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Noah gently eased the lounge door shut, locking away the fragile peace he'd found for Claire and Sherry. He stood in the dim corridor for a long moment, his back pressed against the cold metal paneling. The air was a sterile cocktail of industrial disinfectant and low-temp coolant.
He closed his eyes, let his mind sift through the variables, and then pushed off the door. His footsteps were sharp, echoing like gunshots through the hollow hallway.
When he reached the circular console in the main hub, a figure emerged from the East Wing shadows. It was Leon, looking triumphant as he held a grey cylinder striped with yellow warning tape.
The main power fuse.
Leon hurried to the console, a grin breaking through the grime on his face. He lined up the unit with the empty slot and shoved it home.
Click.
The station let out a low, tectonic hum as electricity surged back into its dormant veins. The emergency lights died, plunging the Hive into a heartbeat of total darkness.
Then, the main grid kicked in.
Overhead light strips flickered to life in a rapid, blinding sequence. The white glare was relentless, stripping away the comfort of the shadows and exposing the inhuman scale of the facility. On the console, dead monitors bled into color, scrolling through data streams at a frantic pace. Power was back, but the sudden light only made the Hive feel colder—a massive, empty tomb built of glass and steel.
"We're in business!" Leon exhaled, turning to see Noah standing behind him. He startled for a second, then offered a tired high-five.
The slap of palms was the only human sound in the room.
"How's Sherry?" Leon asked, his expression sober again.
"Stable. Her temperature is dropping," Noah said. "Claire's watching over her. I came out to check on Ada and... well, I have a favor to ask her."
"A favor?" Leon raised an eyebrow.
"She's FBI," Noah said, watching Leon's reaction. "If she has access to federal channels, she might be able to find out where Claire's brother ended up. We need to know if Chris is still on the board."
"Chris Redfield..." Leon pondered the name. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, the FBI would have the S.T.A.R.S. dossiers. Makes sense."
Leon's brow furrowed, a look of internal conflict crossing his face. "But Noah... I don't know. I get the feeling she's playing a different game. Sometimes the way she looks at me... it's like she's seeing a ghost. I can't put my finger on it."
A cop's intuition was hard to ignore, but the memory of her bleeding out in his arms made it impossible for Leon to see her as the enemy.
Noah gave Leon's shoulder a firm, grounding pat. "Don't overthink it, Leon. In a place like this, everyone's got baggage. Right now, our interests overlap. That's enough." He paused. "You coming?"
Leon shook his head, his gaze fixing on the now-active monitors. "No. I need to secure that G-Virus sample. The sooner we have it, the sooner we can get the hell out of here."
Noah nodded. "Stay sharp."
Leon didn't look back as he began navigating the terminal. "Back to work, Kennedy..."
Noah found Ada near the entrance to the Security Room. She was leaning against the wall, dragging her bandaged leg with a grimace. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her face was a ghostly shade of pale.
"Usually, when someone's been sliced open, they have the common sense to stay in bed," Noah said, his voice echoing through the quiet hall.
Ada stiffened, her hand moving toward her holster before she recognized him. She leaned back against the wall, trying to mask her pain with a sharp, guarded smirk. "I'm not a fan of being helpless. I need ammo more than I need a nap."
Noah didn't argue. He stepped in and took her arm, draping it over his shoulder to take her weight. Ada went rigid for a second—a reflex for someone who didn't like being touched—but she didn't pull away.
He helped her into the Security Room and eased her into a chair. He crouched down, inspecting the bandage. The bleeding had stopped.
"The herbal poultice seems to be holding," Noah noted. "How's the pain?"
Ada watched him, a strange, unreadable glint in her eyes. She offered a radiant, lethal smile—a rose blooming in a meat locker. "You've got a real talent, Doctor. I feel almost human."
Noah looked up, his expression unruffled. He stood slowly, his voice dropping into a professional chill. "Good. Now let's talk business."
Ada tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leaning forward with a calculated, provocative tilt. "Business? What kind of business does a man like you want with a girl like me?"
Noah ignored the charm. He stretched his neck, his gaze fixed on her. "Let's talk about your employer."
The air in the room turned to ice.
The flirtation vanished from Ada's face as if it had never existed. Her pupils narrowed. A cold, predatory instinct flared in her eyes, gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a practiced, dismissive laugh.
"Wesker?" she said lightly. "What, looking for a job? The pay is great, but the health plan is a nightmare. I could put in a word."
Noah shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. "No. I've got no interest in a guy who wears sunglasses indoors just to look edgy." He paused, his voice turning low and precise. "I'm interested in... Mr. T."
Ada's heart skipped a beat. Mr. T. The name was a black-site secret, a shadow even within the corporate architecture of Umbrella. To hear it from a stranger in a ruined lab felt like a physical strike.
She didn't hesitate. She drew her 9mm with lightning speed, the barrel leveled directly between Noah's eyes. Her expression was ferociously sharp, the aura of a professional killer filling the cramped room.
"Who are you?" she hissed. Her voice was a whetted blade.
Noah didn't move. He didn't even blink. He waved a hand toward the gun as if it were a minor annoyance.
"Relax, Ada. If I wanted you dead, I could have let you bleed out on the train. I'm looking for a partnership."
"I don't partner with ghosts," she snapped, her grip rock-steady. "Give me a reason not to—"
Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
A rapid, electronic chirp cut through the tension. It was coming from a small, high-tech communicator disguised as a lipstick case on Ada's belt. In the dead silence of the Security Room, the noise sounded like a siren.
Noah gestured toward her waist with a dry smirk. "I think your boss is calling. You might want to get that."
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