— How does it taste? — I asked with interest, sitting up in a more official pose, as if I were sitting opposite a job candidate. However, if I strain my memory, she could be called a candidate who has already passed the interview.
It was three years ago, in 1995. At that time, I was actively hanging "life jackets" on promising ships, in case of unforeseen circumstances with the sinking Umbrella. Contacting the "Organization's" recruiters, I held a bidding war. I provided information about various specialists potentially useful to them, in return for information. All kinds of information, potentially related to viruses and everything I couldn't get my hands on myself.
Of course, there was a double bottom. Before "selling" data on candidates, I collected small dossiers on them to use in the future.
How would I have put it before the Spencer Mansion incident? I was expanding my spheres of influence to rule the whole world. And I did it well, selectively, when it came to experienced spies and saboteurs. This girl is one of them. I didn't even recognize her right away; she was in a coat, glasses, a scarf, and with a new hairstyle. And indeed, a lady is transformed if she changes her hairstyle. But if you look closely, the truth comes to the surface.
— No, — the Asian beauty cut me off, biting into another piece of disgusting food. The only plus of the breakfast was that the pizza had not had time to get moldy.
— You are surprisingly honest, — I barely smiled. — Starting our relationship with a lie is a terrible step on your part.
The smile widened when my interlocutor winced. It was useless to deny it. She is trained, has a beautiful appearance, and has specific reflexes that are barely perceptible to the human eye. A snake will always recognize a snake, no matter if they have met before.
— I don't see a single reason that could lead your vivid imagination astray, — she surprisingly laconically avoided the answer. Given her Asian appearance and the comparison to the steppe, I would even say she left in a Mongolian way.
— One day you will become more experienced, older, and you will understand everything, — I added, crossing my fingers in the gesture of an experienced lord. — So, what brought you to the city?
— The Bureau sent me. I'm investigating the disappearance of a journalist — Ben Bertolucci, — she said, as if she had memorized a poem, mentioning the owner of a worthy Italian surname. — The city is big, but maybe you've heard anything about him?
— Hmm, the Bureau, — I noted ironically, slightly changing my answer, adding more sarcasm, well-hidden and disguised as a serious tone. After all, I'm a gentleman. — Remind me, what did I introduce myself as? A plumber. Wandering through the city's sewers in search of a non-existent brother, I heard something. You know, rumors often wander through pipes, just like through non-existent FBI agencies. So, one of them concerned an interesting journalist who was digging up dirt on the corrupt police officers of Raccoon City.
— How suspicious, — the girl frowned, rubbing the bridge of her nose and beginning to think about something feminine. She was probably so fascinated by my appearance that she caught an inferiority complex. Or she wants to confess to the deception to remove the eternal suspicion from our relationship. I'm willing to bet the remains of Nemesis on the second one, and they would be worth tens of millions of dollars on the black market. — Let's say your suspicions are not unfounded. I propose we start with a clean slate. My name is Ada. Ada Wong. And I work for someone.
— I'm afraid you left me no choice, — I shook my head, spreading my hands. — I'll have to admit to a slight concealment of facts about myself. I'm not a plumber. Albert Wesker — temporarily unemployed. As you know, there's a zombie apocalypse going on, what kind of work is there?
Her right eyebrow arched at such a confession.
I see recognition. That's not good. Did the girl dig into the "Organization's" documents and find something about my name? Hmm, no, those paranoids don't store information just anywhere, otherwise I wouldn't be cooperating with them. That leaves Umbrella. Is Ada Wong a double agent or an honest undercover spy? It's impossible to give a precise answer right away. In the past, Wong often changed criminal groups; there is no loyalty in her, but there are talents.
— I see you're having fun, — she noted, washing down the pizza with my cola. If the glass was standing on the table untouched, it doesn't mean that the drink was for the lady. Fortunately, the magazines lying under the table, creatively hidden from sight, did not interest her. — And since we've figured everything out… Then maybe you'll tell me where to look for the reporter?
— In the Raccoon City Police Station. You should check the cells with the prisoners. If the poor guys weren't eaten, then the reporter is there, — I revealed all my cards. — The police chief is a paranoid; he immediately threw anyone who dug up dirt on him behind bars.
— Thanks for your frankness, — she thanked me with a slight distrust.
— As a sign of the value of my advice: information for information?
— I don't know anything useful, — a uninteresting and boring answer.
— A normal game: truth or lie. Do you work for Umbrella? — I kindly gave her a chance to improve our relationship.
— I was sent by… hmm, definitely not Umbrella, — she made the safest bet. — That's all I can say.
— That's enough, — I nodded, trying to dig up the necessary information from my memory. — My question was tactless, for which I can only apologize. But as a sign of reconciliation, I must say that it was better than the questions: "did you work for a Chinese-American criminal group," "did you run from the Federal Bureau of Investigation," and "did someone who did not introduce himself help you join a biological weapon corporation, Umbrella's main competitor."
— An interrogation? — Ada elegantly avoided the series of questions that hit a nerve; you can immediately see she's a professional. It's a pity that everything is in vain.
