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The second he crossed the threshold of the control room, Leon slammed the iron door shut, sealing the suffocating rot of the sewers back in the dark. He tore off the rubber hood, gasping for air that—while stale—didn't smell like a century of decay.
He fought his way out of the orange jumpsuit, the thick rubber peeling away from his sweat-slicked skin with a wet, sticky resistance. He felt like he'd been boiled alive. Tossing the reeking gear into a corner, he slumped toward the console, his muscles twitching with exhaustion.
He pulled the silver Wolf Medallion from his pocket. It was slick with dark blood and bits of crocodile gristle. He didn't bother cleaning it; he just jammed it into the waiting slot.
Click.
The console hummed to life, a series of red indicator lights flickering across the dashboard like waking eyes. Leon didn't hesitate. He slammed his palm onto the large red button labeled DRAINAGE.
A deep, subterranean vibration rattled the floor. Outside, the silence was replaced by the roar of massive pumps straining to move tons of water. It was a beautiful, industrial thunder.
Leon swayed over to a dusty cot in the corner and collapsed. He closed his eyes, intending to rest for only a second, but his mind immediately drifted to the flash of a red Qipao and a smile that had cut through the darkness of the armory.
Ada Wong. Where was she? What was the "important matter" that had her hunting through a dying city? The questions tangled together in his mind until the exhaustion finally won, dragging him down into a dreamless sleep.
Leon snapped awake as the roar of the pumps died down. He checked the console: DRAINAGE COMPLETE.
"Goodbye, spiders," he muttered, rubbing the grit from his eyes. "And good riddance to the bomb-eating crocodile."
He retraced his steps, heading back to the holding cells to retrieve Ben. But as he rounded the final corner, the ease vanished from his face.
The heavy iron gate to Ben's cell wasn't just open. It had been shredded. The bars were twisted like pipe cleaners, torn from the stone by a force that defied physics.
Ben Bertolucci was slumped on the floor outside the cell.
His white shirt was a sodden, crimson mess. His chest was heaving with a wet, ragged wheeze—the sound of a man breathing through a broken bellows.
"Ben!" Leon knelt beside him, horror rising in his throat. "What happened? Who did this?"
Ben struggled to lift his head, his eyes grey and unfocused. He didn't answer. With a trembling, blood-slicked hand, he pulled a stack of crumpled papers from his shirt and shoved them into Leon's chest.
"It's... all here," Ben gasped, dark red foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "Irons... the truth. The rest is on you."
"Don't talk like that!" Leon gripped his shoulders. "I have friends here—a doctor! Noah, he can fix this! Just hang on!"
Ben offered a weak, tragic smile. "Too late..."
His eyes drifted to the darkness of the corridor, and a final, pure terror filled them. "I didn't think... he'd find me here..."
"Who?" Leon pressed.
Ben didn't answer. His body suddenly arched in a violent convulsion. His chest began to bulge outward, the skin stretching taut as something inside wriggled and clawed against his ribs.
"AHHH—!!!"
The scream was a high-pitched, inhuman wail. Ben clawed at his own chest, his nails tearing furrows in his skin, but the internal pressure was unstoppable.
Pfft—!!!
Flesh and bone gave way with a sickening pop. A hole erupted in Ben's chest, and a pale, slimy creature the size of a marmot squeezed out. It had a long, scorpion-like tail and needle-thin claws. It hissed at Leon before scurrying into the shadows, dragging a bloody umbilical cord behind it.
Leon sat in the blood, frozen. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out from the dark. The creature was silenced instantly, its remains turning into a green smear on the far wall.
Ada Wong stepped into the light, her silver pistol still smoking. She looked at Ben's ruined body, and for the first time, her cool mask cracked. A flicker of genuine fury crossed her face.
"Damn it," she hissed. "One step too late."
Leon stood up slowly, his movements wooden. He handed her the blood-stained documents. "Ben gave me these. Is it... is it what you wanted?"
Ada took the papers, her slender fingers flipping through them with practiced speed. As she reached the final page, she shook her head and handed them back.
"Ben failed," she said. Her voice was cold again, but Leon could hear the hollow disappointment beneath it.
Leon scanned the pages. It was a paper trail of bribes and betrayals. William Birkin, the head of the underground lab, had been paying Chief Irons millions to bury the truth of the Mansion Incident. There were orders to assassinate the S.T.A.R.S. survivors. There were warnings about "infiltrators" coming to the city.
"Useless?" Leon asked, his voice rising with frustration. "This proves Irons is a monster! It proves Umbrella bought the city!"
Ada looked at him, a mocking, weary smirk playing on her lips.
"Rookie," she said softly. "You're still so naive. This proves a police chief took a bribe. It proves a corrupt man did corrupt things."
She looked into the darkness of the cell block.
"But the darkness beneath this city? The true scope of what they've built? This is just a drop of water in a black ocean. It changes nothing."
Leon looked at the papers in his hand, stained with the lifeblood of a man who died to deliver them. He looked at Ada, and then at the cooling corpse on the floor.
He realized then that the "Hell" they were standing in was only the surface. The real nightmare was far deeper, and much colder, than he had ever imagined.
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