September 26. Raccoon City. Police Department. 11:30 AM
The smell of stale coffee and tobacco permeated the office of Brian Irons, the police chief of Raccoon City. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, illuminating the dust floating in the air. But Irons paid no attention to the light. His gaze, filled with a mixture of anger and frustration, was fixed on the officer sitting across from his desk.
The officer, a young man in his twenties with a look of bewilderment on his face, had a terrible headache. His bandaged head rested on his hands, and his voice, a whisper, was difficult to hear. The scene was the same as he had imagined, the end of one long day and the beginning of another. But this one was different.
"Tell me again, officer," Irons said, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "Describe the man who attacked you."
The officer raised his head, his gaze pained, but his eyes reflected a fear he couldn't hide. "Chief, I already told you. It was... a flash. I didn't see him."
"You didn't see him, but he attacked you and knocked you unconscious," Irons insisted, his voice growing louder. "Don't give me that nonsense, officer. Tell me the truth!"
The officer cowered, his eyes filled with fear. "Chief, I'm not lying. I just felt a kick and passed out. I didn't have time to see his face. I just remember he was wearing a suit... an elegant black suit."
Irons stood up, his fist crashing into the desk. The echo of the blow filled the silence. The officer shuddered.
"A man in an elegant black suit! What utter nonsense!" Irons shouted, his face red with anger. "The police have been watching her for a week, and suddenly, a 'man in a suit' takes her away without anyone seeing him!"
The officer remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. Irons paced around the desk, his mind, a maze of plans and conspiracies, processing the information.
The officer was right. The door to Jill's apartment was smashed, the trail of entry was clear, and the only person who could have done that to a man was someone who knew the body's weak points, a professional.
"And Jill Valentine?" Irons asked, his voice now calm, too calm. "No one saw her. Not the cops in the hallway, not the ones on the street, not the cameras. She vanished into thin air. She disappeared."
The officer remained silent. Irons' fury returned. "She didn't leave alone! Someone helped her! How do you explain that?"
The fact that Jill Valentine had escaped was a problem, but that someone had helped her was a disaster. The Umbrella Corporation didn't mess around, and anyone who got in the way of their plans would end up in the same place as the witnesses at the mansion. Dead.
Just then, the door opened and another officer peeked in.
"Boss, we have the pharmacy employee who was attacked. He says the man was acting strangely."
Irons waved his hand, motioning for him to come in. The employee, a skinny young man with glasses, entered and sat down in the chair the previous officer had occupied. His face was pale, his hands trembling.
"Tell me what happened at the pharmacy," Irons said, his voice in a tone the clerk had never heard before.
"I... I was at the register," stammered the employee. "And a man approached. He said his stomach hurt, that he needed medicine. He knelt down, doubled over. He seemed to be in pain. When I saw he was suffering so much, I went out to help him. I bent down to help him up, and the man... He had a gun! He had it hidden in his suit. He pulled it out and hit me over the head with it, and I passed out!" The employee paused, his eyes filled with shame. "When I woke up, the pharmacy was on fire, and luckily I wasn't inside."
Irons looked at him with narrowed eyes. The anger had faded, replaced by a dangerous coldness. Panic seized him, but he didn't show it. His mind, a maze of plans and conspiracies, processed the information. The officer described a "man in an elegant black suit." And the pharmacy employee, who had just entered, described a man in a suit. Both men had described him as someone in a suit.
Irons rose from his chair, his mind, a maze of plans and conspiracies, processing the information. The door to Jill's apartment was smashed, the trail from the entrance was clear, and the only person who could have done that to a man was someone who knew the body's weak points, a professional.
"A professional. A man in a suit..." Irons had to find him before the man did more damage.
The policeman's statement wasn't a lie, it was a puzzle. And the police chief, a man who believed himself to be at the top of the food chain, suddenly realized there was a new player on the board. A player who didn't follow the rules, a player who moved in the shadows, a player who wasn't afraid to die.
"Send all available officers out onto the street," Irons ordered, his voice now clear and concise. "I want that man, dead or alive. I want to know who he is and why he's trespassing on my turf."
The officer nodded, got up from his chair, and left. Silence returned to Irons' office. But this time, the silence was not reassuring. It was the silence of a predator who had realized that his prey had escaped.
Irons sat down at his desk, and his eyes fell on a photo of himself. Irons' face twisted into a grimace of fury. Umbrella's conspiracy, the one to keep the secret, was in danger. And the only way to save it was to kill the person who threatened it. And the man in the suit was the biggest threat he had ever faced.
