Marvel and Beyond

Meanwhile, Max was deep in his own reverie. In Resident Evil, no matter what kind of monster you faced, there was always a simple answer—RPGs and bazookas. 

If that didn't work, you just shoot twice. Maybe three times. That was the law of the land.

This wasn't just game logic; it was gospel.

If only his space backpack had enough room for more weapons, he wouldn't have to worry about running out of ammo anytime soon. 

But it was what it was. 

He loaded up with everything he could carry, making sure Rebecca also had her fair share. Ammunition was heavy, but the reassurance it brought was heavier.

With their gear secured, they moved forward. Zombies and mutated spiders didn't stand a chance. 

Max led the way, charging ahead with guns blazing, leaving behind a path of scorched and shattered abominations.

They made their way through the laboratory and the dungeon beneath it until they arrived at what appeared to be a ruined chapel. 

Inside, mutated leeches squirmed across the floor, while shattered petri dishes and overturned lab equipment painted a clear picture of chaos. 

This had clearly been another one of Dr. James Marcus's playgrounds for twisted experimentation.

Max glanced around and gathered a few scattered research logs and documents. 

The logs revealed his grotesque fascination with the leeches, their mutations under the T-virus, their developing intelligence, even their disturbingly loyal attachment to Marcus, treating him like some twisted father figure.

"These scientists do all kinds of crazy things," Rebecca muttered, eyes scanning the room.

Max didn't reply, his attention drifting to the nearest exit.

They found a cable car not far ahead.

"Looks like we're heading to the final level next," Max murmured, eyes narrowing. His memory of the game's plot was still vivid. 

If this followed the usual script, an Eliminator would attack soon. Then, the Leech Queen would make her dramatic entrance.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the mutant ape appeared—The Eliminator. Its distorted muscles bulged as it let out a guttural screech and charged, fists pounding the floor.

Max barely blinked.

To him, this was old news. A nuisance, nothing more. Sure, Billy's situation had been the only curveball in this storyline, but everything else? Predictable. 

Creatures like this were textbook enemies. The solution was simple: overwhelming firepower and zero hesitation.

Without breaking a sweat, Max unloaded on the ape, riddling it with bullets until it collapsed in a twitching heap. No dramatic tension. No close call. Just a clean kill.

With the path clear, they boarded the cable car. Rebecca sat opposite him, her hands still gripping her weapon tightly.

The car rattled through the underground tracks before halting at their final destination—the core of the training facility. The underground lab.

Max stepped out first, rifle raised. Rebecca followed cautiously, scanning the shadows.

But before they could get far, a new threat emerged from the rubble. With heavy, stomping footsteps, a monstrous figure stepped into view.

A prototype Tyrant.

It towered over them, skin festering and grotesque, as though its body rejected the virus trying to shape it. 

Its heart and spine were exposed, glowing weak points that pulsed with every unnatural breath. 

Its right arm had mutated into a jagged, razor-sharp claw. But the virus had clearly ravaged its brain. The thing swayed slightly, unstable and twitching.

A killing machine held together by rotting flesh.

Max instinctively moved in front of Rebecca and raised his rifle. He didn't hesitate.

With precision honed from a thousand gaming hours and real-life bloodshed, he targeted the exposed heart and opened fire, each bullet slamming into the monster's weak spot.

The Tyrant never had a chance to show off.

As the creature staggered and fell, Max stepped forward, yanked the pin from a grenade, and casually stuffed it into the Tyrant's gaping maw.

"Go to hell."

He grabbed Rebecca's hand and leapt back just in time. 

With a loud, meaty explosion, the Tyrant's upper body was shredded into chunks, its limbs scattering like rag dolls across the ruined hallway.

Max smirked at the carnage. "Yeah, that's more like it."

When he used to play Resident Evil, the most frustrating part was how enemies like this never stayed dead. 

No matter how much you unloaded into them, they'd get back up, mutate again, and return for a second or third round. It was ridiculous.

So, Max had decided early on—to skip the script. Kill them the first time. Overkill was underrated.

After making sure the body stayed down, they pushed deeper into the facility. The lighting was dim, flickering. 

Countless skeletons were strewn across the floor—some bound, others broken. The air smelled like rot, metal, and death.

Max's smile faded.

Rebecca squeezed his hand tightly. He could feel her tremble, her breathing uneven. Her eyes darted nervously from wall to wall, flinching at every shadow.

He looked at her and offered a small, reassuring smile. "Let's keep going."

"Yeah," she nodded, voice barely audible. "Let's finish this."

The further they went, the more grotesque the environment became. The zombies were sparse now, almost as if they were avoiding something. Or being kept away.

Then they found it. Behind a heavy steel door was a room completely overtaken by leeches. They coated the walls, floor, and even the ceiling, writhing like a living carpet. 

Max felt nausea rise in his throat. His scalp tingled. Even Rebecca staggered back a step, covering her mouth.

"What the hell is this?" she whispered, voice shaky.

Before Max could answer, a voice echoed from above.

"Welcome. I'm glad both of you could join the party."

A man in white slowly descended from a second-floor walkway. His presence was ghostly, his youthful face far too calm for the setting.

"You are distinguished guests. Enjoy the feast to your heart's content," he said with a cold, emotionless smirk.

But then, as he walked, his face began to contort. Skin cracked, hair greyed, and before their eyes, he transformed into an older version of himself—Dr. James Marcus.

Max raised an eyebrow. "Oh boy, here comes the villain speech."

Sure enough, Marcus opened his mouth again, ready to launch into the typical monologue about revenge, betrayal, and world domination.

Max cut him off.

"Listen, man. Shut up."

Marcus paused. "What?"

"We've already pieced together your backstory from the logs. No need to bore us with the extended cut. You're mad at Umbrella, yada yada, the world will burn. Yeah, we get it. Just do your villain thing so we can end this and go home."

Marcus blinked. For a moment, he looked genuinely thrown off. As if this was the first time someone had denied him his scripted moment of grandeur.

'What the hell?! I haven't even started my speech yet! Who interrupts the villain's monologue?!' That's probably what he would have screamed if he wasn't still trying to look intimidating.

"FUCK!" Marcus snarled. His human form disintegrated in a frenzy of flesh and leeches. 

His voice boomed across the chamber. "I will have my revenge on Umbrella Corporation! The world will drown in my endless hatred! You will become ashes in the fire I unleash!"

Max smirked, stepping forward and chambering a fresh round in his rifle. "There it is."

Rebecca tightened her grip on her weapon beside him. There was fear in her eyes but also resolve.

The final boss had entered the stage.

….

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