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Leon hurriedly washed down the dry grit of the energy bar with a large swig of water. "I saw him," he said, his voice a bit raspy. "But the guy is a wreck. He's locked himself in a cell, convinced it's the only safe spot left in the city. He won't budge for a rookie cop."
Ada Wong nodded, her expression remaining a mask of cool indifference. "Vigilance is a survival trait for a contact. It's etched into their bones. He doesn't know you from the monsters outside."
"Then... aren't you going to talk to him?" Leon asked. He had a feeling that if Ada walked into that cell block, Ben Bertolucci would find his legs pretty fast.
Ada shook her head. "I have more important things to do."
"More important things?" Leon blurted out, before trying to soften the edge with a grin. "What, the Federal Bureau of Investigation is too busy saving the world for a jailbreak?"
Ada turned her head toward him. For the last hour, her eyes had been chips of ice—distant, professional, and sharp. But as she looked at him, the ice thawed.
The corners of her mouth curved into a slow, captivating arc. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting second, the coldness was replaced by a look that made Leon's heart skip three beats. She gave him a sweet, effortless smile that seemed to illuminate the entire rusted, grease-stained armory.
Leon froze. His brain hit a dead stop, leaving him staring like a kid at a magic show. The only thing he could hear was the frantic drum-line of his pulse in his ears.
Ada seemed either oblivious to the effect or entirely too used to it. She withdrew the smile as quickly as it had appeared, her face returning to its flat, unreadable state.
"It's not as grand as you make it sound," she said. "I'm just doing my job."
She popped the last piece of chocolate into her mouth, tilted her head back, and drained the rest of the water. Leon's eyes followed the line of her throat as she drank, feeling a heat in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire outside.
Ada stood up with a crisp, efficient snap. She placed the half-empty bottle on the ammo crate next to him. "Thanks for the treat. The chocolate was a nice touch."
She turned for the door.
"Wait!" Leon called out, snapping back to reality as the red of her dress flickered toward the exit. "How do I find you? How do we stay in touch?"
Ada didn't turn around. "We'll meet up at Ben's place later," she said, her voice drifting back through the doorway.
Leon watched her vanish into the dark, leaving behind a faint, floral fragrance that didn't belong in a police station. He looked down at the ammo crate. The bottle was still there, the condensation gleaming under the emergency light.
He reached for it, pulled back. Reached again, and finally gripped it. His face was a deep crimson. A few minutes later, Leon stepped out of the armory with a flush in his cheeks and a newfound, almost manic energy. He felt like he could take on the entire city. He was going to find that sewer entrance, find the way out, and he was going to make sure Ada Wong saw that this "rookie" could hold his own.
The walk back through the kennel was quiet, but the air was heavy. Leon noticed fresh zombie dog corpses littering the floor. Each one had a single, surgical bullet hole between the eyes. He picked up a warm 9mm casing from the floor, weighing it in his palm.
"Ada," he whispered. The woman was a ghost with a gun.
In the deepest corner of the kennel, he found the manhole cover Ben had described. It was a heavy, rusted disc of cast iron. He found a hook, heaved the cover aside, and recoiled as a wave of stagnant, rotting air hit his face.
He climbed down the slippery ladder into a narrow concrete vein of the city. Water wept from the walls, and the floor was slick with moss. Leon clicked on his tactical light, the beam cutting through the damp gloom.
He reached a corner and stopped. A sound—slimy, heavy, and rhythmic—was coming from the other side.
He killed his light and pressed his back against the wet wall, moving with the stealth of a gecko. He peeked around the bend.
A Licker—the "Hellish Bullfrog" Noah had described—was crouched in the center of the path. Its exposed brain pulsed in the dark, and its tongue lashed the air. But it wasn't alone. On the ceiling above it, two giant wolf-spiders the size of Dobermans were anchored to the concrete, their bristly legs twitching.
The sight made his stomach churn, but he saw the advantage. They were blind. They were waiting for a sound.
Leon withdrew. He looked around, his eyes landing on a discarded, empty paint bucket. He picked it up, took a breath, and hurled it with everything he had toward the far end of the corridor.
CLANG—CLATTER-CLATTER!
The noise exploded in the silence.
The Licker hissed, its brain throbbing as it launched itself like a red cannonball toward the sound. The spiders followed, a frantic scuttle-scuttle on the ceiling as they swarmed toward the noise.
Now!
Leon stepped out, his shotgun already at his shoulder. The three monsters were a tangled mess of limbs and muscle in the flickering light.
BOOM!
He pulled the trigger, the recoil slamming into his shoulder.
Clack-clack! He pumped the slide and fired again before the first echo had died.
BOOM!
The close-range buckshot was devastating. The Licker's body was shredded, its muscle tissue turning into a dark mist. The spiders were blasted from the ceiling, their carapaces shattering into a spray of yellow ichor and broken legs.
Leon held his aim until the twitching stopped. He stepped over the mangled remains and ducked into a side room: the Worker's Breakroom.
He hit the jackpot. Inside an unlocked locker, he found several boxes of 9mm ammo, a pack of shells, and two fragmentation grenades. He stuffed them into his vest, feeling the weight of his gear finally matching the weight of the night.
He stepped back out into the sewer, checking his map. The path to the underground facility was open.
"Coming for you, Ben," Leon muttered, heading deeper into the dark.
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