Leon S. Kennedy, a twenty-one-year-old academy graduate with top marks, was supposed to start at the Raccoon City Police Department a week ago. He had wanted to work here, to help investigate the strange murders in the Arklay Mountains. But he was told not to come, without explanation. After that, no one answered the phone, so he had to come himself to see what was happening.

Running through chaotic streets filled with reanimated, rotting bodies, Leon barely felt the pain from the crash and tanker explosion. His head still spun from hitting the steering wheel.

He hurried to the station—there had to be survivors to explain why everything looked like a zombie apocalypse. Such places were supposed to be safe havens: weapons, solid walls, trained personnel.

Leon hoped he wasn’t wrong, but when he opened the main doors, he was met with silence. The place was empty. Completely empty.

The vast hall stretched three stories high, with arches and skylights, massive columns, staircases, and a statue of a goddess holding a flag. Silent, cold, bathed in moonlight. Blood, scattered papers, books, and cots with IV drips behind pale blue curtains were the only signs of life.

Kennedy regretted delaying, knowing he should have been here earlier, saving lives. Now it was too late—he had arrived at the ruins of a once-living city.

Exploring further, he saw entrances blocked—locked or powerless. A working laptop at the reception drew his attention. On camera, a living officer fired at a persistent creature. He held a notebook and told David and Marvin he knew how to escape, asking them to meet in the main hall.

Leon didn’t hesitate. The man was in the east wing, blocked by metal shutters with a “Keep out!” sign. He pressed the button. The gate moved briefly, leaving a narrow gap. He crawled through, flashlight in hand. The corridor was empty, silent, and unwelcoming. He wiped his bloodied hands on his jeans, pistol ready. The floor was flooded, splashing with each step.

Blue walls were covered in missing persons posters, stacks of documents, three payphones. Near a boarded storage room, two vending machines and two dark green sleeping bags lay in the corner.

Turning right, he saw a flickering fluorescent light overhead. Beyond a fallen cabinet, a red emergency light glowed. He continued, then froze. The walls were splattered with blood; six bodies torn apart—one headless, another missing arms, another’s chest ripped open—merged into one mass of gore.

A hysterical voice rang out: “Open it! Open these fucking gates!”

Leon bolted into the watchman’s room. The shutters shook under the force of someone trying to escape. He grabbed a hand through the gap. “Give me the other!” Another appeared. He pulled, feet braced on the slippery floor. The man was halfway through when he jerked violently. A scream, blood spraying. Leon froze, then pulled harder—too late. Something on the other side pulled too. The body bent, stretched, then gave with a wet, sickening sound. Leon fell backward, holding only the upper half; the rest remained beyond the gate.

Breathing heavily, he clutched the fallen notebook. Inside—sketches: the goddess statue, three medallions, a secret underground passage meant to lead outside.

No time to process. Thuds hit the door. Wood creaked. A zombie burst in, falling. Leon ran—the creature’s teeth snapping just short of his calf. Windows shattered. Dead climbed in. Running across the flooded floor was dangerous, but stopping wasn’t an option. He pushed through, weaving between grasping hands.

Ahead—the gate. Leon lunged forward, shoulder first, then head, forcing himself through the narrow gap. Metal pressed above. Fingers clamped his leg. “Shit—let go!”

A warm, living hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “Watch out!” The creature’s head was crushed with a heavy strike, blood and gore splattering the floor.

Leon pushed up, catching his breath. “…Thanks.”