The shop smelled of old dust, of wet wood, of magnetic tape that no one ever touched again. The vinyl, scattered on the floor like dead leaves, crunched under your steps when you moved, but you hadn't moved for a while.

Too many hours.

Time no longer counted the same since you stopped hearing human voices.

Outside, Raccoon City was screaming to death. From the poorly closed slit in the shutter, grey, tired light crept in, and sometimes... the slurred moans of what were once people. You didn't always know if they were real or part of the buzzing that began to creep into your head like a badly tuned radio.

Speaking of radios...

It was in front of you. Old, scratched, a relic your boss had kept in the shop for years, gathering dust. You turned it on every now and then. Out of habit. Out of desperation. For not forgetting what a voice that didn't want to bite your face sounded like.

And then, a crack. A change. Something different.

"...this is R.P.D., Bravo unit. Can anyone on the east side hear me? Any civilian?"

You froze. Your heart leapt into your throat.

It was the voice of a young man. Alive.