With obvious nervousness, Irons rose from his chair, his trembling hand reaching for the phone and dialing a number with the tip of a single finger, as if the simple act of dialing could give him away. The phone rang once before being answered.
"Irons, you better have useful news. This is not a courtesy call," said a deep, sharp voice on the other end of the line. It was the voice of an important man, someone who had no time for explanations. "We've had a problem at the laboratory, and you know it. I need to know what's going on. The corporation can't afford any more disasters."
Irons swallowed hard. "Sir, believe me, I'm on it. We've had a setback, but I know what it is," he said, his voice trembling. "It's a man. A man in an elegant black suit. A professional. A very good one."
"A suit? A professional? Is that all you've got, Irons? We have operatives all over the city, and they haven't picked up anyone matching that description. You're no use to me if you don't know what we're dealing with." The voice hardened, the tone of anger clear. "We had to get rid of the security cameras that had been tampered with, and the pharmacy cameras too. The fire reduced everything to ashes. We have no trace of this man."
"Sir, the pharmacy cameras were completely destroyed. We recovered them to view the videos, but everything was completely burned. You can't see anything," said Irons, the panic in his voice evident.
"And that's why I'm calling you, Irons. I need you to explain to me how a man could do that without anyone seeing him, and without leaving a trace."
"Sir, believe me, I'm doing everything I can. We're going to find him. We just need a little more time. I'm going to deploy all the officers we have to find him. We have no idea who he is, or whether he's acting on his own or for another group, but my people are already searching all over the city for him."
"We don't have 'a little more time.' There isn't any. Call me back when you have his body, not before," the voice on the other end of the line abruptly hung up without saying goodbye. Irons lowered the phone from his ear, his hand trembling with impotent rage.
Irons sat back down, sweating. He knew his job depended on finding this man, the professional in the black suit.
"Damn it, if only the security cameras hadn't burned out, we might have found something..."
September 26. Raccoon City. John's hotel room. 12:15 PM
The silence in the small room was tense, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner. John, now impeccably dressed and with unwavering concentration, studied a map of the city he had found on the hotel desk. His gaze was a puzzle, his eyes moving from street to street, his fingers tracing imaginary paths. Jill, sitting on the edge of the bed, watched him cautiously. The time for hiding was over.
"Are you sure the school is the place to start?" Jill asked, her voice breaking the silence, low and cautious. "There are many Umbrella locations in Raccoon City. And if the guy at the pharmacy was right, we could be walking into a trap."
John let out a sigh, a deep, heavy sound that indicated exhaustion. He put the map down on the table and leaned back in his chair, watching Jill.
"Normally..." John began, his voice deep, a low murmur. "Normally, I would wait. I would take my time, gather information. The best way to get information is to be part of the staff, to infiltrate, to observe. But I don't have the patience for a chess game when the pawns are already falling."
John leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. His gaze, a mixture of determination and annoyance, fixed on her. "The man at the pharmacy said something. There was a nursing home and the school. He said they were both under the direction of a Dr. William Birkin. I don't know who he is, I don't care, but it gives me a bad feeling. I don't know why. And if I have to start somewhere, the school is the best place. Something tells me this guy is important, and the way to find him is to go to his workplace."
Jill nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on his. She understood the logic. It wasn't the logic of a cop, it was the logic of a hunter. Dr. Birkin, a new name on her radar.
"You're right," Jill said, her voice a whisper, but full of determination. "If it helps, I know how to get there. The fastest and safest way to get to the school is by subway. It's a maze, but I can guide you. The entrance is a few blocks from here."
The map was still on the table, the decision made. The school was the target, and the subway was the way. John stood up, his movement quick and precise, and walked over to his suitcase open on a chair. He paused and looked at Jill, who was still sitting on the bed.
"You can't go dressed like that," John said, his voice a deep murmur. His gaze was not on her clothes, but on her silhouette, her posture, every little detail that made her stand out. "Too visible. You're an ex-cop. The police, and anyone else who's looking for us, will know what you look like."
Jill sighed, resignation weighing on her like a blanket. She understood the logic, but that didn't make her like it. She had spent the last hour arguing with the man about his suspicions and the logic of going to school, and now she had to deal with her outfit.
"What do you want me to wear?" Jill asked, her voice a murmur of annoyance.
John walked over to the door and pointed to a gray bundle, a large coat and a travel bag he had picked up from Mrs. Peterson's room. "This coat. It's from an old lady. No one will pay any attention to you. And the bag to hold your equipment."
