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Leon's grip on the key tightened until the metal bit into his palm. He looked down at Sherry, who was clutching her teddy bear, her sapphire eyes wide with a fragile, hopeful dependence.
"Of course," Leon said, his voice soft. "It's a deal."
Sherry's face transformed. She dropped the bear, lunged forward, and threw her arms around Leon's neck. She buried her face in his shoulder, her small frame vibrating with a quiet, sweet relief. "Thank you, Leon."
At that moment, the iron that had encased Leon's heart since the Raccoon City outskirts finally melted. He clumsily patted her back and booped her nose, a genuine, lopsided smile finally reaching his eyes.
Night deepened.
Sherry slept in her new, spacious bedroom, her breathing steady and a peaceful smile lingering on her lips. In the living room, the holographic embers of the fireplace cast long, flickering shadows as Noah flipped open the unbranded black laptop.
There was no logo. No "Windows" splash screen. It jumped straight into an encrypted OS. Only one folder sat on the desktop: a red Umbrella icon with a stark black 'X' slashed through it.
Noah clicked it. A torrent of data flooded the screen—charts, maps, and dossiers that made the hair on the back of Leon's neck stand up.
"My God," Leon breathed, leaning in.
Noah opened a file marked HIGHEST PRIORITY. "Umbrella's Paris branch is a state within a state," Noah read, his voice dropping into a low, grave cadence. "They've bought the Ministry of Defense and the Interior. They have their own independent army, the U.S.S., with gear that outclasses the French regular forces."
Claire's hand found Noah's and gripped it hard.
"It gets worse," Noah continued. "They have a direct line to the GIGN. With one phone call, they can mobilize the gendarmerie to blockade and eliminate anyone they want within fifteen minutes."
"Bastards," Leon hissed, punching the rug. "They aren't just a company; they're an occupying force."
Claire felt a wave of cold nausea. She thought of her original plan—just her and Noah, storming the gates with nothing but guts and a handgun. It wouldn't have been a mission; it would have been an execution.
The month that followed was a strange, focused peace.
Leon moved in with a single duffel bag, becoming the villa's permanent "tenant." With Mr. T's invisible hand pulling the strings, Sherry was enrolled in a top-tier private school. On her first day, the three of them—acting for all the world like a real family—dropped her off.
A few days later, Sherry sat at the dinner table, poking at her broccoli with a look of profound boredom. "Noah? Claire? I think my classmates are... well, they're babies."
"Babies?" Leon chuckled.
"All they talk about is cartoons and dolls," Sherry sighed like a weary adult. "It's very tedious."
The three adults shared a look and burst into laughter. After surviving a bio-organic apocalypse, a six-year-old's social circle was bound to feel a little shallow.
They used the time to sharpen themselves. Noah secured access to a local range. Leon watched, dumbfounded, as Noah transformed from a capable survivor into a dead-eye marksman with everything from a Beretta to a .45.
In return, the backyard became a training ground for Xingyi Quan (Form-Intention Fist). Leon sweated and groaned as he practiced the stances, while Claire showed a natural, fluid talent for the lethal movements. Even Sherry joined in, throwing "huff-huff" punches at the air.
In the final week, they took Sherry to every amusement park in the Tri-State area. They rode carousels, ate cotton candy, and watched the city lights from the top of the Ferris wheel. Noah won her a giant bear with a dart throw, and for those few days, they let her reclaim the childhood Umbrella had stolen.
The day of departure arrived at JFK International Airport.
The terminal was a sea of noise and travelers, but for the four of them, the world was small and quiet.
"Call us the second you touch down," Leon said, his eyes rimmed with red. He gave Noah a bone-crushing hug and patted Claire's shoulder. "Remember, you've got backup. Always."
Claire knelt, hugging Sherry one last time. "Listen to Leon, okay?" her voice broke.
Sherry didn't cry. She nodded vigorously, her hand white-knuckled as she gripped Claire's sleeve. Noah stepped in, gently prying her hand loose and slipping a small note into her palm. "This is a promise," he whispered.
The gate agent announced the final boarding call. Noah and Claire turned, dragging their bags toward the jet bridge. They didn't look back. It was only after they disappeared around the corner that Sherry finally let out a sob, burying her face in Leon's chest. Leon held her tight, his voice hoarse as he whispered, "I promise you, they're coming back."
In a room shrouded in shadow, a man sat before a glowing monitor. He didn't take off his sunglasses, even in the dark. Behind the lenses, a pair of crimson, vertical pupils watched the flight manifest on the screen.
The encrypted phone on his desk rang. He answered, listening to the report from the other end. A cold, predatory smile spread across his lips.
"Everything," Albert Wesker whispered, "is proceeding according to plan."
At 35,000 feet, the plane cut through the clouds toward the Atlantic.
In the quiet luxury of the first-class cabin, Claire had fallen asleep, her head resting near Noah's shoulder. Noah gently draped a blanket over her.
His black satellite phone vibrated. A new message. No sender.
"Have fun in Paris. Operation Codename: Veronica."
[END OF RACCOON CITY ARC]
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