Chapter 122: Moira's Childhood Shadow

By October, Ottawa, Canada, was already saturated with the chill of late autumn. Deep in the maple forests on the outskirts of the city, Barry helped Jill and Chloe rent a small white detached cottage with a yard.

It was only a ten-minute drive from Barry’s house, providing enough private space while making it easy for him to look after them daily.

Fiery red maple leaves covered the stone path. When the wind blew, it kicked up a swirl of golden-red shadows, like a gentle fireworks display that would never end.

Chloe sat on the wooden steps of the porch with a little girl with pigtails resting on her knees.

Seven-year-old Moira Burton pressed her face against Chloe’s hair, her small hands tightly clutching the edge of her clothes, her eyes sparkling as she stared at the maple leaf specimen in her hand.

"And then? And then? Did you really cut that big monster's head off with one strike?" Moira swung her legs, her voice filled with admiration.

This was already the third time she had pestered Chloe to tell stories about Raccoon City. In her eyes, this silver-haired older sister was like a dragon-slaying hero straight out of a fairy tale.

Chloe gently traced the veins of the maple leaf, an imperceptible flicker of gloom passing through her eyes. She didn't mention the gory details or the pain of being torn apart and reborn; she simply nodded nonchalantly. "Yeah, it can't hurt anyone else anymore."

"So cool!" Moira cheered, wrapping her arms around Chloe’s neck. "I want to be as strong as you in the future and drive away all the bad guys!"

Jill walked out of the house carrying two cups of hot cocoa. Seeing this scene, a gentle smile unconsciously played on her lips.

These past two weeks had been the most peaceful days for Chloe in the eight years since she had transmigrated. There was no smell of disinfectant, no cold operating tables, and no monsters that could pounce at any moment.

She finally seemed like an ordinary sixteen-year-old girl, spacing out while looking at maple leaves, sighing helplessly when pestered by Moira, and wearing a faint smile in the morning sunlight.

"Moira, stop pestering Sister Chloe!"

A gentle female voice came from the yard entrance. Kathy Burton walked over holding three-year-old Polly. Her light brown hair was tied in a bun, and she wore simple loungewear, her eyes carrying a calmness that came from having weathered many storms.

She smiled apologetically at Jill and Chloe. "This child is too mischievous; she's disturbing your rest."

"It's fine, I like her," Chloe said softly, reaching out to gently touch Polly's soft cheek. Polly shrank back shyly into her mother's arms, staring curiously at Chloe’s silver-white hair.

Moira pouted and reluctantly climbed off Chloe, running toward the pickup truck parked at the yard gate. Barry was leaning against the car door smoking. Seeing his daughter run over, he stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed her head.

"She really likes you," Jill said softly, sitting next to Chloe and noticing her reddened ear tips. "Barry said Moira has never been this close to a stranger before."

Chloe held the hot cocoa, the warmth transferring to her palms. She looked down at the steam rising from the cup and whispered, "I just... don't want her to know about those horrible things."

"I know," Jill patted her shoulder gently. "You're doing great."

In the afternoon, Barry drove Chloe and Jill to a private shooting range in the suburbs. This was a place where Barry and his old comrades met privately, surrounded by woods, secluded and safe.

Barry tossed an M1911 to Chloe and leaned against a nearby table, crossing his arms as he watched her.

Chloe raised her hand to grip the gun. Her posture wasn't exactly standard, but it was exceptionally steady. She aimed at a target fifty meters away and pulled the trigger repeatedly.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

All ten bullets hit the bullseye, with three even landing in the same hole.

Jill watched in amazement. Barry, however, frowned and shook his head.

"What's wrong? Was her aim off?" Jill asked in confusion.

"Accurate, far too accurate." Barry walked to the target and pointed at the bullet holes. "But this isn't combat at all. Chloe, tell me, if that target just now was a moving, counter-attacking zombie, how would you have fought?"

Chloe paused for a moment and said instinctively, "Rush up and snap its neck."

"That's the problem." Barry sighed and walked back to Chloe’s side. "You have no combat techniques at all. All your fighting styles are built on your superhuman strength, speed, and self-healing abilities. You rely on the fact that you won't die easily, so you dare to tank all attacks and use brute force to crush your enemies."

He picked up a dagger and did a flourish with it. "What if one day your virus abilities fail? What if you encounter a monster faster and stronger than you? Your current way of fighting is gambling with your life."

Chloe lowered her head and looked at her palms. She had to admit Barry was right. From the beginning, she had always relied on the powers granted by the virus to fight. She didn't need to dodge or use techniques; she just had to rush in and tear the enemy apart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You don't need to apologize to me." Barry patted her shoulder, his tone softening. "To be honest, in all my years, I've never seen anyone like you. You're practically a superhero. When you were holding the gun just now, I could feel you holding back your strength. If you really used your full power, you'd probably crush the gun. If we really fought, I probably wouldn't last a single punch from you."

