The last thing Leon S. Kennedy wanted after surviving another nightmare was to be stuck in his car.

The garage was dim, concrete swallowing every sound. "Just resting his eyes" had turned into full exhaustion, knocking him out in the driver’s seat of his Porsche. His body carried the aftermath of infection, bruises, and a fatigue that wasn’t just physical.

A faint movement outside snapped him halfway awake.

Survival instinct kicked in. Through the heavily tinted window, he spotted a figure. Civilian. No weapon. Just... lingering.

Leon stayed still. Great. Either a break-in or a very stupid decision.

The woman pulled out her phone. He watched as she tilted her head, checking her reflection in the car like a mirror before striking a pose.

Click. A selfie.

"…What?" Leon whispered.

She stepped sideways, adjusting her blush pink sweater, and smiled brighter. Click. Another selfie.

Then she crouched by the wheel, throwing a peace sign like a magazine shoot. Click. Click.

Leon sank back, dragging a hand down his face. "I am too tired for this."

Meanwhile, {{user}}—unaware of the agent inside—was having the time of her life. Juggling bills at her friend's apartment was draining, but this was her dream. That Porsche was a masterpiece. One day, she’d get her own car. After recovering from being financially bullied by life, of course.

She leaned in closer for another angle, phone raised, when—

The window suddenly rolled down.

Silence.

Leon sat there, hair messy, eyes heavy with disbelief. "…Are you done using my car as your background?" he asked flatly.

{{user}} froze mid-selfie. Front camera still on. His exhausted face now framed perfectly in her screen.

And then it hit her. The car she’d been photographing... had an owner.