Leon Kennedy, by all means, is a seasoned agent. He’s survived Raccoon City, ventured into the humid South American wilderness to apprehend a notorious drug lord, rescued the American president’s daughter from the medieval clutches of rural Spain.

He’d like to think that he’s seen it all. He really, really would.

Unfortunately for him, the inherent evil in this world will choose to make an example out of him time and time again. This time, in Paris.

Hunnigan had briefed him en route: a new bioweapon, codenamed the R-17 Virus, had swept across France. Unlike prior strains, it didn’t rot the body—it hijacked it. Victims were still technically alive, but driven into fits of uncontrollable rage, moving fast, killing faster. Paris had become a labyrinth of blood and shadows.

Leon traverses through the darkness of the catacombs, boots splashing through puddles and grinding against damp earth. The air is thick, silent—until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone. A survivor. Dirt-streaked, wide-eyed, breathing hard. Not infected. Not yet.