He paused and continued, "But I'm teaching you combat techniques not to make you stronger, but so you can survive. Jill entrusted you to me; I can't let anything happen to you."

Chloe looked up and nodded seriously. "I understand, Uncle Barry. I'll learn well."

For the next two hours, Barry patiently taught Chloe basic fighting techniques and firearm tactics. Chloe learned quickly; after all, her reaction speed and learning ability far exceeded those of ordinary people.

Just as Barry was teaching her how to reload quickly, the sound of light footsteps came from the entrance of the shooting range.

Barry turned his head sharply and saw Moira holding Polly, peeking from behind the doorframe.

"Moira! Who told you to come here!" Barry shouted sternly. "It's dangerous here, go back now!"

Moira was startled into a shiver. Holding Polly, she turned and ran. Barry watched their retreating figures, shook his head helplessly, and continued explaining tactics to Chloe.

By the time training ended and they returned to Barry’s house, it was already dark. Kathy was busy in the kitchen, the rich aroma of meat broth filling the entire house.

Barry was exhausted. He tossed the gun into a living room drawer without even locking it and went to wash his hands to help set the table.

"Where's Moira?" Kathy asked, wiping her hands.

"Upstairs sulking. I scolded her a bit earlier," Barry said. "Children throw tantrums; she'll be fine in a while."

Kathy frowned. "Don't always be so harsh with her. She was just curious and wanted to watch you train."

"Is that a place she should be going? What if something happened?" Barry’s voice rose slightly. "Guns are something you should never even touch!"

Kathy sighed and said nothing more.

Chloe and Jill were helping set the table in the living room when they suddenly heard a piercing gunshot from upstairs.

Their expressions changed instantly, and they rushed toward the second floor. Barry and Kathy also burst out of the kitchen. Kathy was still holding a soup spoon, her face turning pale instantly.

Moira's bedroom door was slightly ajar. From inside came Polly's heartbreaking cries and Moira's terrified screams.

Barry He kicked the door open，The sight before him chilled him to the bone..

Moira was slumped on the floor, still clutching the loaded handgun, with faint blue smoke rising from the muzzle. Polly lay on the floor opposite her, blood streaming from her calf, crying so hard she could barely breathe.

"Polly!" Kathy screamed and rushed over, picking up Polly and pressing her hand firmly against the wound. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and tears gushed out instantly.

"Daddy... Mommy... I didn't mean to..." Moira looked at her hand holding the gun, her eyes vacant, her voice trembling violently. "I just... I just wanted to see..."

"Shut up!" Barry turned his head sharply, his eyes filled with anger and fear. "How many times have I told you! Don't touch guns! Why won't you listen! If anything happens to Polly, I..."

"Barry! Don't say any more!" Kathy interrupted him, her voice tearful. "Take her to the hospital quickly! Any later and it'll be too late!"

Barry snapped back to his senses, scooped up Polly, and turned to run out. Jill immediately grabbed the car keys and followed: "I'll drive you to the hospital!"

Chloe walked over to Moira, knelt down, and gently hugged her. Moira could no longer hold it in and wailed in Chloe's arms.

"I didn't mean to... Sister Chloe... I really didn't mean to..." she repeated over and over, her body shaking like a leaf. "I'll never touch a gun again... I'll never dare to again..."

Chloe gently patted her back without saying a word. She could feel the bone-deep fear and self-reproach in Moira's heart.

This shot had not only wounded Polly but also left a scar in Moira's heart that would never heal.

Three hours later, Jill and Barry returned from the hospital with Polly. The bullet had passed through Polly's calf, missing the bone; she was out of danger.

Barry walked into the living room and saw Moira still sitting on the sofa, in the same position as when they had left, staring blankly at the floor.

He walked up to Moira, took a deep breath, and said in a cold tone, "Moira Burton, remember this day. From now on, there will never be another firearm in this house. You are forbidden from ever touching a gun again for the rest of your life."

Moira didn't look up; she just nodded slightly, tears silently dripping onto the floor.

Jill looked at Barry and frowned. "Barry, you're also responsible for this. You shouldn't have left a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer."

Barry's shoulders slumped, and he rubbed his temples wearily. He knew that he was actually the one most responsible. But he couldn't forgive Moira, and he certainly couldn't forgive himself. He could only vent all his emotions on his daughter.

"I know," he whispered. "But it's useless to talk about that now."

That night, Moira had nightmares all night long. She dreamed that the gun in her hand kept firing, and Polly lay in a pool of blood, unable to be woken up. From then on, she truly never touched a firearm again, even shaking at the sight of a toy gun.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Washington D.C.

Leon sat by the window of his hotel room, watching the endless flow of traffic below, and let out a frustrated sigh.

Half a month had passed since he was taken to Military Base No. 17 by the military. He had tentatively accepted Colonel Adam's invitation, but he remained hesitant.

He didn't know if joining the military's anti-biochemical unit was the right choice. He knew even less if the military's so-called "medical observation" would turn into another Umbrella-style human experiment.

