(A/N) Alright, not as fast as the previous update, but it's still taken me less than a month, so that's still good. The chapter length is also pretty consistent, so props to me there I guess.

I honestly thought I wasn't going to get this out; what with me getting mild writer's block near the end, trying to sort some real life stuff out, and getting into The Sims 2 again after switching PCs.

I don't know when, but these consistent updates are going to come to an end at some point. It may be from this update forward, or the next update forward, again I'm uncertain as to when it will happen. The reason is due to University starting up again in September, and me not knowing how much motivation I will lose because of that. The story is not discontinued, but it may have that inconsistent schedule again; the updates being 6 or 7 months apart. It may not be like that, but it's just a heads up just in case I vanish at some point.

Anyway, a lot of memos this chapter, so get comfy. It's gonna get weird to.

No flames please~! If you feel that some improvements could be made, don't be afraid to say so; tell me what I did good or bad, and like I just said, improvements are very much appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own these franchises, or their characters. Resident Evil belongs to CAPCOM, Silent Hill and Metal Gear Solid belong to KONAMI and Final Fantasy belongs to SQUARE ENIX.

Chapter 13: Of Notes and Stalkers

The Doctor's Lounge wasn't far from the reception with it only being around the corner. In the short time it took for them to get there, Leon and Zidane didn't see, or hear any sign of monster activity, which was weird. The agent suspected that the monsters had either not found them yet, or the woman was waiting to 'catch them by surprise' again. It hadn't worked the first time and it certainly wasn't going to work a second, considering in situations such as these, one must always expect the worst.

The Lounge itself was more spacious than the reception, which made sense if this was where staff went to store things for their work. It had storage compartments, a fridge, wooden coffee table, black couches, a sink, and other things. Notes were dotted around the room, the coffee table especially. Feeling a little nosy, Leon sat himself on the couch and began reading, while Zidane had a look around the room.

It wasn't long until Leon heard snickering. Looking up from the memo, he saw Zidane crouched in front of the fridge with his hand over his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at this.

"What's so funny?"

"There's a note on this fridge, 'Do NOT store food, or drugs,'" Zidane told him, pointing to the note. "Drugs I can get not being stored in here, but food not being allowed? What else do you use a fridge for?"

"To keep certain medications at a low temperature?" The agent guessed, looking back down at the document he was reading.

He heard the kid hum in thought, before humming in agreement. "Maybe you're right."

Curious, Zidane opened the fridge to see what was in there. He was shocked to find that it was emitting cold air and the fridge light worked. The boy thought that there wasn't any electricity in the hospital, as the lobby was dark when they entered. Could it have just been the lights that didn't work? The blonde also saw another one of those Med Plus drinks on the top shelf. Without thinking, he swiped it and shut the fridge, pocketing it before Leon saw him.

However, it was too late, as Leon was already staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "What are you -?"

"I found this," Zidane announced, pulling the drink from his pocket. "It's like a nutrition drink, or something," he added, approaching the blonde and giving him the bottle.

"Med Plus?" Leon read the front of the label, turning it around to read the back. "It heals...and dulls pain...?"

"Apparently, yeah," the boy shrugged, folding his arms with a small smile. "I've got another one that I found in the reception."

"Why are you keeping strange drinks from strange places?"

"Well, I thought that if it heals injuries, maybe it could be useful," Zidane explained. "You never know...I thought it could help."

"Yeah, I can't say much as I carried a lot of herbs with me in Spain," Leon said, handing the bottle back to the kid. "Look after it and pick up anymore you find."

"Got it," the tailed-boy nodded, taking a seat on the couch opposite the agent with a chuckle. "You had a lot of 'herbs' in Spain did you?" He asked with a smirk. "Must have been a fun holiday, Leon."

"I used them to heal myself when rescuing Ashley, it was anything but fun."

Leon tried to sound annoyed, but the smirk on his own face and lighthearted tone of voice betrayed him. Just the image of himself high while shooting ganados amused him. Probably, because it would never happen.

"What are you reading?" Zidane asked, leaning forward.

"A document on a few patients," Leon replied, picking up the sheets of paper and leaning back.

