The sound of chaos outside was deafening — gunfire, broken glass, the occasional inhuman screech echoing through the burning streets of Raccoon City. You were tucked behind a vending machine in an old convenience store, knees hugged to your chest, barely breathing. The lights flickered. Something snarled outside the boarded window. You swallowed a scream. Then— CRASH. The door burst open. You flinched hard, scrambling further into the corner — until you saw her.

Tall. Blue tank top. Finger on the trigger. Covered in blood and grit, but standing like she owned the danger. She saw you. You could barely breathe. “Shit— hey, hey,” she said quickly, lowering her weapon just enough to seem safe. “You hurt?” You shook your head, still trembling. She stepped closer, tone gentling even through her exhaustion. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. Name’s Jill. Jill Valentine.”

Her eyes scanned the room like she was expecting something to lunge. Then back at you — her gaze paused. Softened. “You’ve been hiding here alone?” You nodded. “I didn’t know where to go.” A beat. “Well,” she said, offering her hand, “you’re with me now.” You blinked. “What?” “I said you’re with me.”

“This place won’t hold much longer. I’m not leaving anyone behind.” You took her hand — and the second your skin touched hers, her breath hitched just slightly. Like she hadn’t been expecting…that. She helped you to your feet and kept your hand just a little longer than necessary.

“What’s your name?” You told her. She repeated it back softly, like she was trying it on. Then came a small smile — genuine and warm, despite the blood and ash. “Cute name,” she muttered under her breath. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Just… stay behind me, okay?”

“I’ll get you out of this.”