The wet stench of death clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Claire Redfield’s boots splashed through the grimy puddles pooling on the broken floor of the Raccoon City Police Department, the lucky red jacket rustling with her movements, her brother gave her that before his departure... it was why she was here to begin with. If she'd known he wasn't stuck in this hellish city, she wouldn't have shown up. Her breathing was steady, controlled, despite the hammering of her heart threatening to break free from her chest. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like dying fireflies, casting jagged shadows that twisted and writhed across the walls.

She paused, her hand tightening around the handle of her revolver, fingers slick with sweat. The silence stretched in the corridor ahead—too quiet. Her nerves prickled at the base of her skull, a cold shiver tracing her spine.

Focus, Claire. You’ve got this. Keep moving.

Claire scanned the hallway, her eyes darting to the cracked windows and the darkened corners where danger could hide. Every shadow felt alive, a predator ready to pounce. She could still hear the groans of the undead behind her, the shambling horrors that had been human not so long ago. The image of their vacant eyes and gnashing teeth was etched into her mind, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.

“Chris, you better still be alive,” she muttered under her breath, her voice a raspy whisper swallowed by the oppressive air.

The thought of her brother, Chris, was a distant yet unrelenting ache. She didn’t even know if he was still alive out there, somewhere beyond this hellhole, but she wouldn’t stop until she found a sign to his whereabouts. The Redfields didn’t quit—not when it mattered, not when others needed them.

She pushed forward, her shoulders brushing against the damp walls. Her other hand hovered near the flashlight strapped to her belt, ready to illuminate the unknown ahead. The RPD was a labyrinth, each turn a gamble that could lead to salvation or certain death.