[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 534 - Seeing Through Wesker

Atlanta Prison.

The air in the top-floor bedroom still held a trace of warmth.

Leon leaned against the headboard.

Too much energy was its own kind of problem.

His body had been through the T-Virus and the Murphy Mutation Factor both. His stamina now was absurd. What just happened would have floored him for eight solid hours before all that.

Now his mind was razor-sharp.

Fine. Can't sleep. Won't bother.

Spencer Mansion was half-gutted. He'd walked off with five T-002 Tyrants, hauled top-tier scientist William Birkin home like luggage, and John's core hard drive was sitting peacefully on his coffee table right now.

Umbrella Corporation had eaten a loss that size in silence. They weren't going to let it go.

And the first one standing in the path of the Board of Directors' fury would be Albert Wesker.

That sunglasses-wearing, perpetually brooding bastard wasn't the type to sit around waiting to die.

Leon knew that old fox well enough. Wesker was a refined egoist down to his bones — the kind who treated everyone around him as tools and had been quietly laying his escape route for years.

He'd probably seen this day coming back when he killed Marcus.

Umbrella couldn't hold him? Fine. He'd find a new employer.

H.C.F., the rival organization, was already lined up as his next stop.

But you don't switch sides empty-handed. You bring a gift.

Static data from Spencer Mansion wasn't going to cut it. What Wesker needed was live-combat performance data.

So who did he test on?

There was no more convenient expendable than the S.T.A.R.S. officers at the Raccoon City Police Department — well-trained, well-armed, and completely in the dark.

Lure them into the mansion. Seal the doors. Let the creatures loose.

Use their lives to push the variants to their limits. Activate the self-destruct at the end and burn the whole ugly mess clean.

Wesker walks out in the chaos, fakes his own death, lets Umbrella bury him in the records. Then he strolls into H.C.F. with a briefcase full of top-secret data and trades it for a seat at the top of the table.

Public identity dead. Underground identity born.

Clean. Efficient. Nearly perfect.

If Wesker pulled it off, Leon would spend the rest of his life being hunted by a ghost — a madman in the shadows with deep resources, cutting-edge bioweapon tech, and a personal grudge. The kind of enemy you couldn't afford to sleep around.

He'd already cost Wesker badly. More than once.

To Leon, Wesker was a variable.

And the cleanest way to handle a variable was to erase it before it could become a problem.

Hit him now, while he was still vulnerable. Crush it in the cradle.

If he didn't jam a foot into Wesker's plans and wreck them completely, everything he'd built these past weeks meant nothing.

Leon threw off the blanket. Bare feet hit the carpet. He grabbed the Tactical Vest off the chair back and pulled it on.

The quiet rustle of fabric woke Ada.

She rolled over, squinting through heavy lids at the man buckling his belt.

"Not tired?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Work's not finished. Can't stay down."

Ada propped herself up on one elbow. The blanket slid away.

"Where are you going?"

Leon pulled on his tactical boots and cinched the laces tight.

"Figuring out how to put down a dog that should've been dead a long time ago."

"Wesker?" Ada was sharp. She didn't need more than that.

She was already reaching to throw off the blanket.

"I'm coming with you."

"Easy." Leon pressed a hand to her shoulder and tucked her back under the covers. "Not yet. I need to talk to Rebecca first."

Ada nodded.

"He's not easy to handle," she said, one last word of warning.

"I know. He's clever."

Leon picked up his gear.

"But this time, I won't give him the chance to put his own affairs in order."

➤ Next: Gotta Give Alpha Team a Heads-Up