Under the City

Marvin Branagh stays behind with his pistol as the infected flood the police station, and Leon Kennedy goes down through the goddess statue into the tunnels beneath the city — where something skinless is listening to his breathing, and Ada Wong says simply: stay close.

Leon returned to the main hall with the last medallion in his palm. Marvin Branagh sat by the counter, very pale, but he held his pistol firmly, as if the whole station still stood on his will alone.

“I found the way out, Lieutenant,” Leon said. “Though the architect clearly didn’t like simple doors.”

Marvin nodded toward the goddess statue.

“Get out. If you find anyone alive, pull them out,” Marvin said.

Leon lowered the medallion into the slot. The stone hummed, the slabs beneath the statue parted, opening a staircase downward. A howl came from the far corridor, and the infected poured into the hall.

“Looks like they want the tour too,” Leon muttered.

He stepped toward Marvin, but Marvin pushed his hand away.

“I’ll cover you. Go, Kennedy,” Marvin said.

Leon froze for a moment, then nodded silently. Sometimes helping meant carrying out a last request. He ducked into the passage, and the stone mechanism snapped shut behind him.

Beneath the station it smelled of damp, rust, and old oil. The stairs led into service tunnels where lamps flickered above the pipes, and dozens of feet shuffled below. The infected wandered between grates and lockers, banging their foreheads against metal.

Leon reloaded his pistol, checked the knife at his belt, and moved on. He fired only when he couldn’t get around them, shoved barrels aside, chained doors shut, and crawled under hot pipes. One of the dead grabbed his sleeve, but Leon struck his jaw with the pistol grip and broke free.

“New uniform,” he said through his teeth. “I wear it once, and the dry cleaner’s already giving up.”

In the corridor with the collapsed ceiling, it suddenly went quiet. Thick saliva dripped from above. Leon raised his flashlight and saw a skinless creature with glistening muscles, long claws, and a blind face turned toward the sound of his breathing.

He slowly drew the shotgun he had found in the armory.

“Right. Never feed them after midnight,” Leon said.

The Licker dropped down. Leon rolled behind the crates, and claws tore through metal where his head had been a second earlier. He tossed an empty shell casing aside. The creature lunged toward the clink, and Leon fired two shots almost point-blank.

The Licker shrieked and leaped again. Leon met it with his knife, stepped back, and fired his last shell. The creature collapsed, scraping at the floor until it went still.

Farther on, the tunnel led to an underground parking garage. There Leon met a woman in a beige trench coat and dark sunglasses; she held her pistol calmly, as if the chaos around them were ordinary business.

“Ada Wong,” she said. “If you want to get out, stay close.”

“I don’t usually follow strange women into dungeons,” Leon replied. “But today the rules are flexible.”

Together they fought their way through corridors where red lamps blinked behind glass, and documents bearing the Umbrella logo floated on dirty water. The city above was dying, and beneath it someone had built elevators, airlocks, and spotlessly clean secrets.

At the service elevator, a heavy footstep caught up with them. A huge man in a black coat and hat stepped out of the steam. His face was motionless, his fists clenching slowly and horribly.

“Who the hell is that?” Leon asked.

Ada went pale.

“Don’t stand there. Run,” Ada said.

Mr. X smashed through the wall where they had been a moment before. Leon shot him in the chest, then in the head, but the giant only swayed. Then Leon noticed the cargo crane’s chain above the open shaft.

“All right, big guy. Let’s see if you like elevators,” Leon said.

He lured the Tyrant onto the metal platform, shot the anchor, and hit the lever. The platform jerked. Mr. X stepped toward him, but Leon ducked under his arm and kicked the emergency lock.

The giant fell into the black shaft along with the grating. A muffled impact came from below.

“Did you finish him?” Ada asked.

Leon let out a heavy breath.

“Let’s just say I filed a complaint with the elevator service,” Leon said.

They went even lower, to a cable car in the depths of the sewer. Pipes, concrete, and red lights drifted past the cabin window. Then a clean, cold tunnel opened ahead, as if leading into another world.

The doors opened into an Umbrella laboratory. White panels gleamed under steady light, machines hummed quietly, and Leon was reflected in the glass—wet, exhausted, with dirt on his uniform and a stubborn look in his eyes.

He raised his pistol.

“The first day on the job continues,” Leon said. “I hope they at least have coffee here.”

And he stepped inside.