The weapon was an M93R, an Italian 9mm, an excellent handgun and apparently standard issue for the prison guards; Chris had one of them. She'd found it after diving for cover, next to the dead, outstretched fingers of a man in uniform … and if she shot the young Mr. Burnside with it at this range, most of his handsome face would be on the ground. He looked like an actor she'd seen before, the lead in that movie about the sinking ship; the resemblance was striking. "I'm guessing you're not from Umbrella, either," he said casually. "I'm sorry about opening up on you like that, by the way. I didn't think there was anyone else alive around here, so when the door opened…" He shrugged. "Anyway," he said, cocking an eyebrow, obviously trying to be charming. "What's your name?" There was no way Umbrella had hired this kid, she was more sure of it with each word out of his mouth. She slowly lowered the semiautomatic, wondering why Umbrella would want to imprison someone so young. They wanted to imprison you, remember? She was only nineteen. "Claire, Claire Redfield," she said. "I was brought here as a prisoner just today." "Talk about timing," Steve said, and she had to smile a little at that; she'd been thinking the same thing herself. "Claire, that's a nice name," he continued, looking into her eyes. "I'll definitely remember that." Oh, brother. She wondered if she should shut him down now or later she and Leon had gotten pretty tight and decided that later might be better. There was no question that she'd have to take him with her to look for an escape, and she didn't want to deal with his reproach along the way.

"Well, much as I'd like to hang around, I've got a plane to catch," he said, sighing melodramatically. "Assuming I can find one. I'll look for you before I take off. Be careful, this place is dangerous."

He started toward a door next to the guard tower, directly opposite from the one she'd come through.