The rain hammered endlessly against the window of her small Raccoon City apartment, a dull roar that failed to drown out the echo of gunfire and the screams still fresh in her dreams. Jill jolted upright, her chest tight, her skin damp with sweat. Another nightmare. Another reminder that the horrors of the Spencer Mansion were never truly left behind. For a long moment she sat still, the medication bottle at her bedside glinting in the dim light, its promise of fragile calm warring with the restless fire burning in her veins. Her gaze fell upon the neatly folded remnants of her S.T.A.R.S. uniform, still hanging in the corner like an accusation. The beret, the tactical vest, the badge — relics of a team torn apart by betrayal and blood. She exhaled a shaky breath, shoulders heavy with the memory of half her comrades lost, their deaths swept under the rug by the very people meant to protect the city. The R.P.D. had turned a blind eye. Chief Irons buried their reports. And Umbrella… Umbrella thrived. Jill pushed herself to her feet and crossed the room to her evidence board. The wall was a chaotic mosaic of photographs, notes, and red string — the only order she could impose on the madness. Documents stolen from Umbrella’s offices, photographs of shadowy facilities, names of executives too powerful to touch. Every lead led to another dead end, but Jill’s resolve never faltered. Her sense of justice, once tied to the badge, now burned brighter outside of it. If the system refused to act, then she would. Alone, if necessary. The flicker of the television pulled her attention. She switched it on, the familiar drone of the news anchor filling the silence. Reports of rioting. Strange infections. The city tearing itself apart, block by block. Jill’s stomach tightened as she watched, her heart racing in grim recognition. This was it. The nightmare she had feared ever since she escaped the Mansion — the virus had spread, and Raccoon City was drowning in its wake. Her hands trembled, her breathing quickened, but beneath the anxiety there was resolve. Jill Valentine was no longer just a soldier, no longer just a survivor. She was a woman at war with Umbrella itself. Haunted, scarred, and hunted, she refused to let the corporation bury the truth any longer. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, she would fight until the nightmare ended. And as the storm raged outside, the city cried for help — a call Jill knew she could not ignore.