A thick white fog, heavy with icy moisture, smothered Raccoon City. Visibility was less than ten meters, reducing the buildings on either side to blurred black silhouettes. The low drone of the police car engines sounded jarringly loud against the deathly silence of the streets. Along the way, a few stray infected wandering the path were neutralized by officers with precise shots. The convoy proceeded steadily, heading toward the Raccoon City Orphanage.
Lear sat in the passenger seat, his posture upright, eyes calmly fixed on the misty shadows ahead. He wasn't constantly on edge like the experienced officers beside him, nor was he the least bit panicked; it was as if he had long since come to terms with this hellish landscape. At every gunshot, at every rustle, he could pinpoint the direction and danger with a coldness that bordered on excessive.
Raymond gripped the steering wheel and glanced at him, speaking softly. "You're steady. Steadier than many veteran officers."
"I suppose I'm just the calm type," Lear replied flatly, lightly brushing the topic aside before testing the waters. "Chief, with a crisis this big occurring, hasn't there been any news from the outside? Reinforcements still haven't arrived."
Raymond sighed softly, leaning back against the headrest and rubbing his temples. "Raccoon City might look small, but its connections are deep and tangled," he said casually. "I spent time in the military when I was young, and it's been nearly twenty years since I came back to join the force. I have plenty of old comrades from back then—some are with the State Police, some in the National Guard, others stayed in the Army."
"In the past, I might have heard something in advance. But now, it seems someone is deliberately blockading information here. And since this happened so suddenly, even my old friends are still in the dark. Otherwise... I could have at least gotten some inside word." He shook his head helplessly.
He spoke nonchalantly, but Lear caught the underlying meaning. A blockade was inevitable; after all, much time had passed since the Mansion Incident, and Umbrella was certainly prepared. However, what surprised him was that this Deputy Chief—who had been little more than a background casualty in the games—seemed to have connections far beyond his imagination. It was no wonder he could hold his own against Irons in a city completely dominated by Umbrella.
Lear understood and nodded slightly, adding meaningfully, "Having people you know on the outside is better than being completely isolated."
"Let's hope we can hold out until we can make contact," Raymond replied tonelessly, moving past the subject.
As they spoke, the convoy slowed down. Through the mist, a three-story building gradually came into focus: the Raccoon City Orphanage. The iron fence was bent out of shape, the gate stood wide open, and the yard was littered with toys and broken glass. A place that should have been filled with the sounds of children was now deathly silent, save for the occasional thick, low rasping emanating from inside the building.
Raymond raised his hand to signal the stop and issued low-voiced orders: "Teams of three. Clear it floor by floor. Find the children and staff first. Keep it quiet. Don't alert whoever is inside yet, survivor or otherwise."
Lear pushed the door open and stepped out, gripping his shotgun. His marksmanship wasn't top-tier, but his advantage lay in his absolute composure and his familiarity with the layout. He chose the perfect moment for every shot. Though he was no sharpshooter, he moved as if he knew exactly where the infected would appear and from where they would lunge. The lobby was a mess. Small chairs, picture books, and building blocks were strewn across the floor, and overturned cots had dragged long, dark stains across the tiles. Three infected turned at the sound of his entry—their skin a dull ash-gray, dark red smears staining the corners of their mouths—and lunged forward stiffly.
Lear didn't retreat; instead, he took a step forward, pivoting to dodge a zombie's snap. He steadied his wrist and pulled the trigger. One shot dropped the leader—clean, decisive, and devoid of any wasted motion. The officers behind him immediately moved in to support him, and the remaining two were quickly dispatched. The gunshots echoed briefly in the cavernous lobby before the air fell back into a heavy silence.
The officers swept the building room by room. Before long, faint, muffled sobbing drifted from a storage closet. Four children were huddled in the furthest corner, huddled together with deathly pale faces and wide, terrified eyes, too scared to even cry out loud. An officer lowered his voice, slowly kneeling to offer gentle reassurances as he carefully escorted the children out one by one.
More survivors were found in the second-floor classrooms and lounges: two female caretakers sheltering three children under a desk. At the sight of the police, their frayed nerves finally snapped; tears fell silently, yet they still kept the children shielded firmly behind them.
Lear led several officers along the corridors to clear out any blind spots, his footsteps steady. He moved as if he knew the dangers of this place intimately, always aiming his weapon exactly where a zombie was about to appear.
"First floor clear!"
"Second floor secure!"
Raymond let out a breath of relief and looked toward Lear. "The first and second floors are done. What about the third?"
Lear gave a slight nod, his calm gaze sweeping over the stairwell. "I'll check the third floor." He waved off the officers who tried to follow him; he knew Sherry was up there.
The third-floor hallway was darker than the levels below, and the stench of decay was thicker. He placed each step firmly, his shotgun held at the ready. At the end of the hall, the door to a small bedroom stood ajar, silent. Lear pushed the door open gently and scanned the room—empty beds, an overturned desk, scattered books—no infected. But then, something caught his eye beneath a bed.
A small figure was curled tight in the shadows. Pale blonde braids clung messily to a white face, and her school vest and skirt were stained with dust, leaving her looking bedraggled and pitiful. It was Sherry Birkin. She hugged her knees tight, her chin resting on her legs. Her eyes were red from crying for a long time, and stray tears still clung to her lashes. Yet she bit her lip hard, keeping even her trembling as quiet as possible for fear that the slightest sound would summon the monsters.
Lear's heart softened. He didn't approach or speak; he simply leaned down, picked up a tattered teddy bear lying by the bed, and slowly, gently pushed it toward her, within easy reach.
Sherry flinched violently, her eyes going wide as she peered at him like a startled kitten too terrified to run. She didn't dare grab the bear immediately, just watched Lear with eyes full of fear, though a tiny, flickering spark of hope hid within them.
Lear simply watched her quietly, gave a small smile, and offered a slight nod to tell her not to be afraid. Then, he softly pulled the door shut and turned to clear the rest of the rooms.
He didn't want to frighten her; he just wanted to eliminate every threat first.
The third floor was cleared quickly. There were only two infected, which he took down with the shortest, quietest shots possible. When he returned to that bedroom door, it had been pulled open just a crack.
Sherry stood behind the door clutching the teddy bear, her small frame still trembling slightly. Her eyes were still red, making her look both vulnerable and endearing. She didn't rush out, but simply stood behind the door, watching Lear in silence.
She was still afraid, but amidst that fear, she was trying her best to be brave. Lear didn't say a word. He merely reached out a hand toward her, palm up, in a gentle gesture.
Sherry pursed her dry, cracked lips, hugged her bear, and took one tiny step after another out from behind the door. After a moment's hesitation, her small hand lightly brushed Lear's fingertips before she timidly gripped his hand. Her palm was ice cold, but she held on with surprising strength.
Lear walked half a step beside her—not too close, not too far—acting as a quiet shield. The little girl hugged her bear tight and followed him, step by step, down the stairs.
The officers helped the children and caretakers into the vehicles. Once Raymond finished the head count, the convoy slowly started up. Lear led Sherry into the car, and the girl sat huddled beside him, clutching her bear. The police cruisers gradually disappeared into the thick fog, leaving the Raccoon City Orphanage behind.
(Translated by yourtl.app)