Chapter 96: The First Appearance of a Tyrant

The air in the underground parking lot was more stifling than on the surface. The smell of rust mixed with the stench of decay clung to the skin, and every step crushed the black mold floating in the puddles.

Leon held up the Matilda and turned the corner piled with abandoned police cars. A rusty iron door appeared before him, with a sign hanging on it that read "Detention Center: No Unauthorized Entry," though the paint had peeled so much the text was barely legible.

He raised his hand to push open the iron door. The hinges let out a harsh creak, and a stronger scent of disinfectant mixed with blood rushed toward him.

Leon tightened his grip on his pistol and sidestepped into the detention center. The narrow corridor was lined with cells on both sides. Most of the iron bars were twisted and deformed, and torn prison uniforms, overturned lunchboxes, and dried dark brown bloodstains were scattered on the ground.

A few zombies wandered aimlessly in the cells. Upon hearing the noise, they lunged at the bars, their rotting fingers scratching against the metal with a teeth-gritting screech.

The last cell at the corner of the corridor was different. The iron bars were intact, and there was no roaring of zombies inside, only a faint light flickering in the darkness.

"Is anyone there?"

A slightly hoarse male voice suddenly sounded, carrying a hint of disbelief. Leon jerked his gun toward the cell and saw a man in a plaid shirt sitting on an iron bed, holding a lit cigarette between his fingers, the red glow of the ember particularly striking in the darkness.

"Hey!" Leon loosened his grip on the trigger but did not let his guard down completely.

The man's eyes lit up, and he jumped off the bed, rushing to the iron gate in a few steps. He grabbed the bars and looked Leon up and down: "Unbelievable! Is that a living person? Ha! I thought I was going to be stuck here with these walking corpses until I died." He grinned, revealing a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth, "Hello there, human!"

Leon looked him over. The man was in his twenties, with messy hair, stubble on his face, and a look of oily shrewdness in his eyes. "Have you been locked up for a long time?"

"Long enough..." The man took a deep drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled a ring of smoke, which dissipated into the air through the iron bars. "Long enough for the world outside to turn into hell." He looked around, listening to the low roars of zombies in the distance. "Are we the only two left?"

"No, there are a few others," Leon said.

"Ha, that should count as good news, I guess," the man shrugged, "unless you were sent by Irons."

"Irons? Do you mean Chief Irons? Is he still alive?" Leon asked, puzzled.

"Who knows? It would be better if he got swallowed by a zombie!" The man spat fiercely, crushing the cigarette butt on the ground. "That bastard!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"He's the one who locked me in here!" The man's voice rose sharply, filled with suppressed anger.

Leon frowned. "He must have had a reason to do that," he said instinctively. His years of police instinct made him unwilling to easily believe one side of the story.

"Of course he did..." Ben pulled another cigarette from his pocket, only to find the lighter was out of fuel, and he irritably threw the cigarette on the ground. "Because I was planning to expose the dirty things he's done. If I were him, I'd lock me up too..."

Before he could finish, a dull thudding sound suddenly came from afar, as if something heavy was slamming into a wall. The sound grew closer, accompanied by the crunch of concrete cracking and low, guttural roars.

Ben's face turned deathly pale instantly. He grabbed the iron bars in a panic: "Hey! Let's make a deal." He pulled a blue keycard from his pocket and waved it in front of Leon. "Open this cell door, and I'll give you this. It's the only way to leave the parking lot. Believe me, you won't be able to get out without it."

Leon shook his head: "I'm sorry, I can't do that. I need to talk to the Chief about this."

"Talk, my ass!" Ben jumped in anxiety. The slamming sound was already close, the walls began to vibrate slightly, and dust fell from the ceiling in flurries. "Listen to me, we're both trapped in the police station. If we don't cooperate and help each other... Oh, no, he's coming..." He retreated quickly to the corner, staring at the opposite wall in horror.

"What's coming?" Leon aimed his gun at the wall, his heart pounding.

"Don't just stand there and let me die! You're going to need this card! Hurry up and let me out, damn it!" Ben's voice had a crying tone. He shook the blue keycard desperately, trying to get Leon's attention.

Suddenly, with a loud "boom," the entire wall was pierced by a giant arm! Concrete fragments splattered everywhere. The hand opened wide and precisely grabbed Ben's head.

Ben's scream came to an abrupt halt. His eyes widened, and his legs kicked futilely in the air. The arm exerted a slight force, and with a bone-chilling crack, Ben's head was crushed like a watermelon, spraying blood and brains all over the cell. The blue keycard slipped from his hand and fell into a pool of blood.

Leon stared in shock, his hand holding the gun trembling slightly: "Oh, my God..."

The arm slowly retracted, and a figure in leather clothing was revealed through the hole in the wall.

Just then, footsteps came from behind Leon. He spun around, aiming his gun into the darkness: "Who's there?"

Ada slowly stepped out of the shadows, holding a pistol in her hand, her face devoid of expression: "Relax, it's me. You can put your gun down."

Leon pointed at Ben's corpse in the cell, his voice still trembling: "What the hell happened? Everything happened so fast!"