Jill got out of bed, shuffling toward the door. "I'll look like a grandmother," she complained, her voice a low murmur of disgust. She took the gray coat and put it on over her uniform. It was large, uncomfortable, and made her look round, almost shapeless.
John ignored her complaint, his gaze resting on the gun she wore at her waist. "Take that gun off. You'll carry the equipment in the bag. It's too obvious."
Jill nodded, her face a mask of resignation. She unbuckled the gun belt and, with a sigh, stowed it in the travel bag she had also grabbed. The bag was as big as the coat and weighed a ton.
"Can we go now?" she asked, the annoyance in her voice evident.
"Yes," John replied with a nod.
John and Jill left the hotel into the blinding midday light. The receptionist, a man with an expression of resignation etched on his face, watched them pass. Unperturbed by the unusual couple, he simply nodded in their direction, a silent and respectful greeting, as if he understood that they were no ordinary guests.
On the street, Jill took the lead. The afternoon sun bathed the sidewalks, and the air was heavy and thick. John followed close behind, his gaze, accustomed to detecting danger, scanning the crowd, the passing cars, and the alleys. His mind was a repository of dangers, and in Raccoon City, every shadow was a potential predator.
"The subway station is only two blocks away," Jill said, without looking back. Her voice, a low whisper, was a guide in the bustle of the city. The large coat made her look like an anonymous figure among the people, and John felt relieved. It was the perfect plan.
As they walked, John saw a small newsstand, almost hidden in the shadow of a building. On the counter, several pairs of sunglasses glinted in the bright light. The decision was instantaneous. Without hesitation, John stopped Jill.
"Wait a minute," he said.
Jill stopped, her annoyed expression growing. "Now what?"
John didn't answer her. Instead, he walked toward the kiosk. Jill followed, her footsteps dragging on the pavement. The vendor, a man with a big smile, greeted them enthusiastically.
"Sir! Looking for an accessory for your beautiful girlfriend? I recommend these," he said, holding up a pair of dark, stylish sunglasses. "They make her look very mysterious."
John, impatient and focused, didn't respond. Instead, he turned to Jill. "Pick one, quick."
Jill's patience evaporated. In her mind, a voice screamed, "Now what? A bigger disguise?" But John's logic, to go unnoticed, was undeniable. She took a deep breath and approached the counter, looking at herself in the small mirror. She looked ridiculous, but at the same time she looked confident. She chose a pair of large, round sunglasses that hid almost half of her face. When she put them on, the world darkened and her reflection became blurry.
John paid the salesperson and then looked at her. Seeing that she was now less recognizable, he felt relieved. The women's sunglasses were a perfect addition to the disguise.
They resumed their journey. Jill, her voice barely audible, murmured, "If Chris and Barry saw me now... they would laugh."
John said nothing, but his thoughts were clear: Jill's usefulness became more apparent with every step. She knew the city, she was his guide, his personal map in this hell. It was an advantage he couldn't ignore. His mind, accustomed to solitude, felt a little more comfortable, a little more secure, knowing he wasn't alone in his quest.
Two blocks later, they arrived at a subway station, and Jill led him down some stairs that led into the underground darkness.
The train arrived at the station with a metallic roar and came to a screeching halt. The doors opened, revealing an almost empty car. John and Jill quickly boarded and took seats together at the back. The train pulled away, and Raccoon City became a blurry smudge passing by the window.
As John watched the scenery, he felt relieved that he didn't have to decipher the complex subway maps. The peace of mind that came with leaving that task to Jill was a luxury. He didn't have t ly worry about lines, connections, or possible detours. He just had to follow Jill, who seemed to move around the city as if she were walking through her own home. It was incredibly helpful, and John felt a little more comfortable with the situation.
Jill sat quietly, her gaze lost in the window, in the reflection of a woman she barely recognized. She was in a kind of trance, taking in the situation. A few hours earlier, she had been in her apartment, trying to rebuild her life, but now she was on a train with a man she barely knew, heading to an unknown place to face possible danger. It was crazy.
But when she looked at John, at his imposing figure and calm gaze, she felt a little reassured. John was a competent man, a man of action, and having someone like that by her side was a comfort amid the chaos. She had no idea why she was doing this, but something told her that with him, she had a chance to get out of this. She didn't question whether her decision was right, she just knew it was the best one she had at the moment.
