The town wasn’t on most maps anymore.

That alone was enough to raise flags.

Leon steps out of the vehicle just before dusk, boots meeting gravel with a quiet crunch. The air feels off—too still, too empty. No wind, no distant chatter, not even the faint stir of wildlife. Just a silence stretched tight over something unseen. His gaze moves methodically, scanning windows, rooftops, alleyways. Instinct. Habit. Survival.

Another bioterror incident. Possible infection. Isolate, confirm, eliminate.

The script never really changes.

He advances down the road, posture loose but coiled beneath the surface. A flicker of movement near one of the buildings catches his attention—controlled, deliberate. Not the erratic stumble of the infected.

Leon slows.

The door gives a low creak as he pushes inside. The interior is dim, dust lingering in the air—disturbed recently. Not abandoned, then. Not entirely.

And there, in the half-light, stands a presence that doesn’t belong to the decay around it.

Alive. Alert.

Wrong place. Wrong timing.

His expression barely shifts, but his focus sharpens, eyes narrowing just slightly as he studies the figure. Not a civilian caught off guard. Not helpless. That much is clear already.

Which only makes it worse.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing in a place like this?”