Ada glanced at the corpse and then at the hole in the wall. The Tyrant had already vanished into the darkness. "I told you to leave this place," she said calmly. "You don't want to end up like Ben, do you?"

"You knew him?" Leon asked, surprised.

"He was my informant," Ada said, crossing her arms. "He provided reliable intelligence for my investigation. He had all the records of the deals between Irons and the Umbrella Corporation."

"So, everything he said earlier was true?" Leon pressed.

Ada didn't answer and turned to leave.

"Hey! Don't just turn and walk away like that, okay?" Leon followed quickly. "I don't even know your name! My name is Leon S. Kennedy."

Ada stopped, turned around, and stared at Leon's face for a few seconds. The dim emergency light cast mottled shadows on her face. "Stay alive first, Leon," her voice was a fraction softer than before. "While you can still escape, we can talk once you're out."

With that, she turned again and walked into the depths of the corridor, leaving behind a light sentence: "My name is Ada."

Leon watched her back and shook his head noncommittally: "That's a deal, then."

On the other side, Claire was leaning against a pillar in the parking lot, forcefully pulling off the handcuffs on her wrists. The metal cuffs had left deep red marks on her wrists that burned with pain, but she couldn't care about that.

That bastard Irons! He actually used her life to threaten Sherry. Claire clenched her fists, her teeth itching with hatred. She had to find the blue keycard, catch up to Irons, and rescue Sherry.

She searched the parking lot carefully, flipping through every abandoned police car and locker, but couldn't find a trace of the blue keycard. Irons had obviously anticipated that she would break free and had taken the only blue keycard that could open the parking lot gate.

"Damn it!" Claire kicked a tire nearby, making a dull sound. The roars of zombies came from afar, getting closer. She couldn't stay here long; the only way was to return to the police station and take the blue keycard back from Irons.

Claire tightened her grip on her revolver and turned to walk along the stairs back to the first floor of the police station. The lobby was empty; Marvin was no longer there. She took a deep breath and walked toward Chief Irons' office.

The door to Chief Irons' office was ajar, and it was pitch black inside. Claire pushed the door open, and a rich scent of cigars mixed with perfume rushed into her face. The office was decorated extremely luxuriously, with leather sofas, a mahogany desk, and expensive oil paintings on the walls, completely out of place with the hellish scene outside.

Various documents, empty wine bottles, and some photos of women were scattered on the desk. Claire scanned quickly but didn't find the blue keycard. She walked behind the desk and discovered an inconspicuous secret door on the partition wall, with no lock on the handle.

Claire pushed the door open to reveal a narrow corridor, with another door at the end. She pushed that door open, and a pungent smell of formalin instantly flooded her nasal cavity.

This was a huge collection room, with glass cabinets all around filled with various specimens—birds, mammals, and even skulls that looked human.

Animal furs and hunting photos hung on the walls. Irons was wearing hunting gear, holding a hunting rifle, with a smug smile on his face. The whole room was eerie and creepy, like a perverted private museum.

Claire fought back the nausea and searched the collection room. She noticed a small iron door in the corner, unlocked. She opened the iron door to find a smaller storage closet, with several of Irons' coats hanging on hangers.

In the pocket of the trench coat at the very back, Claire saw the familiar blue keycard.

Her heart leaped with joy, and she reached out to grab it.

Suddenly, the phone in the corner of the storage closet rang.

The piercing ringtone sounded particularly eerie in the silent collection room. Claire hesitated for a moment but walked over to answer the phone.

"Who is this?"

"It's nice to see you again, Claire..." Irons' sinister voice came from the other end of the line, carrying a hint of morbid pleasure. "We still have a score to settle."

Claire's voice turned instantly cold: "Where the hell are you?"

"Just nearby," Irons chuckled. "You'll see when you come out."

"Is Sherry okay?" Claire asked urgently, her heart tightening.

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then Irons' slow voice came: "...For now, she's fine."

"Bastard, I swear, if you dare to hurt her..." Claire gritted her teeth, the phone in her hand almost being crushed.

"Beep, beep, beep..." Irons hung up the phone directly.

Claire slammed the phone down, grabbed the blue keycard from the hanger, and turned to rush out of the storage closet. She didn't know where Irons was, but she knew that the madman must be watching her.

Meanwhile, in the office of the director of The Orphanage, Irons was sitting in front of the monitors. On the screen, Claire's figure was rushing out of Chief Irons' office. He sneered and switched the monitor to another view.

On the screen, Sherry was sitting on an iron bed, watching the torrential rain outside the window. This room was the dormitory where Chloe used to live, except that the bunk beds that originally filled the room had been dismantled, leaving only a few lonely beds. There were still some vague scratches on the walls, left by Chloe when she was playing around back then.

"Silly child," Irons muttered to the monitor, his eyes greedy and insane. "If you hadn't lost that damn thing, I might have let you go..." The golden rose pendant on Sherry's neck had fallen off in the parking lot when she was abducted.

The rain outside the window fell harder and harder, hitting the glass with a pitter-patter sound. Sherry hugged her knees, looking at the pitch-black night sky outside the window, and whispered to herself: "There will always be a way to escape... I must find Mom."