Rain drummed against the station's windows, mixing with distant zombie howls into a dull echo that filled the empty lobby. Emergency lights pulsed green across four tense faces in the office. The air still stank of gunpowder and antiseptic.
Marvin flexed his left arm, testing it. Most of the burning had faded. The dark veins had receded entirely, leaving only swollen red marks around the bite. He unclipped the station's master keycard from his belt and slid it across the desk to Ryan, knuckles white from the grip.
"Every door in the building. Evidence lockup, armory, the side entrance to the chief's office, fire escape down to the underground garage. All of it." His voice was still raw, but steady. "After the outbreak, I locked most of the usable ammo and first-aid supplies in the basement armory. There's tactical gear from the S.T.A.R.S. office too. It's yours."
Leon looked at the keycard, then at Ryan. From the gas station to the precinct doors, he'd seen enough. Crazed infected, things that shouldn't exist, people willing to do anything to survive. And here was a guy who'd handed over a priceless vaccine to save a stranger without blinking. In this hell, that kind of calm generosity carried more weight than any gun.
"Officer Branagh, do you know where Chief Irons is?" Claire spoke first, fingers resting on the pistol at her hip. "On my way in, I passed an office on the east corridor. Door was sealed shut, but I heard movement inside. And I saw missing persons flyers on the street. Several children disappeared after the outbreak. Last known locations were all near the station."
Marvin's expression hardened the moment she said the name. A cold, bitter edge crept into his voice.
"That bastard locked himself in the secret room behind his office the first day the virus hit. Hasn't shown his face since." His jaw clenched, knuckles cracking. "We'd already gotten multiple missing child reports before all this. Every one of them from St. Theresa's Orphanage. I knew something was wrong. Tried to dig deeper, but Irons shut me down every single time. Looking back, the son of a bitch was in bed with Umbrella from the start. Those kids... they were probably test subjects."
St. Theresa's Orphanage.
Ryan's hand tightened at his side. His fingertips pressed against the outline of the ARK Plan file hidden under his jacket, the paper's edges sharp through the fabric. Subject 092, Becky, was safe now. But the file listed more numbers. More children stripped of their identities, turned into carriers for someone's experiment. Still trapped somewhere in this city's shadows.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, his vision had already slipped through the walls. Room layouts, pipe networks, every corner within a hundred meters mapped clean in his mind. Behind the reinforced blast door of the chief's east-side office, a single heartbeat. Panicked, rapid. Irons, hiding in his bunker. In the west-side evidence room, three quick-moving shapes crouched in the dark, heads tracking faint air currents through the door seams. Lickers. One floor down in the holding cells, a dozen zombies slammed against iron doors in a steady, mindless rhythm. And in the last stall of the women's restroom on the west side, a small figure curled up behind the toilet tank, breathing so faintly it barely registered. Shaking all over.
Sherry Birkin.
William Birkin's daughter. The only living host compatible with the G-Virus, and one of the most innocent victims of this disaster. In the original game, she'd spent her time in the station hiding, hunted by Irons, found again and again by her mutated father. She'd suffered more than any kid should. He was here now. He wasn't going to watch it happen.
Ryan pulled his focus back and looked at the other three. His tone left no room for debate. "We split up. Marvin knows the layout. Take Leon and Claire down to the basement armory. Stock up on ammo and tactical gear. Stay away from the west-side evidence room. Three Lickers in there. Don't wake them. I'm heading to the west-side restroom. There's a little girl hiding in there, maybe ten years old. She's in danger."
A little girl? How could he possibly know that? Leon and Claire exchanged a glance but didn't press it.
"I'll go with you. Extra pair of hands." Leon reached for the rifle on the desk.
"No." Ryan shook his head and put a hand on Leon's shoulder. "More people means a bigger target. We'd draw every zombie in the corridor and slow each other down. I move faster alone. Ten minutes, tops, and I'll meet you at the armory. Three of you together can watch each other's backs. Safer that way."
He pushed the keycard back to Marvin, then pulled a backup pistol from his belt and handed it to Claire along with two full magazines. "For protection. Anything comes at you, aim for the head. Don't hesitate."
Claire took the gun. The cold steel settled her nerves more than she expected. She met Ryan's eyes and nodded. "Be careful. We'll wait for you at the armory entrance."
"Count on it." Ryan gave a short nod, turned, and pulled the office door open.
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