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Deeper into the sewers, the darkness wasn't just an absence of light; it was a physical weight.
Leon's flashlight cut through the gloom, reflecting off slimy moss and rusted, weeping pipes. The stench of decay was thick here, a nauseating cocktail of industrial disinfectant and old blood. He pressed on for ten minutes until he reached a room bathed in the flickering yellow of emergency lamps.
The Control Room.
Leon shoved open the iron door. In the center of the cramped space sat a massive metal console, its gauges cracked and dead. But right in the middle were two smooth, circular indentations—palm-sized and expectant.
Leon poked one of the cold slots, a surge of absolute absurdity hitting him. "You've got to be kidding me," he hissed, his temples throbbing. "Is this a police station or a damn Pharaoh's tomb? Who designs a drainage system that requires jewelry to operate?"
He found a moisture-ruined logbook on a nearby table and flipped through the scrawled entries.
"...medallions are the only keys... gold eagle and silver wolf. Chief is a genius; who would've thought to use these as switches..."
Leon's eye twitched. An eagle and a wolf.
"...Jason from the Art Room swiped the Eagle Emblem. Thought it was pure gold. Now he's probably resting in peace... The silver Wolf Medallion fell into the main drainage ditch after a rookie got spooked by a spider. It's likely washed down to the Garbage Sedimentation Area at the bottom..."
Leon closed the log, dragging a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. One medallion was in the hands of a dead man in the morgue; the other was buried in a pile of literal trash.
"What a pair of 'fragrant' choices," he muttered.
He weighed the options. Digging through a mountain of sewage-soaked garbage sounded like a recipe for a new infection. The morgue was creepy, but the target was stationary. And besides, to get to the morgue, he had to go back through the parking lot.
Maybe Ada would still be there.
At the thought of the woman in red, the irritation drained out of him, replaced by a fresh surge of motivation. "Alright, eagle first. Let's go find the guy who wanted to strike it rich."
The disappointment hit him as soon as he reached the parking lot. Ada was gone.
The fear hit him a second later. The Tyrant was gone too.
The scorched crater in the wall was empty. Only a pool of thick, black blood and two heavy drag marks leading into the darkness remained. The monster had survived a van-impact and a gasoline explosion.
"Holy shit... please tell me that's an international joke," Leon whispered, his grip tightening on his shotgun. He didn't linger. He jogged through the lot and headed for the West Wing morgue.
The morgue was a freezer of death. The air smelled of formaldehyde and stagnant rot. Rows of stainless steel drawers gleamed under the pale lights. Leon began pulling them open.
Empty. Bloated corpse. Empty.
Finally, in the far corner, he found him. The "unlucky guy" in a police uniform. Tucked into his chest pocket was a gold medallion, the eagle's wings shimmering in the dim light.
Leon exhaled, reached into the drawer, and pinched the metal. The moment his fingers closed around the gold, the "unlucky guy's" eyes snapped open.
They were milky white and full of a dead, ancient hunger.
"Damn it!" Leon jerked back as a withered hand lunged for his throat. He snatched the medallion from the pocket just as the zombie tumbled out of the drawer.
But it wasn't alone.
Clang. Clang-clatter.
Around the room, the other drawers began to slide open. The residents of the morgue were checking out. Staggering, grey figures began to block the only exit. Leon backed away until his shoulders hit the cold wall. He was cornered.
Creeeeak—
The morgue door swung open from the outside. A mountain of green canvas filled the frame. The Tyrant.
Leon looked at the zombies closing in, then at the giant in the doorway, and felt like he was having a breakdown. "Oh, God... are you guys all on the same payroll? If you want the medallion that badly, just take it!"
The Tyrant didn't care about the medallion. It just saw three zombies in its way.
It raised a massive, metal-clad fist.
BAM!!!
The sound was like a sledgehammer hitting a melon. With one punch, the Tyrant flattened the three zombies blocking the door, turning them into a spray of dark mist and shredded meat.
The giant stepped over the remains, its eyes locked onto Leon.
Thud. Thud.
Leon's brain went into overdrive. He saw the path the Tyrant had just cleared. As the giant closed in, Leon suddenly dived to the side, sliding under a stainless steel autopsy table.
The Tyrant turned to follow, its movements ponderous and heavy. That was the window.
Leon lunged from under the table, sprinting for the door at top speed. As he crossed the threshold, he looked back and gave a frantic wave. "Thanks for the assist, pal! I'll put in a good word with your boss!"
He didn't wait for a response. He bolted through the station, using every shortcut and back-corridor he knew to lose the heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the giant behind him.
Finally, he made it back to the Control Room, his lungs burning. He slammed the Gold Eagle into the console slot.
Click.
"One down," Leon panted, looking at the empty silver slot next to it. "Now... let's see what kind of 'surprise' the wolf has for me."
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