Just then, the door to the room was suddenly pushed open. Two expressionless men in black suits walked in, followed by a middle-aged woman wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

"Leon S. Kennedy." The woman walked up to Leon and handed him a black ID card. "I am Helena Harper of the CIA. From now on, you are under our jurisdiction."

Leon frowned. "What do you mean? I've already agreed to Colonel Adam."

"Colonel Adam's anti-biochemical unit is nothing more than a gimmick," Helena sneered. "The only ones truly capable of handling a mess like the Umbrella Corporation are us at the CIA."

Without further ado, the two male agents on either side grabbed Leon and led him into a car downstairs, heading toward a temporary interrogation room.

Leon sat on a cold metal chair, the overhead incandescent light making his eyes ache; he once again experienced the feeling of being interrogated.

Helena sat on the sofa opposite Leon, her tone cold and carrying a hint of a threat: "We have a complete grasp of the truth behind the Raccoon City incident, and we know exactly what role you played in it. Now we're giving you a choice: join us and become a CIA agent. We will guarantee the safety of Sherry and Angela, providing them with the best medical care and a normal living environment."

"And if I refuse?" Leon asked in a low voice.

"We will revoke their special protection," Helena said calmly. "The Department of Defense has always been very interested in these two children carrying active viruses. They will be turned over to the military's biological weapons research department for lifelong isolation and study. I think you should know what that means."

Leon's fists clenched tightly as he stared intensely at Helena, his eyes filled with rage. But he knew the woman was telling the truth. The CIA had the power to do all of that.

"What do you want me to do?" he said through gritted teeth.

"It's simple." Helena nodded with satisfaction. "Become our agent and contribute to the global fight against bio-threats. As long as you're obedient, Sherry and Angela will be safe."

Leon was silent for a long time before finally nodding slowly. "Fine. I agree."

"A wise choice." Helena stood up. "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, someone will pick you up to take you to the special operations training base. Until then, do not attempt to contact anyone, and don't think about running. Our people are watching you twenty-four hours a day."

With that, she turned and left the safe house with the two agents.

Leon slumped in his chair and closed his eyes. He felt as if he had fallen into an even deeper trap. But he had no choice. For the sake of Sherry and Angela, he could only accept this arrangement.

A few days later, at the Black Rock Training Base.

Leon came off the combat floor drenched in sweat and caught the towel thrown to him by the instructor. The training here was ten times more rigorous than he had imagined.

Sixteen hours of high-intensity training every day, from firearms shooting to close-quarters combat, from intelligence analysis to infiltration and assassination, had drained almost all of his energy.

But he was also growing rapidly, gradually transforming from a green police academy graduate into a qualified agent.

That evening, while Leon was organizing files in the base's intelligence room, he accidentally saw an encrypted internal brief.

"Sheena Island Prison: A large-scale prison break occurred at the prison directly under the Umbrella Corporation; orders have been issued to shoot all escapees."

Leon's pupils constricted. Umbrella again, a large-scale prison break, and shooting everyone; the combination of these terms could only mean one thing.

A biochemical experiment had spiraled out of control.

Leon's heart sank. He was still in his CIA probationary period and couldn't leave the base at all. After thinking for a long time, he finally took advantage of the late-night shift change to sneak into the base's communications room and dialed a number.

"Hello?" A cheerful male voice came from the other end of the line.

"Jack, it's me, Leon," Leon said, lowering his voice.

"Leon? You're still alive! I thought you were in Raccoon City..."

"I'm fine," Leon interrupted him. "Jack, I need you to do me a favor. Sheena Island, a prison managed by the Umbrella Corporation. A large-scale jailbreak happened there recently, and I suspect it's related to Umbrella's bio-experiments. I'm currently under house arrest at a CIA training base and can't leave. Can you help me go investigate the truth?"

"Sheena Island?" Jack paused for a moment. "That place is a tiger's den. But since you've asked, I'll definitely go."

"Thank you, Jack." Leon breathed a sigh of relief. "Be sure to stay safe. If you find anything wrong, retreat immediately. Don't push your luck."

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of lives," Jack laughed. "When I get back, let's have a proper drink."

After hanging up, Leon leaned against the wall, feeling a bit more at ease. He knew Jack's abilities; as long as he was careful, nothing should go wrong.

However, what he didn't know was that his every move had already been recorded by the CIA's surveillance equipment.

The next morning, Helena appeared at the door of Leon's dormitory. She looked at Leon with a cold smile playing on her lips. "It seems you slept well last night. However, I must remind you: if you dare to pull any more little tricks behind our backs, our safety agreement will automatically become void."

Leon's expression changed.

"Let's go." Helena turned toward the hallway. "Starting today, you will undergo closed-off field survival training for three months. Until then, all communication devices are confiscated."

Leon followed behind Helena, looking at the gray sky outside the window, his gaze gradually becoming determined.