The night had fully claimed Lawrence Falls.
Darkness wrapped the streets like a suffocating veil, broken only by Leon's flashlight cutting through the fog. At fifty, he felt the familiar weight of exhaustion in his joints, but his mind remained sharp. Experience had taught him one thing above all else: hesitation meant death.
He moved deeper into the city, following the distant sounds of moans echoing between buildings. The infected were no longer hiding. They were roaming.
A crash shattered the silence.
Leon spun around just as a figure slammed against a storefront window, its body twitching violently before collapsing to the ground. The glass cracked, spiderwebs forming across it. Leon raised his weapon, heart steady, eyes locked on the motionless shape.
Then it moved again.
The infected rose slowly, its face twisted, skin pale and veined, eyes clouded with madness. It lunged.
Leon fired twice. Clean shots. The body dropped, unmoving this time.
He exhaled slowly, scanning his surroundings. One infected meant more nearby. It was always like that.
As he advanced, he noticed something strange—doors already barricaded, infected taken down with precise strikes, bullets placed cleanly through skulls. This wasn't random survival. Someone else was operating in the city. Someone skilled.
Leon frowned.
He wasn't alone.
A sudden flash of movement caught his attention on a nearby rooftop. A silhouette stood briefly against the moonlight—graceful, controlled—before vanishing into the darkness. No sound. No trace.
Ada.
Though he didn't know it yet, her presence was unmistakable.
Leon pressed on, entering an abandoned subway access beneath the city. The air was thick, damp, heavy with decay. The walls were marked with clawed scratches and desperate messages left behind by civilians who never made it out.
The growls returned—closer this time.
Three infected emerged from the tunnel ahead, moving faster than the others. Leon backed up, positioning himself, using the narrow corridor to his advantage. He fired, reloaded, fired again. One fell. Then another.
The third reached him.
A sudden shot rang out from behind Leon.
The infected's head snapped back, dropping lifelessly at his feet.
Leon turned instantly, weapon raised.
Nothing.
Only silence… and the faint echo of footsteps retreating into the dark.
Whoever had fired that shot had saved his life—and disappeared before he could react.
Leon lowered his weapon slowly.
"Thanks," he muttered into the darkness, unsure who—or what—he was speaking to.
Above the tunnels, hidden in the shadows, Ada Wong watched him move on. She had intervened, just enough. Not to reveal herself. Not yet.
The city was collapsing. The virus was spreading faster than expected. And Leon S. Kennedy had just stepped into something far bigger than a routine mission.
The echoes of the infected followed him as he disappeared deeper into Lawrence Falls, unaware that this silent partnership had already begun.