To Alyssa, the Tyrant's corpse meant even more substantial evidence to expose Umbrella, but for Claire, this wreckage drastically elevated her perception of the Raccoon City Police Department's combat prowess.
After a long silence, she spoke softly, "So, everything my brother told me was true?"
Lear raised an eyebrow.
"Your brother? Chris? What did he say?"
"He told me that aside from the Chief, the police station was a den of hidden talents where no one should be underestimated. Honestly, I didn't believe him at first, until now..."
Claire paused, her gaze landing on Lear as she remarked, "And now you're telling me you're just a patrol officer? If any random patrol officer in Raccoon City can slaughter a monster like this, I truly can't imagine how strong the others are."
The words had barely left her lips when she frowned again, looking confused.
"But something still isn't right. In my memory, even Chris shouldn't have been capable of taking this thing down, right?"
Lear let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "You still don't give your brother enough credit."
In his mind, he thought: You just haven't seen the scene where your brother punches a giant boulder into flight with his bare hands. In his past life, a blogger had specifically calculated Chris's strength based on that rock; if Lear remembered correctly, the conclusion was that those few punches packed nearly 80 tons of force.
Hearing Lear speak so highly of her brother, a proud smile tugged at the corner of Claire's mouth.
"Officer Lear, it seems you and my brother are on very good terms?"
"Just nodding acquaintances, we aren't that close," Lear said with a smile. "Your brother is a S.T.A.R.S. elite, and I'm just an ordinary patrol officer. We don't see each other much, I've just heard he's incredibly skilled."
Claire nodded, not doubting Lear's words. In her memory, her brother Chris did indeed maintain good relations with his colleagues at the police station—well, except for the Chief...
As they spoke, footsteps echoed from outside the Main Hall. Leon had finished his sweep of the east side and stepped into the room.
"Boss, I'm back from the office. Those colleagues... I ended their suffering. Further back—" Before he could finish, Leon spotted Claire and said happily, "Claire? I'm so glad you're okay! When did you get here?"
Claire greeted Leon with a smile and said, "Not long ago. Let me introduce you—this is Alyssa, a companion I met on my way here."
Alyssa gave a polite nod and watched the trio's interaction in silence. Then, Lear spoke up slowly:
"Since you're all here, you can take a lap around the police station. Most of the weapons and ammunition were centralized in the Main Hall and are nearly depleted, but there should be some left in various corners of the station. You could really use them right now."
The three of them agreed. Lear then intended to head to the parking lot alone under the pretext of checking the vehicles. Just as he turned around, Leon hurriedly called out to him.
"Boss, I didn't find the FBI agent you mentioned, but I did find this." With that, Leon took a step forward, pulled out an ID, and handed it to Lear.
"I found this in the East Corridor. It looks like a journalist license. The owner's name is Ben Bertolucci."
Lear took the ID, flipped through it a few times, and looked up at Leon. "He's likely the person that FBI agent is looking for. Did you see his body?"
Leon shook his head. "No, I only found this ID. There was no body. He probably dropped it while he was running away."
Lear narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking to himself:
It seems this journalist is quite lucky. The Tyrant may be dead, but that doesn't mean the station isn't dangerous. For an unarmed civilian to wander around and actually survive until now, he must have some skill.
At that thought, Lear looked at Leon and spoke: "Leon, keep a sharp eye out while you're searching for ammunition. If there are survivors, do your best to save them."
Leon immediately nodded solemnly, his gaze firm. "Don't worry, Boss. I understand. I'm a police officer too."
Watching Leon's solemn expression and unwavering attitude, Lear couldn't help but sigh inwardly: As expected of Leon S. Kennedy. This sense of justice etched into his very bones hasn't changed from this moment until nearly thirty years later.
Seeing this, Lear said no more. He patted Leon on the shoulder, turned around, and walked toward the outside of the police station.
Outside, the torrential rain continued to pour, pea-sized droplets crashing against the ground and kicking up layers of mist. Lear stepped out from the police station main gate and reached Kendo Gun Shop in just a few steps; directly across the road was the Parking lot.
Lear stood at the entrance and observed for a moment. Due to the early evacuation, the power to the Parking lot had been cut, leaving the interior extremely dark.
He switched on his flashlight, the beam piercing the darkness as he slowly stepped into the Parking lot. The corpses of numerous zombies lay scattered about; it looked as though Ada had already cleared the area when she passed through earlier.
Lear walked slowly to the room where Irons was being held. Seeing that the booby trap in front of the door hadn't been triggered and hearing the intermittent roars coming from inside, he felt a sense of relief. Just as he was about to detonate the booby trap, a cold female voice suddenly drifted from behind him.
"My, my... Officer Lear, just what are you trying to do? Is there some secret in there?"
Lear's movements stiffened. He turned his head slowly to see Ada, dressed in her trench coat, leaning against a concrete pillar and watching him playfully.
"Irons is inside. I plan to eliminate him and make it look like an accident. Why? Is the FBI going to charge me with false imprisonment or intentional homicide?"
Lear's blunt words stunned Ada, leaving her momentarily speechless. She hadn't expected Lear to tell her directly who was inside.
But Ada was a highly trained agent after all. She quickly masked her surprise, adopted a serious expression, and spoke in a low voice:
"Officer Lear, you should be aware that if word of this gets out, you could spend the rest of your life in prison. Besides, Umbrella hasn't collapsed yet!"
Lear remained indifferent. He turned back and continued to fiddle with the booby trap, his tone flat. "Enough. You're not FBI. Do you really think I know nothing?"
At Lear's reply, Ada's expression shifted as a flash of surprise crossed her eyes, though she returned to normal a moment later. She looked at Lear with renewed interest.
"When did you find out? I thought my performance was flawless."
Seeing that Ada was no longer insisting on her FBI identity, Lear felt a secret wave of relief. To be honest, if Ada had stuck to her guns, he wouldn't have had any concrete evidence to tear down her disguise.
Lear stepped back a few paces and violently snapped the tripwire of the booby trap. Sparks raced along the gasoline fuse, and in the next second, it exploded with a roar—all of Irons' sins vanished amidst the flames and the sound of the blast.
As the roar of the explosion faded, Lear turned to look at Ada and gave a soft chuckle.
"Just call it a gut feeling."
Lear then turned to walk out of the Parking lot. Ada watched his silhouette quietly, her hand tightening inside her pocket.
Just as he reached the exit, Lear added one more thing: "Ms. Ada, don't always take others for fools. Often, sincerity works better than deception."
Then, without waiting for Ada to respond, Lear stepped out into the rain.
Ada watched his retreating back and released her grip on her gun, her gaze thoughtful.
As Lear walked through the rain, he whispered to himself: "I hope there won't be any misunderstandings between Ada and Leon this time. This is the most I can do."
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Tl note: I noticed that some of you were bothered by Leon calling Lear 'senior'. Personally, it didn't bother me while reading, but I get it, so I'm going to replace 'senior' with 'boss' as suggested by Phantom_Zero_v2. Also, sorry if 'senior' still slips through in some chapters; I have to remember to edit each one before publishing, and I might forget sometimes.