#herewebingo

out ... side? she mouths to herself, gawking at her phone as if viscera leaked through the screen, trying desperately to control the sudden tightness in her throat by imagining she's found herself in the middle of a cronenberg production—one of his more psychedelic pictures, her preferred flavor. it wouldn't be a first, but that isn't unique in this rough & tumble world of theirs, & she's had a firm grasp on maintaining a streak of normalcy that's lasted her & meimei a good few months without incident.

of course, this was before a sudden streak of murderers that challenges her need for information, all members of the raccoon city survivor squad, & all those whispers in the outer darkness of ada wong's intelligence network. mumbling of renewed interest in the raccoon city exclusion zone & all the usual suspects moving in the shadows. it's rather hard to resist, like someone tugging on her choker to guide her in the night, old addictions resurfacing to pull her out of self-imposed retirement.

speaking of, her eyes finally free themselves from the text message & begin scanning her vicinity, a frown betraying how she feels her peace invaded. the da hsin trading company isn't different to any other chinese-american grocery store, but it's a place of safety, familiarity, where she doesn't feel like a stranger despite how infrequen ta guest she is to washington's chinatown. she dreads being spotted first, lest he find out she does her own shopping, her own cooking. it's a reputation killer.

a few turns to her right & there he is, two finger in the air & that lop-sided idiotic grin of his staring back at her, which only prompts a deeper frown. not because she's unhappy to see him, or because this is some victory in cat & mouse, no, but because despite how tired she's grown of leon, that shine beneath the gloom of his dark jacket is rather infectious. she hasn't quite brought herself to hate how he hasn't given up hope, someone needs to. ada quickly moves to put the items in her basket back to their shelves & she shuffles out of store like she's brought shame to the act of commerce.

her shoulders tense as she exits onto the street, there isn't much stealth to be had in late october daylight, & though she's had plenty of cold exposure in recent years, it seems the long black overcoat can't keep her warm. “ ... had me followed? ” she accuses first, because it's easier than admitting she's gotten complacent in her twilight years, a bit too accustomed to walking down the street without a pair of blackshirts trailing not too far behind. “ i'd almost congratulate you, ” rather an achievement, were she at the top of her game. “ but there's always someone smarter in your earpiece. ” she leans to one side, as if to get a better look, before she returns to face him fully & press her lips together, her eyes staring him with her usual judgement.

have you ever seen a better dream team?

[msg]: hate talking digital. Too many companies trying to suck data. [msg]: maybe you bring her here. she can't do any worse than I have.

He's just received Leon's letter, and quite enjoyed the martini story. Unfortunately, he's out of pens - that's what he gets for choosing the career path he did. He wants it known he brought the phone out only under extreme desperation and boredom and fuck it just answer the message Leon--

"Yo."

INGRID   THRIVES   IN   STUFFY   MEETING   ROOMS   with   every   suited   ego   known   to   man.   you   get   used   to   it.   sat   prim   and   proper,   hands   folded   in   her   lap,   she   exudes   a   certain   amount   of   grace   and,   perhaps,   welcoming   aura   as   in   a   room   slowly   filling   to   the   brim   (   because   they   couldn't   be   granted   the   larger   conference   room   down   the   hall   which   just   figures;   cogs   in   a   machine,   only   granted   proper   care   when   it's   convenient   )   he   chooses   to   sit   next   to   her.   but   it's   probably   more   than   that.   where   ingrid   finds   this   to   be   just   part   of   another   day,   for   him?   it   may   very   well   be   like   pulling   teeth.   a   glance   spared,   the   curving   of   pink   glossed   lips   upwards   —   so   slight   that   to   anyone   who   doesn't   know   her   like   he   does   it'd   be   imperceptible.   

his   greeting   is   so   casual   it   earns   a   roll   of   her   eyes;   in   the   comfort   of   their   office   she   might've   said   it   back,   but   it's   not   like   she'll   admit   that   now.   ❝   want   my   guidance,   agent   kennedy?   ❞   she   starts   low   and   slow,   so   that   she's   under   the   cover   of   polite   chatter   taking   place   between   men   who   play   games   for   gain,   ❝   sit   straight   and   try   looking   happy   to   be   here.   they'll   call   the   shrink   and   while   i   do   think   you   need   one   —   ❞   she's   always   harping   on   that.   her   and   their   surrounding   company   though   don't   agree   on   just   why   it   is   he   has   value,   which   parts   they   want   to   heal   and   why.   ❝   you   wouldn't   have   time   today and i'm not fighting scheduling conflicts —   you're   booked.   ❞

The village had long been abandoned, the bones of the houses still stood, even though plenty of walls and windows had been stripped by years of heavy wind. Ada can only see the new cityline in the distance because of I.R.I.S's multispectral scanning.

It would be easier to penetrate Immol's borders by the outskirt sewers, old tunnels the new buildings were built on. The village cistern should connect to it.

The grate had already been eroded away by years of neglect and exposure. Ada climbed on top of the stone rim and braced her hookshot on the edge, digging her heels into the corroded metal. Jumping once, the metal creaked, and bent. Twice, it groaned and sank. A third jump, and the grate falls down with a clamor, Ada rappelling down the sides with the cable, retracting the hook when she's underground.

Instantly, the temperature around her is much warmer, and the absence of light make the goggles she wears more cumbersome than useful.

She strips off her goggles and face mask, activating the light on her ear piece to navigate the stony passage. Water trickles into the sluices, but the levels are much lower than any actively used sewer. Lucky her.

It's a few minutes navigating closer to the city, when she spots a beam of light from the surface.

And the sound of a phone ringing ahead.

She reaches behind her ear to turn off the light, walking quietly to see what had happened.

Someone fell, her first thought, looking up. Then, looking down-

Leon?

Crumpled against the tiles, bleeding, not moving-

She jumps down and takes off one of her gloves to touch his face. Still warm. She slides her fingers down the side of his neck and counts the seconds. One, two-

Still breathing. Still has a pulse.

She pulls his arms out in front of him and manueuvers him on his side, resting his head on one tucked arm, and laying him out in recovery position.

His body is dotted in bite marks. Not deep- he wasn't bleeding out too much.

He hit his head.

The phone rings again, and Ada pulls it out to look at the facetime request. Ingrid Hunnigan.

Ada answers.

"So, you're Hunnigan," she starts, "Leon's out cold, but stable. Is he outfitted with any first aid?"