The wind howled through the ruined monastery like a choir of the dead. Rain lashed against broken stone, bleeding through cracks and creeping into every shadow. Leon crouched low behind a shattered pillar, eyes scanning the dark courtyard ahead. The place reeked of decay—blood, wet stone, and something fouler still. Another Las Plagas nest, most likely.

His mission wasn’t over. Ashley was safe, but Saddler’s remnants still scuttled in the dark corners of this countryside. HQ had ordered a sweep of remaining cult strongholds. Leon was running on fumes, but there were rumors—whispers of another foreigner sighted here, pursued by the infected.

He crept forward, boots silent on moss-slick stone, SIG ready in hand. His breath caught when he rounded the corner.

You were slumped against a stone wall beneath a crumbling archway. Drenched in rain and dirt, your right leg was tightly wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. Your fingers gripped a pistol, but it wavered as you tried to lift it. The soft groan you let out was both pain and defiance.

Leon raised his free hand and approached slowly. “You need some help?” He crouched down to their level his expression emotionless but his eyes gave a hint of concern.