No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 8

I finally give in and grab the bottle from her, taking a long drink myself. If she’s going to be stubborn, I might as well join her. The beer is cold, the bubbles numbing some of the frustration swirling in my head. I sit down on the couch beside her, though not too close. My head’s spinning a little, but it’s manageable—I’m still in control, still aware. I know I’ll remember everything tomorrow, no matter how tipsy I feel now.

Amber sighs, long and heavy, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her hands cradling her head. I glance over at her, feeling like this might be the opening I need. A sigh that big means something’s on her mind. Perfect.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask casually, keeping my tone light, like I’m just another colleague concerned about the weight of the world on her shoulders. But deep down, I know this is my chance to dig a little deeper, get something real out of her.

She doesn’t look at me, just stares at the floor, her words slow and slurred. “It’s work. It’s always work, y’know?”

I nod, not pushing too hard yet. “Yeah, it’s tough. What about it?”

She sighs again, then starts talking. At first, it’s the usual stuff—deadlines, long hours, how Adams and Williams drive her nuts sometimes. But then, just when I think it’s all surface-level, she drops it—the one word I’ve been waiting for: “G-Virus.”

I freeze, my hand tightening around the bottle. She doesn’t even notice. She’s rambling now, and I know this is the moment. This is what I’ve been trying to get out of her.

“The G-Virus…” she mutters, her voice thick with alcohol. “You know how long we’ve been... working on it? Since forever. Way before... even the T-Virus was a thing, you know?” She pauses, swaying slightly. “They’re both... monsters. Pure monsters.”

I keep my expression neutral, afraid that if I react, she’ll realize what she’s saying. The G-Virus. The T-Virus. This is the dirty work I’m here to uncover. Everything Umbrella’s buried under layers of lies, the nightmare that ruined lives. My life. Whatever happened in Raccoon City back in September 1998—when the city became ground zero for Umbrella’s horror show—was what dragged me into this mess, and it’s the reason I’m sitting here right now.

She leans back, her head tilted against the couch, eyes half-closed. “You don’t even know... G-Virus was supposed to be, like, the thing, you know? We thought we had it… thought it was the answer. It could evolve… make something stronger, smarter.” She laughs, the sound bitter. “But it all just... it all went to hell. Turned into a disaster. Raccoon City, yeah... that was the start of it all.”

My heart races as I sit there, barely breathing, terrified that if I say anything, she’ll snap out of this drunken daze and realize she’s spilling everything. She keeps going, though, lost in her own thoughts, her words slurring together as she explains the origins of Umbrella’s darkest creations.

“Everything went bad when we tried... to control it. The G-Virus... it’s like... it mutates, y’know? Changes people, makes them... monsters. Real monsters. But it’s smart, too. Smarter than we thought.”

I grip the bottle tighter, the weight of her words sinking in. She’s telling me everything. Everything I need to know. And for the first time, I’m afraid to speak, afraid that if I do, this moment will slip away. So I just sit there, listening, the gravity of her words pulling me deeper into the nightmare I’ve been chasing since Raccoon City.

Amber abruptly stops talking, her eyes blinking like she just realized the weight of what she was saying. Fuck, fuck, she's catching on, I think, panic setting in. I need to distract her, to get her off track from the G-Virus conversation before she pulls back completely. Without thinking, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I, uh... ran into my ex tonight.”

She giggles, the sound breaking the tension. Thank God. It’s not what I planned, but at least she’s not thinking about what she just spilled. Instead, she’s focused on me now, her curiosity piqued. “Your ex, huh?” she slurs, leaning in a little closer. “Must’ve been something, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning into the distraction. “Ada. It’s... complicated.”

Her giggles soften, and she listens as I vent, though it’s not like I intended to say much about Ada. Still, it’s enough to keep Amber distracted, but then, things start to shift. She’s not just listening anymore; she’s getting closer, her expression softening, the space between us shrinking.

“Leon,” she murmurs, her tone shifting, eyes suddenly more intense, playful even. She’s leaning closer, and I can feel the shift. Damn it, wrong direction.

I think about pulling back, but instead, I play into it for just a second. I gently hold her face, my thumb brushing her lips, her eyes locking onto mine. Her brown eyes seem to glow a little, more amber than brown in the dim light, which is funny in its own way, but fuck, she’s way too drunk for this.

“Amber,” I say softly, trying to keep things steady. “You need to sleep.”

But she’s not listening, not really. She moves closer, still playful, and now she’s even less steady. I can’t just leave her like this, and she’s not making it to bed on her own.

“I’ll join you in the bedroom,” I say, hoping that might calm her down and get her to cooperate. The second I say it, she seems to relax, nodding like she’s convinced it’s a good idea.

I stand up and pull her gently with me, her arm wrapping around my neck for balance. She’s no obstacle to lift, and together, we make our way down the hall. She uses me as support, but just as we reach her bedroom, I feel her lips brush my neck. Nope. Not happening.

She’s way too drunk for this. So, instead of entertaining her, I guide her straight to the bed. As soon as I push her down onto the mattress, she’s out, falling asleep almost immediately.

I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Crisis averted. I stand there for a moment, watching her drift off, making sure she’s really asleep before I step away.

I walk out of her bedroom, through the living room, ready to just leave and put this weird night behind me. But as I pass by her desk, something catches my eye. Fuck. Her desk is impeccably neat, organized in a way that screams "there’s something important here." My pulse quickens. If I could find what she let slip about the G-Virus written down somewhere, this could change everything.

For a second, my conscience tugs at me. Should I really do this? But overthrowing Umbrella means saving millions of people—exposing the horrors they’ve unleashed. That weighs more than Amber’s feelings if she loses a document.

I glance back at the bedroom door, still cracked open, Amber fast asleep inside. Then I turn back to the desk and start rummaging through the neatly stacked papers and files. Everything is meticulously organized, each file placed just so. But then—there it is.

The G-Virus file.

My heart races. I don’t have time to read through it, not here. I need to get out of this place before I draw any more attention. I grab the file, tucking it under my jacket, and head straight for the door.

As soon as I step outside, the cold air hits me like a slap, but I feel a surge of adrenaline. I’ve got the file. This could be it. And I didn’t even look back as I rushed away from Amber’s apartment, leaving the chaos of the night behind me.