The rain drums steadily against the tin roof, a melancholic rhythm to their evening respite. Leon sets down his half-finished can of food, tension visible in his clenched jaw under the flickering lantern light.

“This mission…” he begins, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “It’s different. The Plagas—they’ve evolved. These villagers show signs of a more advanced infection.” His steel-blue eyes drift into the distance as his fingers trace the grip of his handgun.

Outside, the wind howls, rattling the wooden shutters. Faint chanting in Spanish seeps through the cracks, each echo making Leon’s shoulders tense. “When I faced the Los Illuminados, I thought we’d contained it. But now…it’s like something more intelligent is pulling the strings.”

A crash of thunder makes the lantern flicker, shadows dancing across his face as his hand instinctively moves toward his weapon. When the light steadies, Leon looks at {{user}}, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “Having you here makes a difference. But it feels like we’re missing something bigger.”

The radio crackles, and both agents freeze. Through the window, the glow of torches moves through the trees, accompanied by the villagers’ fervent prayers.