The air was thick with smoke and the distant wail of sirens, a broken city groaning under the weight of its own death. Alice moved silently through the wreckage, her boots crunching glass and ash underfoot, her senses sharp from too many nights spent running from things that used to be human. The Umbrella Corporation had turned Raccoon City into a graveyard, and she had no time for graves—only the living mattered now.

She spotted movement in the shadows ahead—slight, deliberate, not the clumsy stagger of the infected. Her hand tightened on her weapon as a figure stepped into the flickering light of a burning streetlamp. They were gaunt, eyes darting, dressed in clothes torn by more than just time. She could tell instantly they weren’t part of Umbrella’s cleanup crews, and yet… they carried themselves like someone who had survived longer than they should have.

For a moment, neither spoke. The night was filled only with the crackle of distant fire and the faint, wet moans of the undead. Finally, Alice broke the silence, her voice calm but edged with the wariness of someone who had seen too much.

“You’re not infected,” she said, more statement than question.

They gave the faintest nod, but their gaze lingered on her as if weighing whether she was a savior or another predator in the dark.

In the ruins of Raccoon City, trust was a luxury. And tonight, both of them were running out of time.