A running champion only fears a shooting champion, and zombies can't shoot, so we have nothing to worry about. That's what it seemed like at first glance. After hacking the fuse box and opening the grated doors to the reception room, we found a dark-skinned poor fellow. Someone shot Marvin in the head before he turned into a zombie. The bullet hit him right in the eye; death was instantaneous, the victim didn't have time to defend himself. From this follows a simple conclusion: the butler is to blame for everything. The killer is found, the case is solved. But seriously, Marvin ran into Nikolai when he was bringing his part of the deal and was about to hide it behind the reception desk. They met at the wrong time and in the wrong place.
— It's not safe in the police station, or someone ended his suffering, — Ada suggested, examining the corpse. — The wound is from a mutated creature… He was infected.
— What are you getting at? — Jan asked with concern.
— Be careful, — the spy warned. — If there are survivors wandering around the police station, they will shoot at any source of noise, suspect anyone, or…
— They've gone crazy, — I finished her thought with a smirk. — I need to contact an acquaintance wandering in another part of the city. He is a humble person. Not a fan of background noise, you understand.
A little earlier, I had found a note with a radio frequency and a compact hard drive, put them in my pocket, and made sure they weren't sticking out. Then I climbed back over the reception desk.
Taking out the radio and tuning it to the right frequency, I moved away from the curious girls. I walked away without much enthusiasm, as if I myself didn't want to hide anything from the girls. Yes, absolutely nothing; my secrets are much more numerous than the infected in the city. And there are not enough skeletons for even the largest closet in the world.
— What numerous interferences, — I smirked into the radio, hinting at the lack of privacy. I hope Nikolai hasn't forgotten all the mercenary ciphers in his pursuit of profit.
— Yeah, damn it! — Nikolai's excited voice came from the radio. — I saw you, you and those bitches. Thanks for the gift, heh-heh, what a surprise. Oh, yeah, you've already received my present, since you contacted me.
— I advise you to leave the city as soon as possible, — I politely suggested. — We'll meet in three days at AJ-City to exchange contact information.
AJ-City is Jefferson City Airport. Only Umbrella mercenaries call it that. This is extremely classified information that the spies should not have gotten to yet, but it cannot be completely denied.
— Later, everything later. I'm still a little…
— You have a connection with the "decision-making center," — I nodded, but did not ask him to share information about the tactical strike on Raccoon City. There's no point in that. Nikolai will betray me in any case; my existence is extremely unprofitable for him. A couple of advantages from our cooperation are not worth a gun to the temple. But, there's no arguing, he will find out about the nuclear bomb before anyone else, since he is a mole, and moles need to be pulled out from under the ground. — I understand, in that case, you will take care of yourself.
— Well, well, and since you didn't really heat me up with shitty information… Did you know what the fat man is doing? It's just a rumor, but he's holding a little girl hostage, and he's fucking the big-assed blonde so much that the female moans are cracking the glass on the next street, — he said in his usual manner.
If I think about it, and take into account our location and my suspicions… I remember from the conversations of drunks that the mayor sent his daughter to the police station; she's a blonde. A little girl as a hostage… It must be someone important, the daughter of someone from Umbrella. Irons would only hold and protect the daughter of the biggest shot in this city — Birkin — the police chief's main sponsor. I didn't expect my friend's daughter to fall into the hands of the police chief. He didn't have a mania for little girls, but Nikolai's comment about the blonde made me furrow my brows.
— What interesting observations, — I mused thoughtfully. — Your assumption is not without meaning. Good luck on the road.
I turned off the radio, turning to the two suspicious individuals who had approached me, as if to say, "we didn't hear the conversation from here." There is nothing surprising in female curiosity, and to show my loyalty to the ladies, I should tell them the overheard information.
— My not-so-cultured companion in misfortune, — I walked confidently towards my companions. — Concluded an information exchange deal with me. And, possibly, gave a tip to an important witness.
— To whom? — Jan asked sharply, forgetting her manners.
— If you don't see it, you won't know, — I referred to the lack of information. — The information is not from the most reliable person. It should be checked.
— Then we'll split up, — Ada suggested. — Will you go to the police chief?
I frowned; she understood everything too quickly.
— And you go to the reporter, — I nodded, hiding my hands and looking at the other girl. — Jan, you'd better go with your new friend. We don't have access keys to the prison cells; it's difficult to look for them throughout the police station, but your skills can compensate for many of the difficulties on the way to our goal.
— Hmm, doesn't splitting up usually end in… something bad? — she asked rationally.
— Not always. Ordinary zombies don't pose a serious danger to two survivors in extreme conditions — especially with your weapons, — I complimented them, fleetingly pointing at them with my palm. — They're not going to drop a Tyrant on the police station, are they? Seriously.
— Let's go, — Ada didn't argue, understanding that I had serious reasons for the complete split. She and Jan headed into the depths of the police station. In turn, I just walked out the main door of the department, finding myself in the courtyard, which was reasonable. What am I going to do in the police station? Just wander aimlessly.
Irons is not a fool; he's definitely holed up in his office, which can only be reached by elevator. It's a complex device; it can be locked. And after a lot of effort, all you can get is the emptiness of disappointment.
