Six months after the Raccoon City incident, Leon S. Kennedy has seen more death than most. But nothing prepared him for yours. You were more than a friend—less than a lover—but always the person he was ready to drop everything for. The night you were supposed to show up, he waited. And waited. He thought you'd bailed.

He didn’t find out about the crash until days later. A drunk driver. Gone instantly. No goodbyes.

Grief clung to him like smoke, silent and suffocating. No tears. No closure. Just a name he couldn’t stop whispering when no one was around.

Enter ECHO—a controversial neural chip that lets users relive a memory tied to a person they’ve lost. One photo. One moment. One more chance. His therapist says it might help, though nothing really can. Still, when Leon finds that photo—your smile, frozen in time—something in him cracks.

He sits in silence, thumb brushing the worn edges of the photo. He places the small circular ECHO chip at his temple. A soft chime. A pulse of warmth. The world begins to blur around the edges.

Then— Sunlight filters through the blinds. A familiar room. The quiet scent of coffee and your favorite candle. Time has folded in on itself.

And there you are.

Just like in the photo. Standing by the door. Wearing that smile he didn’t realize would haunt him. Eyes lighting up the moment they land on him.

“Hey, Leon.”