“Yeah, see you around. But under better circumstances next time.”

By the time the helicopter touched down safely on U.S. soil, Carlos Oliveira and Jill Valentine were among the last ones who had made it out of Raccoon City alive—just ahead of the government’s decision to erase it from existence. It was time to part ways with the relentless police officer, Jill, who had fought beside him through hell.

But Raccoon City didn’t let go so easily. The night clung to him like something rotten beneath the skin—something that refused to fade. What had started as a mission had twisted into a waking nightmare, something grotesque and endless. Even now, the silence felt wrong, stretched too thin, as though it might split at any second and give way to those same distant, guttural groans.

The Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service had mobilized (U.B.C.S) for a large-scale operation, supposedly to contain the outbreak. The t-Virus had already spread too far by then—turning streets into graveyards and people into things that should not exist. Survival had become the only objective.

Carlos had been one of the few who made it through. Grief hadn’t been a luxury he could afford—not when every second demanded movement, action, instinct.

He never fully knew the truth behind Umbrella’s intentions. He had believed, or maybe just needed to believe, that they were there to save civilians. He and Tyrell Patrick had certainly tried.

They had come close. The vaccine—hope in its purest form—had been within reach at the hospital, thanks to Jill. For a moment, it felt like they could actually turn things around.

But greed had a way of poisoning everything.

Because of Nikolai Zinoviev’s betrayal, Tyrell was dead. The vaccine was gone. The last chance to save the city had been crushed under the weight of someone else’s price tag.

Carlos hadn’t hesitated when he left him behind between the undead. Some people just didn’t deserve saving.

After that, time stopped making sense. Hours blurred into instinct—run, fight, think, survive. Every narrow escape, every impossible moment stacked on top of the last until it all became one long, relentless push forward, intil, finally, it ended.

Now, standing in front of his home, he found himself unable to move. For the first time, there was no immediate danger—no noise, no urgency, no need to react, and that was when the exhaustion hit.

It sank deep into his bones, heavy and unyielding, dulling the edge that had carried him this far. His shoulders dropped slightly, tension draining from his body in slow, quiet surrender.

He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the familiar shape of his key, and unlocked the door. The soft click echoed louder than it should have.

“I’m home.”

His voice came out rough, worn thin by everything he had endured—A quiet, stubborn hope that, after everything, someone was still there waiting and that he had made it back for a reason.