"What does it say?"

The agent cleared his throat and began reading:

"Leonard Wolf:

Room S12.

Presenting mild audiovisual
hallucinations, emotional instability,
obsessive ideas.
Suspect mild schizophrenia. Will continue observation.

Basically calm and cooperative, with
a strong sense of justice.
However, according to reports,
becomes very violent when
overexcited."

"Wait?" Zidane stopped the agent. "Does that make this place a mental hospital?"

"I don't know," Leon said, looking at the second sheet. "There's another guy here:

Stanley Coleman:

Room S07.

Usually passive and cowardly;
also egotistical.

Sometimes shows and acts on
obsessive attachment to a
particular woman.
This has caused violent incidents;
use caution."

After figuring out the riddle for the keypad number, James and Heather entered the patient wing. It was just as quiet as the lobby, which was unsettling for them to say the least.

James led the way, gun in hand, as he made his way to the only accessible set of double-doors to his right. Examining Room 3 was written on it and because of the room's title, the man thought it would be worth investigating.

Heather followed wordlessly, shaking as she gripped her gun for dear life. She really wanted to tell James what had happened back there, but she didn't want to bother him; he had his own worries, after all. Instead, she opted to keep it to herself until there was an appropriate time to mention it.

"Are you sure you're okay, Heather?" James asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. He had his hand on the handle, ready to open the door.

"Yeah, I've never been better..." Heather mumbled, staring down at the floor and folding her arms. She wasn't fooling him, as he removed his hand from the handle and approached her.

"If it's about what happened outside, I'm sorry," he said apologetically, his eyes filled with deep regret. "I don't deal with grief well, you know that."

"He's my dad..." her voice came out as a broken whisper, eyes beginning to fill with tears. "And I don't want to think of him as..."

"I know," James followed her gaze to the ground, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I shouldn't have yelled, you're taking this the hardest."

"Let's just have hope, please?" This sounded more like a plea than a question, making James' heart sink.

"But, he might not -"

"Unless we see a dead body, or something to prove that he's...dead..." Her voice cracked on the last word, as she tried to keep her emotions in check. "We'll consider him to be alive, okay."

"Okay," James nodded, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before grabbing the door handle again. "Let's have a look in this room."

Opening the door, the pair were met with a cluttered mess; papers strewn all over the place, and a stretcher carelessly thrown in. This stretcher had a dead body lying on it, covered with a light green sheet. Only one foot and an arm was exposed, letting the pair know that it hadn't been dead for long.

Heather gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "What the -?!"

"Yeah, you get used it," James said unflinchingly, walking further into the room without hesitation.

The girl followed slowly, inspecting the corpse. It showed no sign of rotting, but despite that, it was still letting off an unpleasant odour. She was having a hard time not flinching every time she breathed through her nose.

"'The start time is my key'?" Heather read out loud, examining the body's exposed arm. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," James replied, looking over a document on the table. "However, I do have an idea what had happened."

"What?" Heather asked, stepping towards him.

"Background: unknown. Name/age: unknown," James began:

"Not admitted patient. Found in poor
mental state on hospital grounds
and temporarily installed in room
M4 at chief's discretion.

Died late tonight from blood loss
due to severed carotid artery.
Was grasping own kitchen knife
in right hand; assume this was
cause of neck wound.

Possible suicide, but wound
angle suspicious. Sent to 2nd
floor treatment room for
further investigation.
Have received no proof or
corroboration of event from
patient residing in same room.

Have not notified police.
However, for future necessity,
leave victim's bed and effects
intact (room M4)."

"Poor guy..." Heather sighed, turning to the stretcher. "I bet he was murdered..."

"Yeah, but we have an objective," James pointed to the document. "We can find something in M4."

"Well, then what are we waiting for?" Heather ran out of the room, with James following close behind.

Henry was at a loss; he knew exactly what he was going to do, just not how to go about doing it. He was looking for Harry, that much was certain, however, he wasn't going to run around screaming the man's name for the whole town to hear; that would be foolish at best.

Thus, he was doing the only thing he felt was subtle; he ran. He ran until he recognised the location where Harry had parted ways with them. The horde was still there and bigger than it was before, which made Henry's heart sink to the pits of his stomach.