The train screeched to a halt at the subway station. Jill stood up, put away her sunglasses, and looked around. Although it was almost identical to the one they had left, the map on the wall confirmed their location. This was the right stop.
"This is our stop," she said to John, her voice calm.
They both got out of the car, climbed the stairs, and walked down an avenue lined with tall buildings. The streets were full of people strolling, unhurried, enjoying the day. The hustle and bustle of the city was perfect camouflage for John and Jill.
"What kind of place is this?" John asked, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
"It's a commercial area," Jill replied. "The school is a few blocks from here. The orphanage, the police station... everything is very close by." Jill's voice was soft, but her expression remained serious as they approached the place where city life was about to change forever.
"What about the police station?" John asked, his voice low and calm.
"It's close too, but I don't think we need to go there," Jill replied, her voice a whisper. "Our target is the school. If there's an Umbrella base, it's most likely there."
John nodded, his gaze resting on a large building a few blocks away. It was an old building with large windows and a courtyard visible in the distance, filled with children playing. The school. "It's a few minutes from here," Jill said, guessing John's thoughts.
As they walked, Jill felt a little more comfortable with John's presence. Despite his silence, he was a comforting presence. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke for themselves. The way he had protected her, guided her, made her feel safe.
"It's a shame all this is happening," Jill said, breaking the silence. "This town used to be such a peaceful place."
John didn't respond, but nodded his head, his gaze serious. At a time like this, there wasn't much to say. Words felt empty amid the circumstances.
After a few minutes, they arrived at the building. The school. At first glance, it looked like a completely normal place. Students were leaving school after classes, laughing and talking among themselves, while some of them played in the playground with other children.
"Too normal," John said.
Jill couldn't help but chuckle. "Too normal? What do you mean by that?"
John didn't answer, but a small smile appeared on his face, something Jill hadn't seen before. They continued on their way, and after a few more minutes of walking, they were near the school entrance. Everything seemed normal.
Before going in, John asked Jill what kind of school it was. "High school or middle school?"
"It's a middle school," Jill replied. "There will be children and teenagers."
John nodded, his expression serious. With that information in mind, he approached the entrance. A guard stopped him, asking suspiciously, "What are you looking for here?"
John calmly replied, "We're both here to talk to the principal. We were called in because of our son's behavior."
He was so natural that Jill blushed a little, surprised at how convincing he sounded, as if they really did have a son. The guard looked at them, then at the supposed "couple," and nodded, letting them pass.
Before entering, John pretended to be confused. "Could you remind us where the principal's office is? I don't remember very well."
The guard, suspecting nothing, pointed him in the direction: "The principal's office is near the food court, where all the kids and teens have lunch."
"Thanks for your help," John replied calmly.
At that time of day, the hallways were empty, which gave them a little peace of mind. As they walked, Jill couldn't help but look around curiously, while John, with the direction in mind, headed for the principal's office.
"Do you think this is the fastest way to get information?" Jill asked quietly, still looking around.
"It'll be the fastest," John replied. "If this is really part of Umbrella, the principal must know about it. It would be a waste of time to ask teachers or other school staff."
Jill nodded, recognizing the logic in his words. "And how do you know he'll tell you what you're looking for?"
John glanced at her sideways, his expression remaining unreadable. "He will," he said with complete certainty. "I'm sure of it."
They continued walking, the location of the principal's office firmly etched in John's mind.
As they walked, John and Jill came across a girl of about 15. She looked distressed, searching desperately for something. A group of boys surrounded her, laughing and teasing her.
"We should intervene," Jill whispered.
John looked at the situation, somewhat uncertain, and nodded. "It could be a good opportunity to get some information."
The girl was visibly frightened. "I've lost my important things!" she cried, her voice breaking. One of the boys, laughing cruelly, pulled her hair.
"Look at the little slut, losing her things again!" one of the boys said.
The girl, her eyes filled with tears, begged him to stop: "Stop, please!"
John approached the group, his presence imposing. In a cold voice, he asked, "What's going on here?"
The boy turned around, a mocking smile on his face that faded when he saw John. "Oh, who brought you here, little slut?" he sneered. Then he looked John up and down and burst out laughing. "So you slept with this guy too, huh? Wow, you really are a whore!"
A vein bulged in John's neck, but his face remained impassive. Jill, however, frowned furiously, feeling an uncontrollable urge to punch the boy in front of her. Jill's rage was enough to freeze the boys for a moment, and then they ran away, frightened by her intense gaze.
