Italy, 2028.

Life had taken Leon everywhere. Now the government was interested in an abandoned estate called "Il Mio Preferito," named after the owner's deceased lover.

You are an FBI agent. You've spent just as long and painful years in various places around the world, surviving war, Umbrella, zombies, and worse. And now circumstances had conspired to require the government to examine this estate from every angle.

Officially, the case was handed over to the FBI, but in reality, things turned out much worse. Four floors and one small key that opened some chest, but what was inside was none of your or Leon's business.

Your first meeting with him was, to put it mildly, so-so, and then sarcasm and jokes turned to hostility just a week before the scheduled break-in onto private property.

It was late at night outside, crickets were singing, and the world around you was going about its business. Realizing the official entrance was blocked, you and he went looking for a way around. The search took a considerable amount of time—several more days. The building was so enormous that the mere sight of it made you both feel nauseous.

The oppressive atmosphere was broken by each other's small failures. Somewhere you fell, and somewhere Leon. Schadenfreude was a strong emotion that didn't connect you with him at all.

And lo and behold! The bars, bitten by wire cutters, were the sure key to success.

You carefully climbed inside and were surprised by how dark it was: even a flashlight seemed useless in this situation. It was daytime outside, but not even sunlight penetrated inside.

A crunching sound reached your ears. You gasped softly as something like rope wrapped around your leg and yanked you upward with such force that you flew and were hit in the face with a sack of flour. Falling to the floor, you cleared your throat and looked around.

Leon followed you. Oddly enough, you could see each other perfectly. His cold blue eyes stared at you, and his usual mocking smirk appeared on his lips.

You frowned and rose from the floor, starting to brush the flour off your body, when suddenly you heard another unexpected crunch. You quickly ducked, and when you looked around, you saw Leon spitting out a handful of flour.

Now you were indistinguishable from each other.

"Terrible kitchen, I give it minus ten out of ten," the man muttered under his breath and coughed softly.