'Was Harry okay?'

Just as he wondered that, the horde parted slightly, making room for a person with a red lensed gas mask and a black hooded cape to jump onto a roof. Based on the physique, this person appeared to be a woman. She gestured below, prompting another person to join her. This person, a man based on the physique again, wore a similar get up, however he had a green hooded cape and a matching mask.

With their emergence, Henry's previous question had also been answered, as Harry was being carried over the green man's shoulder, unresponsive. The woman gestured with her head and they began to leave.

Upon seeing them, Henry immediately found the nearest bin and pushed it towards a building. Hopping onto the bin, then the building, he sprinted after them while doing his best to keep his balance.

They weren't getting away with his friend.

In the Visiting Room, the pair were met with nothing, but a bedside table and a bed with a notebook resting on it. It was left open with a doll sitting next to it.

Leon took no notice and went straight for the bedside table, to see if there was anything useful in the drawers. With the room being as narrow as it was, Zidane was left with no choice but to let his eyes wander to the notebook.

"Leon, I think you might want to look at this," Zidane said, picking up the book and handing it to the agent.

The man turned around, looking at the object in perplexion. "Why would I want to read someone's diary?"

Zidane answered by simply pushing the book into Leon's hand. "It's creepy, trust me."

"Fine," Leon began reading it's contents:

"This day has finally come. That's right — the day when you and I will meet.

I was always thinking of you, here in this gloomy cell.
I never even knew your name or face until today.

But now I know.
I know you're the one I've been waiting for."

The agent looked at Zidane in disbelief. "It sounds like a love letter."

The boy gestured for the blonde to continue, which he did:

"And haven't you been waiting for me, too?
That's why you came to rescue me.

Oh, how I love you, Heather."

"Heather?" Leon asked, placing the book down. "Harry's daughter, Heather?"

"Who else comes to mind, Leon?" Zidane replied, the tone of his voice rising slightly. "We've got a stalker on our trail, one who createss dolls with cameras in them."

"Okay, that's a bit of a stretch, kid," the agent chuckled.

"Which part?"

"Dolls with spy cameras..."

Zidane picked up the book and began reading the last of it outloud:

"I want to give you my prized doll I made to commemorate our meeting, the start of this
everlasting love.
Ah, I can already see your smiling face.

— Stanley Coleman"

"He made this thing!" He pointed to the doll. "He could've easily thrown a camera in there."

"I doubt he thought that far ahead," Leon told him, a look of amusement on his face as he turned Zidane towards the door. "Come on, let's go and search the patient wing."

"Wait!" The kid turned around, pointing at the doll again. "Look at that doll and tell me that it doesn't look creepy."

"It..." Leon trailed off and looked at it closely. "It's just a doll, Zidane," he said. "What it represents is weird, though..."

"Exactly," he looked in thought for a moment. "I don't think Heather has mentioned a 'Stanley Coleman' before...has she?"

"No," the agent shook his head. "It could be recent."

"So, she doesn't know..."

"Not only that, but isn't he the same man from before?" Leon wondered, thinking back to the Doctor's Lounge.

"The guy who gets obsessed with 'a particular' woman...?" Zidane looked at the book. "The same guy who gets violent..." he paused. "Yeah, you're right, it could be the same guy..."

"And Heather is his current target..."

Both blondes turned to each other and left the room, wanting to be as far away from that note as possible.

Heather and James didn't know what to expect going into M4, but they were not surprised by the room it turned out to be. It was a large room that accommodated two people; two beds without covers on them stood parallel to each other, only being separated by a single bedside table. The bedside table had an alarm clock sat on top of it, slowly ticking away.

After stepping further into the room, the alarm clock started ringing, prompting James to run and turn it off before anything was alerted to their presence. While he was doing that, Heather took a glance around the room, her eyes resting on a familiar doll and notebook. She felt the air get knocked out of her and her stomach tighten, as she took a closer look at what was written inside:

"There was a tattooed guy on that rumpled bed.
Not any more, though.
That alarm clock and filthy bag are his."

