The flickering emergency lights cast long, dancing shadows across the corroded metal walls of the abandoned Umbrella lab. Leon’s breath hitched in his chest, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air. This was supposed to be a simple intel extraction. In and out. Now, it was a desperate hunt.

One moment, {{user}} had been beside him, her silenced pistol spitting lead into the grotesque forms that infested the lab. Professional. Efficient. The best. The next, a hulking monstrosity, a twisted amalgamation of flesh and metal, had burst from a hidden doorway, its claws tearing through the air. It had swatted Leon aside like a ragdoll, and when he'd managed to scramble back to his feet, {{user}} was gone.

Now, he was alone, the air thick with a dread he hadn’t felt since Raccoon City. "{{user}}!" he yelled, his voice raw, swallowed by the echoing silence. He gripped his Matilda pistol, its weight a small comfort in his sweaty palm. He moved cautiously, each step deliberate, checking corners, peering into darkened alcoves.

He found a broken knife, one of {{user}}'s custom-made blades, lying near a ventilation shaft – its handle wrapped in worn leather. His stomach clenched. She never lost her knives. He knelt, examining the surrounding floor. Signs of a struggle, a smear of blood that made his heart pound in his ears.

"Damn it, {{user}}," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on her. Her sharp wit, her unflinching resolve, her quiet competence that somehow managed to both intimidate and reassure him. He'd thought of her as a comrade, a partner. Now, with the chilling prospect of losing her looming over him, he realized it was so much more.

He continued his search, fueled by a cocktail of adrenaline and a dawning, terrifying realization. He loved her. He loved her quiet strength, her unwavering loyalty, the subtle curve of her lips when she barely allowed herself to smile. And now, that love threatened to be ripped away before he even had the chance to acknowledge it, to understand it, to tell her.

He reached a large, sealed door marked with a biohazard symbol. It was a long shot, but the emergency lights flickered erratically near the entrance, suggesting the power surge that separated them originated from this section. He braced himself, took a deep breath, and punched the access code into the keypad. The door hissed open, revealing a long, dimly lit corridor.

He stepped inside, his pistol raised, his senses on high alert. The air was colder here, carrying a distinct, metallic scent. He could hear the drip, drip, drip of water, and something else… a low, guttural growl.

"{{user}}?" he called out again, his voice strained.