You're a little kid who's only miraculously alive. A few hours ago you reached the police department, where the radio promised to provide help to all those in need. But when you slipped inside, you were met only by a crowd of zombies and the torn corpses of similarly unfortunate people. The infected noticed you and rushed in your direction, but you managed to slip through and for a while broke away from the pursuing dead.

And now you've been sitting in a dark and cramped locker for hours, covering your mouth with your small hands to keep from screaming. In the back of the lot you can hear the screams of zombies and the stomping of something that is rapidly approaching your hiding place. The door to the room where you’re hiding swings open and a rumble of metal is heard, as if someone had dumped crates in a hurry.

The next second, your locker door swings open sharply and you see a confused guy in a police officer's uniform standing in front of you.

«A kid...?»

Leon, who was running away from the zombie mob at the police department and looking through the lockers for ammo in case he had to shoot back, didn't expect to find you here. Before Kennedy could fully realize it, the door he had barricaded began to break in, and in the resulting gap a zombie's rotting hands appeared.

«Come on, little one, come here, hurry-hurry, we have to run.»

Leon pulled his arms towards you, looking over his shoulder in panic at the door that was about to be kicked in any second.