Confused, Heather looked up at the opposite bed with a black briefcase on top, then to the alarm clock that James was looking at. She thought back to Examining Room 3 and the man on the stretcher. So, the man's stuff was left here.

Looking back at the note, she hesitantly continued to read:

"Ah, but don't misunderstand.
I haven't done a thing.
I didn't hate him, though he was a liar.

Shall I write something of my own?
On my chest, since I can't cut it open to show you my heart.
"I Love Heather"."

She stopped reading to gag, James looked at her with concern as she continued to read:

"No, something a bit more forceful.
"I Love Heather" isn't enough for what I feel.
Oh, what tender emotion this image brings...

Stanley Coleman"

"Disgusting," Heather growled, flinging the notebook across the room. She groaned in frustration as it unceremoniously hit the ground, getting James' attention.

"Heather, what's wrong?" He asked.

"There's this weirdo, Stanley Coleman, who's obsessed with me," she told him, pointing accusingly at the notebook. "I found a notebook in the second floor lobby, where he called me cruel for not noticing him...or something."

"And this is a different one?" James asked, picking up the memo and skimming through it.

"Yeah, that's the second one I've found," Heather sighed, folding her arms. "I'd hate to think about how many more of these exist."

"Simply saying he loves you isn't enough for what he feels?" The blonde placed the notebook on the ground. "Are you sure you don't know him? An acquaintance from school, maybe?"

"No," the teen shook her head. "He's just some creepy stalker."

James nodded, before looking out of the window ahead. "Right."

Trying to focus on the prime reason for them being there, Heather turned to the black briefcase resting on the bed. "This belonged to the man in Examining Room 3," she said, approaching it wearily.

"I know," James replied, seating himself on the bed across from the briefcase. "The document in the room was what led us here in the first place," he folded his arms and looked down at the diary lying on the ground. "Stanley just repeated that information."

"Yeah..." she sighed, inspecting the briefcase. It didn't take long for her to find a way to open it. "Well, this is annoying..." she sighed.

"What?"

"It's a combination lock," she informed him. "And we don't know the answer."

"I think we do," James wore a small grin, as he nodded towards the alarm clock.

"The clock?"

James nodded.

"What about it?"

"Heather, have a long think about what we found in Examining Room 3," he told her. "What did you find as soon as you entered?"

"A corpse with a tattoo on his..." she trailed off. "The start time is my key..." she eyed the alarm clock suspiciously as she approached it. "It makes sense, but who would go through this much trouble to remember a combination?"

"I don't know," James said, walking towards the briefcase. "In these situations, it's best to abandon logic altogether."

"Yeah," the girl looked closely at the clock. The minute hand was on the four, while the hour hand was a little past the six. "So, if we're going by the logic that the time is the combination, then it should be 0432, right?"

"I'll try."

The room was silent while James went to input the given combination, shaking his head after finishing. "No, that's incorrect."

"Let's try military time, then," Heather said with slight desperation. "1632."

Silence again, as James tried the combination. Both blondes were glad when they heard a click.

"You did it!" James exclaimed, opening the case.

"What's our prize?" Heather asked, running over to have a closer look.

"It looks like an instant camera," he replied, placing the object on his knee.

"This guy must have been a photographer before he was killed," the teen sat next to James, looking to be in thought. "That or he just liked taking pictures."

"Like Henry," James smiled faintly at the thought of his friend, whereas Heather gasped and stood up.

"Don't say that!"

"What? I was just saying that Henry likes to take pictures," James sighed, looking down at at the camera. "I didn't say the guy was Henry."

"Sorry, I'm just..."

She looked out of the window in an effort to calm down. Why did she jump to that conclusion? She knew it couldn't have been Henry, but she was beginning to think of the worst. It was starting to upset her.

Her thoughts paused when she caught something moving on one of the roofs across from the hospital. She thought she had seen Henry jump across onto another building, but that could have just been her mind playing tricks on her. If it wasn't, why wasn't her dad with him? Henry was either struggling to find him, or...

"We could keep this for him," James said suddenly, breaking Heather away from her negative thoughts.

