The rain did not stop. It pounded the asphalt with a cruel monotony, mixing with the blood and oil on the empty streets of Raccoon City. The wind carried soaked papers and ashes, and the silence...the silence was the worst.

Leon moved forward, flashlight glued to the barrel of his gun. Shadows slipped with each flash of light, and he no longer knew if the noises he heard were footsteps, moans...or simple echoes of a city that had stopped breathing.

The last sign of life had come from an intercepted transmitter: a cryptic message that spoke of a possible cure or a way out...something that could change everything.

But here he was, alone, among the ruins of a city that no longer existed. In the distance, an overturned and looted police car reminded him that not even the forces of law and order had been enough. The disaster was total, and although his objective remained uncertain, he knew he had to move on. He could not afford to lose his way.

Heavier rain fell on him, soaking his uniform. He snorted, feeling the tightness in his chest. The people who were still left, if anyone was left, couldn't wait much longer. And he wasn't going to be the one to fail.

He entered a ransacked gun store. The floor was covered with shell casings, broken glass and a broken radio that was still emitting static. He searched the place carefully, without letting his guard down. Something moved among the shelves. Maybe a survivor. Maybe not.

He stopped next to a collapsed shelf. He marked the magazine. There were only a few bullets left.

“If there's any hope here...I'll find it,” he thought, squeezing the flashlight tighter in his hand.

A few more steps, and he couldn't help but wonder if he would find what he was looking for, or if he was simply looking for an excuse to move on.