"Hey, you!" shouted one of the boys as he ran away, a chill in his voice. He looked at Jill with shining eyes, his hormones in overdrive, and said nervously, "By the way, mamacita, when you get tired of him, let me know, okay? I have a night you'll never forget waiting for you."
Jill's fury intensified. She was about to lunge at him, but John stopped her hand with surprising calm. Jill glared at him, ready to retort, but before she could say a word, John approached the boy.
The boy froze, swallowing hard. In an instant, John delivered a devastating knee to his solar plexus. The boy doubled over, falling to his knees, gasping for air, a string of drool escaping from his mouth.
The other boys who were about to run stood still, petrified by what they had just witnessed. John looked at them with his icy eyes. "If anyone moves, I swear I'll break your bones."
One of them, the one who seemed the bravest, dared to speak, his voice trembling. "My father will come after you if you dare touch me. He's an ex-military man."
John interrupted him abruptly. "I don't care who your father is. I assure you that I am much worse."
Silence fell over the hallway. John stared at the boy who was kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. Calmly, he grabbed him by the tips of his hair, making him scream a little, and brought him closer to his face.
"You little bastard," John whispered in a deep voice. "If your parents didn't raise you right, I'd do it here and now, but you're in luck because I'm in a hurry. But I swear, if I see you again, it won't just be one hit."
Letting the boy go, John stood up, and the others helped him to his feet. The terrified boys looked at John, who said coldly, "Now you can go."
The girl, trembling, thanked him. "I was looking for my lucky charm," she explained. She described it as a small bullet-shaped keychain. John looked at the floor and found it near a locker. He bent down, picked it up, and handed it to her. The girl sighed with relief, holding the keychain to her chest.
John looked at the charm. Seeing the girl cling to a worthless object as a symbol of protection, a talisman against chaos, was a reflection of his own life. He also noticed a guitar case leaning against the locker. He ignored it for a moment, but thought the girl must be in music class.
As John walked back toward Jill, the girl couldn't stop staring at the man who had just defended her. With his impeccable suit and steely gaze, he looked like something out of a movie. "He looked so cool!" she thought, a slight blush spreading across her cheeks.
Then her eyes fell on the woman accompanying him. Jill was beautiful, and for a moment, the girl felt a pang of envy. "How lucky she is," she thought. "If I were a little older..."
The girl was lost in her thoughts for a moment. When she realized it, John and Jill were standing next to her. John, in a softer tone, asked her, "Have you seen anything strange around here? Or have you heard of any students going missing?"
The girl, taken aback by the abrupt change in his voice and the nature of the question, replied honestly, "No, I haven't seen or heard anything like that. I'm sorry."
John nodded resignedly and thanked her. Just as they turned to leave, the girl called out, "Wait! My name is Melissa Miller. What's your name?"
John paused for a moment, looking over his shoulder at her. "Just John," he said casually. "It was a pleasure to help you."
As they walked away, Jill couldn't help but smile. "Looks like you made that girl's day," she whispered.
John just laughed. "What are you imagining?" he joked.
"I know that look," Jill insisted, laughing too.
John shrugged and pointed to a door at the end of the hallway. "I think that's the one."
They both approached with determination. John stopped in front of the door and gestured to Jill. "I'll go first. When the time is right, just go with the flow."
John knocked on the office door. From the other side, a voice said, "Come in."
John and Jill entered the office. The man sitting behind the desk looked like the spitting image of a school principal. His hair was neatly combed, parted in a perfect line, and his eyes, framed by thin-rimmed glasses, moved with the speed of someone who had spent years evaluating students. He wore an impeccable tweed suit with a pocket square that matched his tie, and he had a smile, albeit a tense one, on his face. An air of controlled authority emanated from him.
As the door closed, John made a quick and discreet assessment of the room. His eyes scanned every corner in less than a second. He noticed the diplomas on the wall, a shelf full of football trophies, and, on a table, a stack of papers with exam notes. His gaze lingered on a photograph hanging behind the principal. In it, the principal was shaking hands with a man in a white lab coat and blond hair.
The principal stood up, his smile widening. "Come in, have a seat," he said, his voice deep and polished. "What brings you here?"
"Good afternoon," said John, his voice calm and steady, stepping forward. "My name is Tacitus Kilgore, and this is my wife, Jill Kilgore."
The principal nodded, his face filled with slight confusion. He leaned over a sheet of paper on his desk, searching for a name that wasn't there. "Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore, , right? That's strange, we don't have you on our appointment list. Could you have the wrong school?"