"Yeah, I think he'd like that," Heather said with a small smile, turning towards the door. "Want to give the rest of the patient wing a search?"

"It's better than doing nothing," he replied, standing up and following the girl out of the door.

Before entering the patient wing, Leon and Zidane had decided to give the lobby a thorough look around. However, it was a pointless endeavour as every door, with the exception of the rooms they had already examined, were locked. Frustrated by having their time wasted, they opened the door to the patient wing.

Much like the lobby, the patient wing was void of life, there wasn't even a small monster lying in wait for them.

"This isn't right," Leon muttered suddenly, getting the attention of his partner.

"What?"

"There's nothing here to catch us off guard," the agent continued his thought process. "We are just walking around."

"Now that you mention it, we're just being left to wander around freely," Zidane placed a finger on his chin and glanced around. "There's nothing trying to stop us..."

"This is something an amateur would do," Leon stated, shaking his head. "Letting us run loose without resistance."

"I don't know, maybe this lady just wanted to show us how much effort she put into this place," Zidane briefly extended his arms to the side to emphasise his point, before approaching a door. "A woman who is proud of her empty hallways and overhyped scheme, reminds me of a play I wrote once," he chuckled to himself as he pulled down the door handle. "C2 is unlocked," he announced, gesturing to the, now slightly open, door.

"I can see that," Leon said, his face failing to hide his mild amusement as he approached his partner. "And you wrote a play?"

"Yeah, when I was eight, I think," the kid replied, opening the door fully and entering the room. "I was really proud of it, that proud I even showed my adoptive dad."

"That isn't uncommon, I showed my terrible drawings to my parents as a kid," the agent smiled fondly, thinking back to a simpler time where he just scribbled on a sheet of paper with crayon, showed his parents, and watched them place the drawing on the fridge with a smile. That had always been a good feeling.

"But were your parents professional artists, who enjoyed ribbing on people?" Zidane asked, taking the agent out of his happy place.

"No..."

"My old man was a writer, he wrote plays, performed them, produced them, presented them, and loved to poke fun at small things," the tailed-boy explained further, sitting cross-legged by the entrance. "So imagine how a guy like that would respond to his son giving him a weird play about a hero with a tail falling for a princess, who had an elephant queen for a mother."

"That isn't uncommon for fantasy stories," Leon said, walking towards a note in the centre of the room. "Did he just laugh at the obvious self insert?"

"No," Zidane shook his head, as he watched Leon take a seat in front of him. "He also found the dialogue funny..."

"How?" The agent wore a small smirk. "Give me an example."

"Okay, I'll give you some context, I guess," the blonde sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "The hero, Jitan, was on his way to save the Princess from an evil plant monster, but his band of thieves were against the idea, especially Stitchy."

"Stitchy?" Leon's smirk widened, much to Zidane's embarrassment.

"Shut up, I was eight," he whined with a small laugh, elbowing the agent lightly in the ribs. "So, when he voiced how opposed he was to the idea, Jitan says..."

"Says?" The agent pressed on, dragging the word out.

Zidane cleared his throat, before wearing a smug expression and folding his arms. "You're jealous that I'm gonna get me a sweetie pie," he said teasingly. He broke character immediately after, shivering in his own shame. "Or something like that..."

"I was expecting worse," Leon told him. "That's not bad."

"Thanks, I guess," the boy smiled as he leaned his head against the wall. "I was seriously proud of it, I hyped it up to everyone just to have them laugh in my face," his smile fell. "It was soul crushing."

Leon thought for a short moment. "I kind of want to have a look at it," he said, prompting Zidane's head to snap in his direction. "I'm curious of what story eight year old you was trying to tell."

"Fine, I'll tell you what," Zidane said, a small smile returning to his face. "If we live through this, I'll show you the whole thing."

"Deal," the agent shook the boy's hand, before holding the memo up for him to see. "Speaking of finding ways to get out of here, I found this memo."

"What's it say?"

Leon cleared his throat and began reading:

"Ever since I was a little girl,
my father was always engrossed in his work.
He loved me, but paid me no mind.
I was never lonely, since I had my
mother and sister to keep me company.

