, muscles tensing as he felt his control slipping. It was almost impossible to accept the harsh reality staring him down.

He yelled inwardly at the part of himself that hesitated:

'Don't do this! If I just swallow the guilt, step out, and close the door, whatever happens here will have nothing to do with me.'

'Rebecca? We're not even close. I only met her a few hours ago. Not even a full day passed.'

He tried hard to convince himself, grasping for excuses like a drowning man grabbing driftwood. But grounding himself in cold logic wasn't easy.

Inside his mind, two opposing forces waged war—rational detachment versus raw human compassion.

'Are you insane? Do you honestly think you can save her? You'll most likely die!'

'Do you want to die now?'

'Save her? How? You'll probably end up getting both her and yourself killed. Just walk away. This isn't your responsibility.'

'Sure, Rebecca will die, but she doesn't play a major role in the Resident Evil timeline for a while. Her death won't matter. You can deal with the guilt later by helping others. Save yourself now.'

'Remember your motto: don't be a hero!'

The thoughts of escape screamed louder and louder in his mind, overwhelming the flickering voice of morality. Fear and logic were in control—90% of him was already out the door.

But then he turned a last time… his eyes met Rebecca's.

Pleading. Desperate. A silent cry for help in her gaze.

And in that one moment, that 10%—that fragile flicker of compassion—swelled and exploded into something far stronger. 

It overwhelmed the cold calculations and buried them under a flood of emotion.

"Enough! Fuck it!"

Max stomped to the ground, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles popped. He shook off the tormenting voices like a wet dog shaking off rain.

"Death is the end," he growled. "But I'll be damned if I let guilt tear my soul apart for the rest of my life!"

How could humanity—a species that had survived numerous trials—lose itself to apathy here? 

Rationality was a survival trait, sure… but emotions? Emotions were what made humans human.

Taking a deep breath, Max let out a roar and slammed the door behind him, locking away the option to run.

'I'll try my best. The rest… is up to luck and your fate, Rebecca!'

He raised his rifle, muzzle aimed dead at the massive centipede monster's head.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots rang out, echoing through the chamber as he advanced. The harsh recoil bit into his shoulder, but Max didn't flinch. 

This time, he wasn't running. This time, he'd let fate be the judge.

Watching him return to the fray, Rebecca's tears flowed faster—but now they shimmered with gratitude and hope.

Max's focus narrowed to a razor's edge. Every thought except the fight vanished. Maybe he was pushing past human limits… or maybe it was the clarity of knowing this was it. 

If he failed here, he wouldn't get a second chance.

The monster lunged at him, its claws slashing with terrifying speed. But Max ducked, rolled, and dodged with a mixture of desperation, adrenaline, and luck. 

His shots found flesh again and again, forcing the creature to reel.

A lucky break revealed its soft underbelly. He switched to his grenade launcher, fumbling just slightly—he had no prior training—but still managed to aim with brutal instinct.

Boom!

The first shot missed but blasted a chunk of the wall, forcing the monster off balance. Max fired again. And again.

Boom! Boom!

The room quaked with each explosion, and even though his arms trembled from recoil and his shoulder burned, Max didn't stop. He wasn't just fighting for Rebecca's life anymore.

He was fighting for his soul.

The battle raged like a storm. For every second that passed, Max's muscles screamed louder, his breath grew shorter, and his vision blurred. But he endured. 

He had to endure.

When his legs finally buckled, he was ready to collapse.

But then… to his luck the monster faltered first.

Its claws spasmed. It tried to lunge once more—but the last grenade hit home.

Boom!

Its massive head exploded in a spray of ichor. The rest of its grotesque body slammed into the ground with a gut-churning thud, finally still.

Rebecca broke free from its now-loose restraints and leapt clear. The moment she hit the ground, she sprinted toward Max.

Max dropped to his knees, drenched in sweat and utterly drained, unable to move another step.

Rebecca threw herself at him, arms wrapping around him in a tight, trembling hug. Her tears soaked into his shirt as she whispered, "John… thank you. Thank you for saving me."

Max let out a weak chuckle, wrapping one arm around her as he panted heavily. 

"If you really want to thank me," he said with a smirk, "do it the traditional way—using your body. I heard that's how heroic men got rewarded in the past."

Rebecca burst into laughter, even through her sobs. She lightly punched his shoulder and scolded, "You just had to say something pervy now, didn't you?"

"What's wrong with being funny?" Max faked a dramatic swoon, collapsing to the ground like her tiny punches had KO'd him.

He lay there, catching his breath, and Rebecca followed, flopping down beside him. They stared at the ceiling in silence, the chaos around them momentarily forgotten.

After a long pause, Rebecca whispered, "But seriously… thank you."

Max smiled faintly, heart still hammering in his chest. 

'If I'd left… maybe she'd have come after me as a zombie,' he thought bitterly.

"If I walked away," he murmured, "you'd have haunted me."

Rebecca laughed again. "Oh, I definitely would've come after you if you'd left me here."

Their shared laughter cut through the lingering tension like sunlight after a storm. For the first time in what felt like hours, their bodies began to relax, slowly recovering from the ordeal.

As Max caught his breath, a small unease stirred in the back of his mind.

'Wait… in the game lore, didn't Wesker have some weird fixation on Rebecca? If that's true, would she really have died here?'

It puzzled him. Wesker never expressed romantic interest in Rebecca, but the infamous photo in his drawer? It had sparked endless speculation.

'Was she just a random asset? Or something more?'

Max sighed, pushing the thought aside. He doubted he'd ever meet Wesker face-to-face… and if he did, asking about his photo collection wouldn't exactly be high on the priority list.

For now, he was content with this moment of quiet. The danger had passed. The monster was dead. Rebecca was safe.

And that was enough—for now.

….

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