— Zombie, zombie, zombie, — I sang along while walking to the right part of the building, getting more and more into the local atmosphere. — What's in your head, what's in your head? Zombie, zombie, zombie.
Hmm-hmm, I should work on my vocals. I didn't do that before; I mostly listened to music on a player that was left in a completely different time. Unfortunately, humanity has not yet invented many useful technologies, but…
Wait a minute, this is a mountain of opportunities. By comparing the difference between the present and the future, and looking for common development paths, I will be able to seize half of the financial market by investing capital. Everything that is in its infancy will soon belong to me. A multitude of technologies, foresight of financial crises, falling stock markets… A mountain of opportunities to take over the world faster, multiply capital, and expand my sphere of influence to all countries.
How invigorating it is to have the opportunity to take over the world faster!
There's no evil without good and no snag without a hitch. I will use every bit of information I receive, which will make me equal to an all-seeing and all-consuming god. Even if it's only for twenty years, but that period is enough to establish my authority. The predictions are only spoiled by Umbrella and a bunch of other organizations, but this will not have a big impact on the overall vector of human development. On my path to domination.
— This is it, — I stopped, having reached the backyard. Now I'll step back and run, using the speed and strength from the virus to the maximum. This allows me to quickly climb vertical surfaces, grabbing onto any protrusions to speed up the climb. In a matter of seconds, I reached the upper window leading to the corridor in front of the police chief's office. The windows on the upper floors were not boarded up, as they thought that zombies don't fly.
And without slowing down, I sped up and with a powerful lunge with my hand, I knocked out the door to my former boss. Unexpected… The mayor's daughter's corpse was lying on his table; she had a stab wound near her heart.
Taking a sniff, I grimaced in disgust, feeling the stale smell. The conclusion: a typical rape followed by murder. Boring and trite. On this matter, there is only one conclusion: someone is not all there. To be honest, Chief Irons doesn't even have a home. The zombies have privatized everything. A dead communist uprising.
— Damn it! — the chief shouted in fright, almost screaming, and pointed a shotgun at me. A dangerous weapon that not every bulletproof vest can protect against. But, unfortunately for Chief Irons, a pistol I had taken from Umbrella mercenaries was in my hand. Quickly aiming at his shoulder, I fired. Right before his return shot, which allowed me to knock his aim off; the buckshot flew into the wall to my left.
And since he lost, I can end his life in the style of a good cop.
How was it? Crime and Punishment.
— Brian Irons, — I said slowly and ominously, continuing to hold him at gunpoint. The man grimaced in pain; his hands let go of the weapon because he was pressing on the wound on his right shoulder with his left hand. Completely disarmed, completely in my power, in the hangman's court. He's sitting in a chair in front of his desk, bleeding. — What a surprise to meet you in such a significant place for the two of us.
— Wesker… I knew you weren't dead… We… we can still make a deal, — he offered in a convulsive tone, grinding his teeth in pain or anger.
— Of course, — I agreed, slowly walking to the chair opposite him, and sitting down on it just as smoothly. The pistol was now mere inches from his sour face. — As far as I know, you were arrested twice on suspicion of rape when you were only nineteen. You were fond of female students and did it well; there was no evidence, good grades, and a wonderful reference as a true role model. What could young and stupid girls, who only had accusations, oppose? No evidence, no camera footage, no witnesses. Nothing.
— What are you getting at, you son of a bitch? — after his rude question, I pulled the trigger one more time, aiming at his hand. The palm was pierced, and the bullet hole in his shoulder widened. He howled like a pig, spewing saliva and curses. He only calmed down after thirty seconds, allowing me to continue.
— I'm listing crimes, like an interrogator in an interrogation, what else? — I calmly answered his question. — Compared to my crimes, yours are just trifles. I understand that, but I can't avoid showing schadenfreude. You, esteemed Chief Irons, took bribes from Umbrella, killed your secretary, kept a shelter for child test subjects, and during my absence — you fell into all sorts of trouble. The newspapers wrote about the disappearance of eight young women; the police found nothing, and there's only one maniac in the city — you. And that would be fine, after the incident with the virus, it was you who ruined many police officers and people, sticking a wrench in the gears of justice in obscene places.
— What do you care? — he snarled maliciously, staring intently at the shotgun that had fallen to the floor. For the sake of decency, I gave him an insignificant hope for salvation, putting the pistol on the table and my hands on my knees.
— You couldn't play the scene from the fairy tale — "Beauty and the Beast" correctly; you just raped the mayor's daughter. And you killed her, probably having a penchant for necrophilia, judging by the intensity of the vile smell in the office, — I sighed, shaking my head because of the violation of the twenty-minute rule. — But, perhaps you wanted to make a new stuffed animal out of her?
Looking around his office, where there were many stuffed animals, I smiled. In the next corridor, there was even a stuffed tiger. I remember I had the thought of taking it home, because, I must say, it looked great.
— You little bastard, I knew you were digging into my business… — he exhaled painfully, leaning back in his chair, thinking that if I didn't kill him right away, he was safe. Hope in his eyes, a thirst for revenge, confidence in his own survival. All of this was written on the face of this animal. No, it's not an animal; they don't engage in perverted rapes and meaningless murders for pleasure. They care about food, procreation, or the instinct to protect their territory. The police chief is just a stuffed animal.