Honey! It's a Murder Case.
Ada Wong x female reader | MDNI. female reader, reader is a mess lol, suicidal thoughts, lesbians, fluff? not sure, doomed yuri i guess, angst.
word count: 4919
notes: it was partially inspired by "decision to leave", an excellent movie. This is... messy and i hate so sorry if i didn't elaborated well some themes and Ada is ooc probably but idc. feedback is appreacited 🙂↕️
summary: after changing town, you, a detective, arrive on the crime scene after dead man's wife called, a woman in the red that seemingly was already waiting for you.
Two blue eyes stare back at you, literally void of any signs of life, only fear is imprinted in them. The man’s corpse is resting against the wall of the empty pool. His pupils feel like an empty abyss gazing into your soul, searching for any hints and hoping the dead man would answer your question: “who killed you?”, too bad corpse doesn’t talk. That would have helped the investigation by making it so much easier to deal with. The smell of it is nauseating, yet you don’t show any reaction to it. Immune, no longer a rookie investigator someone would say. This is bullshit, no one can be immune to the stench. No one gets used to rotting flesh, no one gets used to announcing the death of one’s lover or parent. The dark and hard lump tries to find its way out of your throat, but you put it down easily.
“Who called us?” This question appeared quickly in your mind, even sooner it gets voiced by you. Talking makes this easier, distracts you from the smell. The witness would need to be interrogated. There is not any other person here other than your incompetent colleagues.
“Eh… A pretty lady, very” Man’s voice reaches your ears. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, the reason is not clear, but such gesture invokes an urge; you barely restrained yourself from grimacing and giving a slap to the back of his head. One can only dream of being this savvy. A dumb answer, even worse face he has.
“Did she even give her name?” You ask with furrowed brows, pulling out a handkerchief to cover your nose. A glance at the corpse, not sure why would you worry over a dead man listening to the conversation. Corpses don’t speak. Your coworker rubs the back of his head, in the same manner he would if you had hit him there.
“Ehm.. she had a Chinese name.” You don’t really know what you should have expected from this conversation. He shrugs again, looking at you with a sheepish smile, clearly realizing how bad this is. His eyes dart around, a clear sign he is trying to find an excuse for this behavior. Anything. “…you know, they are hard to remember”
The sun is high and bright for the last days of November, as a chilly breeze rises, bringing away the smell of the corpse from the scene for a short while and shivers seep deep into your bones, a dull pain signals you don’t belong here.
