The clang of metal rang down the corridor.
Ada Wong pivoted on instinct.
She didn't need eyes—just sound. The second the cell door rattled, her rifle was already up. As one of Umbrella's top field operatives—second only to Alice in raw combat metrics—her reflex loop from auditory cue to trigger pull was near mechanical perfection.
The muzzle flashed.
The bullet struck exactly where the sound had originated.
The cell door exploded in sparks.
But the man she'd aimed at wasn't there.
Lex Williams stood two meters to the side.
He didn't even look surprised.
Her pupils contracted.
She adjusted instantly and fired again.
The second shot cracked through the corridor—
—and Lex vanished.
Not ducked.
Not rolled.
Vanished.
Ada's gaze flicked toward the bodies behind her—the special forces squad sprawled in ruin, throats torn open by something organic and violent. The wounds hadn't been ballistic. They hadn't been bladed.
They'd been constricted.
Crushed.
Punctured.
Something alive had killed them.
And she hadn't seen it.
Fear wasn't weakness. Fear was data without explanation.
She chased.
Rounding the corner, she found him waiting—ten meters ahead, standing casually beneath the dim industrial lights.
He wanted her to follow.
Fine.
She raised her rifle—
Something dropped from above.
Her peripheral vision caught motion. Long. Slender. Serpentine.
She backflipped on pure reflex.
The "snake" struck where she'd stood—
—and wrapped around her rifle.
It yanked upward.
The weapon was ripped clean from her hands.
She landed in a crouch, eyes snapping up.
Not a snake.
A vine.
A thick, green vine retracting toward the ceiling.
Her jaw tightened.
There shouldn't be plant growth here. Not in this sterile concrete block.
And plants didn't attack.
More vines uncoiled overhead, swaying like predators scenting blood.
The dead soldiers.
They hadn't been ambushed.
They'd been harvested.
Umbrella's intel had said nothing about botanical manipulation. Batman wasn't supposed to control plant life.
Then again… Lex wasn't operating inside anyone's playbook.
Her rifle was gone.
She didn't hesitate.
Her right hand slid under the slit of her dress, lifting fabric just enough to access the holster strapped against her thigh.
Lex's eyebrow twitched.
Black lace.
That wasn't what mattered.
The M1911 cleared leather in one fluid draw.
Ada smirked. "Hmph. Men."
A vine snapped around her ankle.
Her balance vanished.
She hit the floor hard.
"Damn it."
The vines tightened.
She fired.
One clean shot severed the coil at her leg. She rolled, came up on a knee—
—and froze.
He was gone.
Again.
Her breathing stayed level.
Control the environment. Eliminate blind spots.
She rose and advanced two steps.
"Looking for me?"
The voice was behind her.
Cold sweat traced her spine.
He hadn't made a sound.
No footstep. No fabric shift. No breath displacement.
Without turning, she tilted her head left—
Fired.
Twisted her hips—
Drove her elbow backward.
Whipped her leg high in a brutal arc meant to fracture a skull.
Lex swayed.
The bullet missed.
His forearm absorbed the elbow.
His hand caught her ankle mid-kick.
Then everything shifted.
In a blink, her wrists were controlled. Her leg was trapped. His movement wasn't fast—it was economical. Perfect angles. Zero wasted motion.
The barrel of her own pistol pressed beneath her chin.
She was bent backward, pinned in a twisted, humiliating position.
"If I were you," he said calmly, "I wouldn't move."
She tested the hold once.
Pure strength.
He wasn't human-tier.
She went still.
"Kill me," she said flatly.
His grip didn't tighten.
If he'd wanted her dead, she would already be.
He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"You know, for someone working for a bioweapons conglomerate, you smell surprisingly nice."
He inhaled near her ear.
"What shampoo do you use?"
Her teeth clenched. "You—"
She twisted violently.
Useless.
"Who sent you?" he asked, tone sharpening.
She exhaled slowly.
"You think torture will work? I've endured worse."
"I'm not really a torture guy," he replied lightly.
Then he lowered his head—
—and kissed her.
Her body reacted before her training did.
There was something in it.
Not passion.
Not force.
A taste.
Her resistance faltered.
Her pulse spiked—then softened.
Compliance flooded her nervous system like warm static.
Lex stepped back.
"Turn around."
She turned.
"Take off your clothes."
She reached for the zipper.
His eyes narrowed.
Poison Ivy's toxin expression—modified dosage. Enough to override resistance. Not lethal.
The Fatal Kiss.
He'd calibrated it carefully.
"Stop," he said.
She stopped instantly.
Good. Control confirmed.
"Who sent you?"
"The Umbrella Corporation," she answered, voice calm, obedient.
"Specifically."
"Dr. Isaacs."
Lex's gaze sharpened.
Of course.
The architect of extinction.
But Isaacs was a hydra. The world had seen his clones more than the man himself. The real one had spent years buried beneath fortified bunkers, hiding behind layers of genetic misdirection.
"Where is he?"
"In an underground facility in the desert."
That meant a clone.
The original wouldn't surface.
Not yet.
"What's your mission here?"
She didn't hesitate.
"Batman should not be alive."
Lex's expression didn't change.
"My mission is to confirm Batman's identity… and eliminate him."
Silence filled the corridor.
Vines receded slowly into shadow.
Ada stood still, waiting for her next instruction.
Lex studied her.
Umbrella wanted him erased. That meant he'd officially crossed into their strategic awareness grid.
Good.
He released a slow breath.
This was escalating faster than he'd predicted.
But that was fine.
If Isaacs wanted to play in Gotham—
Lex Williams would give him a battlefield he'd never forget.
....
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