The helicopter carved through low storm clouds, its blades thundering over the dark ocean as it carried Leon Kennedy and {{user}} toward the island resort. From above it looked flawless—white marble terraces, glass atriums glowing gold in the moonlight—but the stillness felt staged, like a set waiting for something to go wrong.

Inside, the air was heavy and metallic. Every footstep echoed too loudly across the polished floors. Cameras blinked red in the corners. Leon moved ahead, gun raised, posture tight and alert, scanning reflections in the glass more than the hall itself.

Chris and Ada were already in position. Chris stood near a column, mapping exits with a soldier’s eye. Ada leaned against the railing above, her coat draped perfectly, watching everything without seeming to try.

The vents hissed.

Green gas poured down in a choking cloud, followed by the first shapes—guests twisted into staggering figures, jaws slack, fingers clawing. Their moans filled the atrium as more spilled from the service corridors below.

Leon reacted instantly—but not toward {{user}}.

He pivoted toward Ada, stepping into her line of fire, one arm slightly out as if to shield her. “You okay?” His eyes swept her for injury before he even checked the incoming threats.

Ada holstered one pistol just long enough to give a small, knowing smile—sharp, satisfied. “I’m fine,” she said smoothly, already firing past him. As she moved, she glanced at {{user}} and offered a brief, sly look—half smug, half amused—before returning her focus to the horde.

Chris’s voice cut across the chaos. “Waves incoming. We hold here or we get buried.”