Chapter 17

Leon showered and left. Ada dozed off for only a short while, and when she rolled over to check the clock when she woke up, it was past four in the morning. She was still tired, but a ravenous appetite was keeping her awake. The last meal she had seemed distant…and the recent physical exertion only sapped her of strength further.

She rolled out of bed, kicking away the tangled mess of sweaty sheets off of her body, then ran water for a shower. The hot soak felt good, washing away the sweat and passion that doused her skin, and it also served to wake her up a little more.

To avoid further dirtying what few clothes she had, she slipped on Leon's discarded button down for the time being. Most of the buttons were gone from when she yanked it open, but enough where still there to close the shirt and make herself at least semi-decent. He wasn't around anyway, but his musk was fresh on it, that pleasing clean-cut scent that matched his ideals.

She shook her damp hair a little with her fingers, then moved quietly to the kitchen. It was still in disarray after the tussle and what followed. Broken ceramic lay on the floor next to the counter, and other loose items and utensils were scattered about haphazardly. Dishes were still in the sink, sitting in soapy water after yesterday's meal, and the typical household mess only added to the clutter. Feeling a little guilty, she pushed the ceramic shards on the floor under the counter a little further with her foot, intending to clean things up after she had a little snack.

There wasn't anything elaborate in Leon's cupboards. He appeared to eat healthy enough, judging by the food; there was even a bowl of fruit sitting on the corner of the countertop. She helped herself to a banana, then pawed around a little bit, finding a box of pasta. The pots were under the sink, and soon, she had water boiling. Butter and noodles weren't much, but at least it would be something in her stomach.

As she dumped the pasta in, she considered how things had evolved in the short time period. They'd come to terms with their relationship, and that would make dealing with the fallout a little easier. Maybe. Leon would back her up, and she'd do what she could in the fight against Wesker and Crow.

A soft thump sounded against the far wall, just barely audible over the sound of boiling water. Ada's ears perked up when she heard it again. It was too cool outside to be an air conditioner turning on, and too warm to be a furnace pipe banging. Leaving the pasta to boil, she took a step further, her body tense as she tried to listen further. A full minute of silence passed, and she exhaled.

Must have been—

-and the window exploded inward with a crash as something flew through it, tethered by a cable. Instinct took over, and she hurled herself at it, recognizing a familiar shape protruding outward-

-bambambambambambam-

-gunfire erupted in a torrential chatter, deafening her. She was just barely able to knock the muzzle away before it ripped her to shreds. The submachine gun, or assault rifle, whatever it was, tore a line of holes in the wall as the gunner stumbled, still connected by the rappelling cable through the window-

-bambambambambambam-

-her momentum carried her right into him, and the impact knocked them both to the ground. The gun went off again, this time a longer burst as the gunner fell. Pain burned on her arm; muzzle flare as the next volley destroyed the TV and entertainment center.

The world was upside down, then slanted on an angle as Ada fought to get her bearings, only to almost get clocked against the head as the gun's barrel came around again. She threw her weight against the arm-

-bambambambambambamCLICK-

-it belched another salvo, then clicked dry. A fist lashed out and connected with her jaw. Ada tumbled back, landing flat on the floor, but reflexively kicked, catching him in the chest, and managed to scramble to her feet the same time as the gunner did.

He was fast. He dropped his weapon, and before she had time to react, he was on her. She blocked the punch to her head, the force behind it stronger than she expected. He was strong, too. Then came the next three punched. The second clipped her, while the third hit her square in the ribs.

Ada cried out as her injury erupted in agony; her vision went red, and her defense dropped completely. Something struck the side of her knee, and she went down hard, only adding to the already incredible pain. Her vision was clear enough to just see his leg draw back for a kick, and got her arms up just in time to block most of the savage blow to her body.

The pain went distant as her instincts kicked in further. Ignore it Just ignore it. Up on her feet, scrambling, she blocked another kick, pushing the pain beneath her, then threw a punch of her own. Blocked, but she managed to get another jab out, catching him in the throat. It just enough to stun him and catch her breath, but then he swung his fist again.

She stepped back, drawing her hands up into a fighting stance, but quickly ran out of space as she backed into the kitchen counter. The assassin struck again with two hard blows, both of which she parried. He countered, a glancing blow to the side of her head, and she stumbled right, grabbing the dish tray and swinging it wide. It clocked him on the side of the head, small ceramic plates and utensils sailing everywhere, clanging and shattering on the floor.

It didn't stop him long enough to press the attack further. Stooped over, he charged her, spearing her in the gut with his shoulder and sandwiched her against the counter. The pain threatened to overwhelm her, and Ada half coughed and half shrieked. The assassin hooked an arm under her thigh and lifted, shoving her haphazardly over the counter top, clearing it of any remaining clutter.

A fork pressed itself painfully between her shoulder blades, a broken glass opened a cut on her forearm, and several points beneath her back and bare legs were cushioned by jagged ceramic. The assassin didn't waste any time hopping the counter, then grabbed a parring knife from the knife block.

