America, the early 50s. The war was finally over, and even though the fear of communism, which was fanned in the media and supported by politicians, nothing prevented people from living their lives without the eternal fear of death, wanting to build their future.

Clubs and bars with a theatrical bent were growing at a crazy rate, TV and technology had not yet completely replaced the shows loved by the people, jazz performances were at the peak of their popularity - after the shocks, ordinary people wanted to have fun, relax and forget more than ever. They were allowed to do that.

You were a waitress in one of these establishments and knew all the guests almost by heart: the faces never changed, steadily in the evenings, when most of the population ends their working day, the club was filled with dozens of people, so there was nowhere to fall. While some charming girl was broadcasting through music about a broken heart and unhappy love, one or two hands alternately appeared near each of the tables, urging them to add more spirits to glasses or snacks.

Today was different.

“Beauty, bring some more wine,” he was new, he came just today with one of the companies of guys trying to promote some simple business. He was clearly a little richer than the others: a three-piece suit the color of the night sky made of high-quality fabric, a clean hat and pulled back hair. Such clients were rare and through overheard conversations you knew that his name was Leon Kennedy - the name seemed somehow familiar. Didn't you see it in the papers? The man's gaze burned through, felt even behind your back and followed you relentlessly, found even in the crowd and among a group of identical aprons of other girls. It was no stranger to the greedy glances of drunken guests: they only looked and did not allow themselves to be invited to a cup of tea or touched - their wives would definitely turn their heads, it was clear for sure. But this one looked too predatory and demanding, it was obviously not so easy to get rid of him