John remained unperturbed. "We've been thinking about moving, Principal," he replied calmly. "And we want our son, Alex, to attend a school with a good track record. But at the same time, we've been thinking that with all the news about students going missing, maybe it's not the best place."
The principal's smile faded, and a vein of nervousness took hold of him. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his pocket handkerchief. His voice became tense. "That's very strange. We always try to do what's best for our students. Could you be more specific?"
"You mean the news, honey?" Jill interjected, her voice sweet and understanding, playing along with John perfectly.
"Yes, honey," John replied. "I heard it on the radio. Wasn't it that some students have simply transferred to other schools?"
The principal was silent for a moment, his smile fading. "No. There are no disappearances," he said coldly. "The students have simply transferred to other schools."
"That's strange, don't you think? So many students transferring at once?" John asked, his voice calm and his eyes fixed on the principal.
The principal stood up, his expression one of concern. "In the world of education, students come and go, don't they? It's common practice in schools for students to transfer. But I assure you, our school is one of the safest in the city."
"We know," John said, his voice low and calm. "We just want our son to do well. He's had problems with other students, and we wouldn't want that to happen again."
The principal, visibly nervous, began, "To show you how much we value your interest in our school, I can offer a full scholarship for your son, Alex."
As he spoke, his mind returned to a phone call from two days ago. He remembered an exhausted male voice telling him that Brian Irons's pawn had only discovered that the man who helped Jill Valentine escape was a man in a suit. That man insisted that if he saw anyone in suspicious clothing that fit that description, or who simply seemed strange, he should contact Umbrella immediately.
The director's gaze turned to John, then to Jill. He looked at Jill's clothing, a coat covering her body and glasses, and everything seemed very strange to him. He looked again at John's suit, the same one described to him in the call, and nerves took hold of him. He thought about the only way to resolve the situation without attracting attention.
With a fake smile, his hand reached for the silent alert button hidden under his desk. He knew that just by touching it, Umbrella agents would come to his aid and take care of the situation. Just as his hand was about to reach the button, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his other hand, the one on the desk.
The director let out a cry of pain. He looked at his pierced hand. A pencil, the same one that had been on the desk, was now sticking through it, and blood was gushing out uncontrollably. He doubled over, clutching his hand with his other hand. The plan to alert Umbrella was gone, and all he could think about was the pain. John, unperturbed, looked at him with his icy eyes.
"Close the door, Jill," John said, his voice a cold whisper.
Jill, petrified for a moment, got up from her chair and closed the door. "Now," John said, his voice a cold whisper, "we'll talk."
The director, his face contorted with pain, straightened up in a rage. "Are you crazy? I'll sue you! I promise you'll regret this."
John did not respond with words. Instead, he grabbed the pencil embedded in the principal's hand and twisted it slightly. The principal let out a muffled cry as more blood stained the desk.
"I know what you were going to try," John said, his voice cold and monotone. "Your other hand was reaching for something under the desk, wasn't it? Maybe a gun? Or a button to call for help?"
The principal's face paled. With a firmness that surprised Jill, John grabbed the principal by the neck with the pencil still in his hand and threw him to the floor.
Jill watched the scene nervously. Clearly, she could not have done that. She did not have the skill or the cruelty to act with such speed and precision.
John leaned over the principal to question him, but at that moment, a burst of gunfire echoed throughout the school. The sound was like that of a machine gun, something with a high rate of fire. John stopped, confused. He looked at the principal, who, with a bloody hand, glared at him angrily.
"Did you call Umbrella?" John asked.
The principal did not answer, only glaring at him with hatred. John was puzzled. "If this man called for backup, it's strange that they would shoot before arriving," he thought. "If it were backup, the shots would come directly at the door. It doesn't make sense."
Quickly, he approached the director's desk and searched. Sure enough, he saw the silent alert button, but it didn't appear to have been pressed. His suspicions were confirmed: the attack was not from Umbrella.
With controlled urgency, he approached Jill, who had already drawn her weapon. "This is strange. I don't think they're from Umbrella. Stay here and don't let the director move. I'll go investigate."
Jill was about to reply, but she realized John was right. They couldn't leave the director alone, especially if he really had something to do with Umbrella. Before John opened the door, she said, "Be careful."
John looked back over his shoulder, calmly. "I always do."
Author's note: I apologize for not updating yesterday, today I uploaded a slightly longer chapter, since tomorrow I won't update either, I hope you understand and continue supporting the story to encourage me to keep writing, I appreciate it