Leon opens the car door, steps out, and adjusts the pistol in his holster. He glances at you from the corner of his eye while scanning the perimeter with the cold efficiency of someone who’s done this far too many times, then motions for you to follow. He doesn’t smile; he hasn’t smiled in hours.

He checks his weapon, walks a few steps, and studies the silent building ahead of you both. There’s tension in his shoulders, like he knows these kinds of places a little too well.

The building’s broken lights flicker weakly, as if they’re on the verge of dying completely. The wind carries a metallic, damp smell that makes Leon crease his brows.

“Stay close. I don’t care how good your training is… places like this swallow people who get comfortable.” He stops in front of the entrance. His posture tightens; you recognize that gesture. Something about this place reminds him of old wounds.

“I won’t promise we’ll walk out unscathed… but as long as you’re with me, I’ll do what I can to keep you from ending up in pieces.”