Chapter 73: Porcelainization

August 27.

Italy.

Venice.

Local time: 09:12.

The sky was azure, white clouds like fluff, the morning sun especially lovely and warm.

As a famous tourist and industrial city of Italy, Venice's scenery is indeed unique.

To the west, near the inland suburbs lie many factories; looking east toward the seaside, one can see the classical architecture of Venice's urban area.

Artificial canals and streets coexist; the canal water is drawn from the Adriatic Sea, clear and clean, and occasionally one can see brightly colored marine fish.

There are sightseeing boats for tourists, speedboats for thrilling entertainment, and many more private small boats.

The spaciousness and prosperity of the canals further highlight the congestion of the streets.

At this moment.

On the main road numbered SR11 in Venice's Magra District…

"Ohmerda (Damn it)! Questiidioti (These idiots)! Sbrigati (Hurry up)!!!"

"Beep!! Beep!!"

Only see a taxi whose exterior resembles a beetle, yellow and white in color, almost gridlocked on this "main road".

The taxi driver, sporting a goatee and wearing a white old-fashioned cap, lowered the window, poked his head out, waved his left hand while cursing loudly, and his right hand fiercely pressed the horn at the center of the steering wheel.

No way, SR11 is called a main road, but it's actually just a two-lane road.

Now it's rush hour for work in Venice, traffic volume is heavy in both directions, so this taxi can only honestly queue and move forward.

After venting his frustration, the taxi driver finally felt relieved, then withdrew his body back into the cab.

And in heavily accented English, he said to the passenger in the front seat: "Sorry for the inconvenience, haha, actually Venetians usually have good tempers, but today there are some exceptions."

"Hmm… I can understand." The passenger indicated he "very much" understood.

This passenger wore dark gray work pants, brown breathable combat boots, a black tight-fitting short-sleeve on top, with a loose brown shirt over it.

His handsome attire, blond hair parted in the middle, and other features all indicated that the passenger's true identity was Leon Scott Kennedy.

An intern intelligence officer of Umbrella.

After finishing his chat with the driver, Leon turned his head to look out the window, wearing a helpless expression as he shook his head.

He was somewhat speechless.

His fellow intelligence officers who graduated with him all have permission to use company vehicles, and even in unfamiliar cities someone picks them up; why can't he alone do so??

Although the company gave him a travel subsidy, not a small amount, Leon still couldn't quite understand.

Next.

Leon endured the driver's complaints, finally passed through the congested stretch of SR11, and continued driving to the end of SR11.

Afterwards, the taxi pulled over to the right, and the driver glanced at the meter.

He smiled and said: "Oh, honored guest, the total is 77, euros, not dollars."

"Okay." Hearing that, Leon took out his wallet from his pants pocket to pay.

He took back his change, opened the door, and got out.

After the taxi drove away, the building across the street was Leon's destination for this trip: the Venice Police Station.

As Leon walked toward the crosswalk, he casually shoved the change into his pocket and took out the intelligence officer's dedicated phone to operate it a bit.

First he reported the situation to his superior, then reviewed the identity the company had arranged for him.

After putting away his phone, he crossed the crosswalk, then weaved through the crowded crowd, and Leon arrived at the front entrance of the police station.

He stepped up the stairs and entered the police station lobby.

He found that the place was even more crowded.

Most were out-of-town tourists, complaining or grumbling to the officers.

Most were cases of lost property, or disputes with local vendors.

After all, Venice is a world-famous tourist destination, so the police station bears a heavy burden.

Seeing this.

Leon once again pushed through the crowd, came to the front desk on the right side of the lobby, and showed his ID to an officer who looked somewhat impatient.

He said: "Leon S. Kennedy, International Criminal Police, responsible for assisting you in investigating the serial murder case of the 25th."

The officer took the ID, and his impatient expression eased somewhat.

"American?" But upon seeing the nationality, the officer still couldn't help muttering a complaint.

Immediately after.

The officer who found nothing abnormal with the ID began to contact his superior.

Soon, the officer returned Leon's ID while also saying: "Go to the third floor; someone will receive you there."

"Thank you." Leon took back his ID and headed toward the third floor of the police station.

Arrived at the third floor.

This is the office area for plainclothes officers, detectives, and criminal investigators.

A female officer dressed in black women's suit pants, a blue shirt, with a badge and holster at her waist, was waiting for Leon at the edge of the stairwell.

Upon seeing Leon, the female officer extended her right hand and introduced herself: "Aya Buleiya."

"Hello, Leon S. Kennedy." Leon reached out and shook her hand.

"Come with me; the chief has been waiting for you a while." The officer named Buleiya turned and walked toward the office area.

"Okay."

Shortly after.

The Venice Police Chief glanced at Leon, gave a brief instruction, and then let Buleiya, who was in charge of the case, explain the details to Leon.

In fact, not long ago, the Venice Chief had requested support from his superiors.

But the request was known to the Red Queen, so the Red Queen communicated with Interpol and the Italian police authorities.

In the end, Leon, whose identity had been forged by the White Queen, naturally came to provide assistance.

The Venice Chief had no doubts, and being busy, he exchanged a few hurried words before handing the case over to Buleiya.

Buleiya led Leon to the fourth‑floor conference room, turned on the projector, and briefed Leon on the case details.

On the morning of the 25th of this month, the police discovered twenty‑four victims.

All were male, and the bodies were scattered throughout the bustling area of Magla district.

The victims' identities, nationalities, and social networks varied, showing no pattern at all, as if it were a random killing case.

However, the victims share similar characteristics.

All were tall and robust, judged by popular standards to have handsome looks.

To avoid public panic and damage to Venice's reputation, the Italian government prohibited extensive reporting of the case details.

Nevertheless, the fact of a serial murder could not be completely concealed.

Most Venice locals are anxious, while tourists still come here to visit without hesitation.

After reviewing the materials and hearing Buleiya's description.

Leon, with a solemn expression, said, "Officer Buleiya, besides this, I would like to know more detailed case information."

"Alright," Buleiya said, using a remote pen to control the projected content while speaking gravely to Leon:

"The deceased share another common trait: all four limbs suffered varying degrees of injury, and the wounds show obvious…

…porcelainization."

(End of chapter)