My father was a scientist, employed by the,
now defunct, Umbrella Corporation.
Apparently, in the year 1973, five years
before my birth, a friend of my father's
wanted to, 'rid the earth of idiots.'"

"Not out of character for Umbrella, I suppose," Leon mumbled under his breath, before continuing:

"According to a diary entry from my father,
the objective was to create a human with
the ability to wield unimaginable power,
the kind only seen in fiction.
These humans would obey his every
command, nothing but slaves to his will.

To do this, he started The Genome Project,
and asked my father to help him.
He accepted.

In 1988, he saw his first success
when he created a genetically engineered
human, that he called a Genome, after the
project name. Due to being created as a baby,
the Genome could develop like the average
human child; have complex emotions, skills,
and talents. In doing this, when the child was
old enough, it would be able to go into a trance
that would allow it to access its powers that he,
creatively, called Trance. The trigger was said to
be intense emotion, which was why having
complex human emotion was important.

Garland left a mark on his creation so
he could tell it apart from others...
a proud narcissist..."

"Like most Umbrella Scientists," Leon snarked.

"Unfortunately, 4 years later, the lab
was infiltrated with the intention of
taking the child away. The person who
leaked the information is still unknown
to this day. There was a struggle, however,
a struggle that resulted in the deaths of many
scientists; my father included.

The man he worked under, Garland, went
underground to make more of these artificial
humans. Of course, resources were limited, so
they were not as good as his first successful
creation. They never lived for more than a couple
of hours. I believe that he is still looking for this kid
to this day...he will not succeed. He will pay for what
happened to my father if it is the last thing I do."

"Yikes," the agent heard Zidane say. Upon glancing at him, Leon could see that the kid had paled and he looked troubled, as he was staring down at his hands and tail. "I know it could be a bit of a stretch, but... could I..."

Leon didn't know what to say, he didn't even know what he thought. On one hand, he believed that it could be plausible, considering the extra appendage and his age making him born in 1988. However, from how long he's known the kid so far, he seemed like a genuinely good person and nothing out of the ordinary, again, excluding the tail. Looking at Zidane's face, he looked like a kid in desperate need of reassurance, not a monster.

Without thinking, the agent placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "No, with the exception of your tail you seem normal to me," he told him softly. "Besides, I'd imagine the kid would be with the government or something, not put up for adoption and left to roam around," Zidane looked down in thought, as the agent continued. "Especially, if he's as dangerous as the memo suggests."

"I guess you could be right..."

"Come on, let's go," Leon pocketed the memo and stood up, extending a hand to his tailed partner. "You're a good kid, not a result of a weird experiment, okay."

"Right," Zidane replied with a small smile, as he took Leon's hand and stood up. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," the agent turned to the door. "Let's look at the next couple of rooms."

Leaving C2, they immediately went to C3 to find it locked. Silently accepting that was how some doors were going to be, they tried the door next to it to find it unlocked. C4 wasn't a small room by any means, but it was messy and cluttered. Bed frames were carelessly shoved into corners, mattresses were bare, and the floor was filthy.

Venturing further into the room, Zidane spotted a familiar doll sat on the bed at the end with a notebook lying next to it. Leon noticed it too, shaking his head as he inspected the wall next to the bed. It had a random assortment of items glued to it, ranging from cookies, to cards, and even keys; a singular key to be exact, one that could be of use to their group.

The agent had a feeling that the attempt would be futile, but he still tried to pick it off anyway. Sighing, he turned to Zidane who was sat on the bed, reading through the notebook with a look of disgust.

"I'm guessing you couldn't contain your curiosity?" Leon asked, sitting beside him with a smirk.

"You never know what this guy could be planning, he's an obsessive, creepy stalker," Zidane said, brows creasing as he looked at the book closely. "Find anything on the wall?"

"Yeah, a key," the agent sighed. "But, it's -"

"Stuck?"

"Yeah..."

Zidane raised a brow as he turned to the agent. "I hate to say it, but this kinda helps."

"What does it say?"

The tailed-boy rubbed his eyes, before he began reading:

"The Organization has me shut up in here.
They need to break my will, to make me forget about all that.