He brought it down right over her skull, and if she hadn't twitched when his weight fell on her, he would have buried it through her eye. The knife instead dug into the linoleum, snipping a few strands of her still-damp hair. Ada grabbed his arm for leverage, then drove her forehead into his nose, following it with a punch, giving her enough wiggle room to get a leg back and kick him off.

The headbutt was enough to draw two streams of blood from the attacker's nose, but it barely seemed to faze him. He threw another flurry of punches at her, which she blocked and countered, managing to trap him in an arm lock and then slam him against the refrigerator. He rebounded off, tripping against the counter, then lashed out again. The mostly intact plate he had in his hand shattered against her temple, sending white-hot stars across her eyes.

The pot sitting on the stove, by now a boiling, steaming froth, was just in reach. She snatched it by the handle and pitched it lopsidedly at him as he charged, her aim shaky from the hot embers of ceramic beneath her feet. He barely ducked, and the pot hit the floor, spilling its contents in a bath of steam. He speared her in the gut again, her vision going red, then slammed her into the cupboards.

As she reeled, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and drove her head face first into the half filled sink. She let out a grunt and inhaled a quantity of soapy water as the side of her head hit something hard, drawing more blood that mixed into the water that stung her eyes.

The assassin threw his weight down on her, twisting one arm behind her back until she was sure it was going to break. She thrashed, but was unable to lift her head from the water. Most of her breath was already gone, and what little she could hold was expelled in a bubbling scream as something hit her injured ribs.

One hand was free, blindly scrabbling against the smooth countertop for something, anything…and then her fingers hit something. She groped further. It felt solid. With the last of her clear thoughts before the panic of drowning settled in, she swung it behind her as hard as she could.

What turned out to be a coffee pot shattered against the man's skull, and the grip on her arm and hair vanished. Ada jerked her head up from the mess, sopping bangs marring her vision as she took a gasping breath. She caught a blurred glimpse of the assassin, keeled over with shards of glass sticking out of his temple, blood running down his face. She didn't give him a chance to recover, throwing herself blinding on him, both of their bodies clipping the edge of the counter.

Both of them fell to the ground, but Ada was quicker and was on top. She held her grip on his arm and managed to swing her leg over and get it over his neck. Her other leg scissored, crossing at the ankles, and formed a tight hold. A deadly twist on a classic wrestling position.

The assassin jerked as she flexed her legs as hard as she could, trying to pull his arm free while the other tried to earn some slack. Ada focused everything she had to simply hold the lock and continue to squeeze as hard as she could. He couldn't hit her as long as she held the arm lock, and he was too weak from the fight to pry away her legs with one hand, no matter how much he clawed at them.

His thrashing grew furious as the seconds ticked by. No matter how he twisted, she held herself firm. Then the gasping started.

Just hold it…just hold it…

She closed her eyes, ignoring the pain burning in all of her muscles. She could hold him until it was over. It didn't matter that it made her want to scream in agony as her abs contracted over her ribs. She just wished she could block out the sound.

Just go down already…

Eventually, the gasping faded, having turned to a choking hack, and the thrashing slowly subsided to twitching.

Sixty…fifty-nine…fifty-eight…

Ada slowly counted a minute in her head from the time he went slack, then with an exhausted sigh, released her choke hold. Every inch of her was in agony, but her ribs easily dwarfed the comparatively minor dull throbs and sharp stings that dotted her body. She could still taste water and soap on her tongue, and every pant that tried to calm her body only brought more pain.

She forced herself to roll over, kicking the assassin's head off of her thigh and got to her hands and knees. There wasn't time to rest. A fully-automatic weapon was discharged, and she was lucky she didn't hear sirens yet. She needed to screw her head on straight, get real clothes on, then get the hell out of there. Leon's shirt was now tattered, one of the sleeves nearly torn off, and speckled with grime, water, and blood, both hers and his.

Hope it wasn't a favorite…she thought woozily, suppressing an inane grin.

Before that, though, she searched the assassin. Aside from an extra magazine for the rifle, there wasn't much. She almost began to despair when she found something hard and plastic in one of his pockets. A cell phone.

"Finally," she muttered. This was the break she had been waiting for. Quickly, she began to flip through the phone. No contacts, but there was a text message:

'Take out Kennedy. Sweep for data. One hour.'

A siren picked up outside, joined by another one. Her time was running out. She got to her feet, staggering slightly, and made it back to the bedroom. She stripped off the shirt and slipped into the pair of jeans and T-shirt Leon had picked up for her, all the while trying to decipher the message. She had to brush her feet clean of any bits of broken plate embedded in them before she tugged her shoes on.

So they weren't after me, they were after Leon…but what data did that mean…?

She swallowed a handful of painkillers before scooping up her weapon and Leon's keys, then stumbled out of the apartment while trying to mop the blood off of her face. He'd been taking cabs since his car had been shot to hell, which meant that it was still in the parking lot.

Unless the message was referring to what the BSAA recovered at Spencer's mansion. Leon had seen the data, and if Crow still had spies in the government, they would have known that. They were cleaning up and covering all the bases. Trying to get the data for themselves. Which meant—

"Shit," Ada muttered, able to get her pace to a slow jog as she headed down the buildings stairs.

They were going after Spencer's data, which meant they were targeting Ingrid Hunnigan.