I helped her escape from the FBI in the past, gave her a tip to recruiters, hoping to make a profit when I grabbed a bigger piece in the "Organization." Unfortunately, the failure of the mission to collect information in the Spencer Mansion put me in an awkward position. Nevertheless, the "Organization" still used the resources I left for it. I wouldn't say that they were really strategically important. I practically forgot about the girl, as if she were a useless reagent on a distant shelf in the laboratory. But since fate has brought us face to face…
— A friendly conversation, — I shrugged. — An interrogation lacks a mean and a good cop. You see, I've been demoted — posthumously.
— But you're not dead, — she noted the obvious. — And since we're both alive, maybe we can help each other?
— Of course, — I easily agreed. — It's more fun for two to wander around the police station, run away from mutated rats in the sewers, and explore the secret NEST-1 complex.
Ada Wong is the most interesting girl in my memory. Having the ability to read people like an open book, I can only read "try harder" on her poker face. This is what it means when two people who can control their facial expressions meet. She won't react in any way, even if I admit that I have knowledge of the future. But, a future where Umbrella never existed. Anything can be here, even an ancient sect, or a hidden village of vampires. I have too little information about what surrounds us.
— Do you know me? — a correct question from Ada Wong. — You talk to me as if I'm an old acquaintance. And you know things that only a few people know.
— If I rounded up, I wouldn't give you more than twenty-four, just like everyone else born in 1974. What kind of old age are we talking about? — recalling her file with great effort, I was satisfied with her reaction. Wrinkles flashed across her cute face, which completely satisfied my ego.
I broke through the mask of imperturbability.
Divinely good.
— I see, — the spy thoughtfully finished her pizza and cola, getting up from the table. — If we find what we are looking for, and it is in a single copy, what will we do?
— Are you talking about Golgotha? — I threw the question right in her face, getting a dose of pleasure from the barely visible wrinkle on her face. — There should be several ampoules. We'll look for them, then we'll decide. In the worst case, I need a couple of drops; you can take the rest for yourself.
— How generous.
— Generous? Practical: I have a tense relationship with the government and Umbrella, and contact with my "good friends" has been lost. So I am temporarily conducting my own research aimed at destroying my former employer, — I shared insignificant information that anyone who wanted to could find out. — I really don't need more than a couple of drops of Golgotha. There's simply nowhere to put it.
— And what's stopping you from betraying me? — an interesting question from someone who can betray herself. The Organization reluctantly accepted her only after I vouched for her as a promising ally against Umbrella.
I received almost a "questionable thank you" for her, which is why I forgot about the minimal failure… Minor failures and small profits quickly disappear from memory. But what is not forgotten are major crashes. One of them is related to the Red Queen; she left me with nothing. No matter what, I must find and destroy her. She spoiled my perfect reputation, trampled on the feelings of a perfectionist. She must be destroyed, and everyone who had a hand in her creation.
— Your charm, — I complimented, getting to my feet and heading to the door.
— And I won't betray you because you'll try to kill me, get me from under the ground, and destroy me at any cost? — she understood who she was dealing with too well, as soon as I introduced myself. — I heard something about you.
As the captain of S.T.A.R.S. — I was a model of virtue, and the Organization does not store information about my evil deeds. It turns out that all that could have remained in Umbrella after my transfer were the scientists' records of the experiments I participated in. The process of breeding "Chimeras" from fertilized women alone is worth mentioning. One of the most disgusting projects that I criticized for the irrational waste of human resources. But the criticism puts me in a better light… Indeed, Ada didn't read, but heard, as she said. Something bad.
Where could disgusting, but, unfortunately, true rumors about me have been spread?
Adjusting my sunglasses, I quietly sighed to myself.
Arklay Laboratory.
— I'm glad we understand each other, — I nodded, opening the door and going outside. — Tell me sometime who in Arklay was so talkative… Although, after its destruction, the laboratory is either spoken of well, or not at all.
Ada tensed, as if her spying abilities had been run over by a steamroller. Knowledge and the ability to use it are probably my strongest points. Of course, after beauty and charm. And unlike narcissists who constantly shout about their qualities, I try to keep quiet about it. Why talk about the obvious? Hmm, unless it's to piss off Nemesis. Recalling how desperately he tried to catch up with me, he clearly had complexes.
Well, it's embarrassing to have this happen so early in the morning. Examining the street and roughly calculating the number of zombies that could prevent me from getting to the police station… I involuntarily wanted to go back to the pizzeria.
Dawn of the Dead.
— They're acting strange, — Ada commented, holding her pistol tighter and taking a comfortable stance for a timely escape in any direction. You can immediately see she's a reliable comrade, just like I'm the most reliable commander of the "Alpha" squad. Hmm, I sense a catch.
— The infected react badly to the ultraviolet light from the sun; by noon, many will hide in houses and alleys, and most will go to the station, — I noted with surprise the collective agreement of the creatures to migrate to dark places. They're good, but the five dead guys who ran at us are bad zombies.
Probably hunger drove them crazy, knocking off their instinctive dislike for the sun. Sunlight doesn't destroy their cells; it just causes a feeling similar to sharp pain. It's quite an irritant. True, we have little data on this; it's still unknown how the virus can mutate.