But I'll stay sane even if they throw me in here with lunatics."

"He thinks he's sane?" Leon quipped, chuckling to himself. "That's ironic."

This got a laugh out of Zidane. "Here's the useful part:

How about if I stick this to the wall?
That would be worthless.
You can peel it off, can't you, with that junk those nasty wenches won't stop using?"

"Junk that wenches won't stop using?" Leon pondered, while Zidane continued.

"If a thing has no meaning, there's no reason for it to exist at all.
Just as you exist for me.

But why haven't you taken my doll with you?
Ah, my gift must've embarrassed you.
How cute you are, Heather!

Stanley Coleman"

With that, the boy threw the book away. "This guy has issues," he stated, standing from the bed with a stretch. "I wonder if Heather's okay..."

"Peeling it off with junk that wenches won't stop using..." Leon continued to ponder, getting an expectant look from his partner. "A solvent, like nail polish remover, I think."

"That makes sense," Zidane nodded, smiling fondly to himself. "Nail polish remover is made with acetone, which is great for getting things unstuck, trust me."

"How would you know that?" Leon gave him a faint smirk as he stood. "Painted your nails before?"

"No, but I do have a sister of sorts," he explained, placing a finger on his chin as he thought about it. "Ruby's her name, she has an entire shelf of nail stuff. The nail polish remover was very useful with getting paint and grease off of surfaces," he gestured to the wall with the glued items, before flinching slightly. "Wouldn't recommend pouring it on a doll's face, though, it's the stuff of nightmares..."

"Why did you -?"

"It was an accident..." he rubbed the back of his neck and turned to the door. "Do you think we'd find the remover here?"

"There's only one way to find out," Leon stood, but before he could move, his head felt light and his stomach tightened. He knew what was coming as he began to cough, prompting Zidane to turn around in alarm.

"Hey, are you okay?" He ran to the agent and placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to keep him steady. "Is it the parasite hatching?"

The boy's question was answered when blood shot from Leon's mouth and onto his hand.

"Damn it..." The teen was beginning to struggle. "You're gonna be okay, just -"

He paused as he watched his partner collapse on the ground, unresponsive.

"Shit! Leon!" Zidane kneeled next to him and began to shake him. "Leon, come on!" He turned him on his back and proceeded to poke one of his cheeks. Still not getting a response, he gave up, opting to sit beside him and shake him every couple of minutes.

"We're running out of time now, aren't we, Leon?"

Chapter 13 is over!

I know it is strange, but that's the nature of this story.

I'm also aware of how weak this chapter is; especially with the copy-pasted memo text from Silent Hill 3. I was just planning it out and found it fun to write. The memo describing the Genome Project, however, was what I call a "Crystal Original," meaning it's not a word for word memo from another game; I wrote it!

Future chapters shouldn't be that memo heavy.

If it wasn't obvious, the play Zidane wrote was the Evil Forest area from Final Fantasy IX, his game of origin. The hero, Jitan, is just Zidane's name in Japanese, and Stitchy is just Blank, but I thought I'd give him a more childish sounding name that described him, because in this strange crossover AU, Zidane was eight when he wrote this play. And yeah, the quote from "Jitan" was a quote from Zidane himself in FFIX; I almost used the "Ooo, soft!" scene, but I thought that would be too easy to get jokes from, if you've played FFIX you should know which scene I'm talking about. I'm aware it kind of sounds like I'm ribbing the game's writing in the scene, but I love the game, it's writing, characters, and everything to pieces; I'm just having a laugh at the "getting a sweetie pie" line. I do imagine it being delivered in a joking way, though.

Still on the topic of Final Fantasy IX, if you have knowledge of the game, or have played it, something near the chapter's end should have rung a bell. To be specific, the memo. However, I think something must have been picked up by everyone reading of what's in store for our heroes later on.

If it isn't obvious, I enjoy writing the character interactions. I feel I got too carried away here...

Improvements are appreciated, please tell me what I did right, wrong and how I can improve. If you would like, you could also favourite and follow this fic, as well as suggest areas of improvement, which I guess is the same as the first sentence. R&R and thanks for reading!