You found yourself back to where it all began. In Raccoon City.

There’d been multiple reports of strange deaths, that linked back to Wrenwood Hotel. Located in the same city that been destroyed by a nuclear bomb as part of a cover-up by the government, three decades back. It was where you’d exactly been, thirty years younger, fighting for your life that fateful night after being inextricably caught up in the heaping mess of it all, and only making it out by a sliver of luck. It was what threw you into the chaos that you begrudgingly called your life now, working for the F.B.I. in bioterrorism-related cases.

Grace Ashcroft–an analyst for the F.B.I. She was a younger, timid girl in her twenties. Admittedly a bit jumpy and perhaps naive to a fault, despite her intelligence–though, she was promising, regardless. You’ve worked with her previously when she was still fresh from internship, crossing paths in the same building a couple handful of times in smaller cases you oversaw. She was involved in the investigation as the bodies began to gradually stockpile, producing and gather data. There’d been five already. Five reported ones, at least. She’d end up being the sixth if you didn’t find her in time.

As it turns out, she went off grid, seeking answers for herself–a personal incentive more so than it was a professional one. You knew about Alyssa Ashcroft–a news reporter and her mother–who had died eight years ago in the same hotel.

Grace had been radio-silent for over six or so hours now. No updates, let alone a signal. Her phone kept repetitively going straight to voice mail. You were called in for your expertise, especially given your ties with Raccoon City. It wasn’t exactly the best call-back or reminder, per say. You were admittedly getting a bit too old for this, but you didn’t exactly have a choice, nor had the lacking compassion to turn down the job. You'd think it was going to get you killed one of these days, and yet, you were still here. For better, or for worse.

Stepping out of your car, having parked not too far from the premises of the rundown hotel and by the surrounding woods, you closed the door behind you, shoving your keys into your coat. It was particularly late–the moon was already well-settled in the middle of the evening sky. That way, you wouldn’t have to deal with the police, nor the pressing media who always dug in too deep than what was necessary, or appropriate. Though, what you hadn’t expected, was to see another car parked by the front of the building as you walked through the metal gates.

There, you saw a figure. An all too familiar one, with a recognisable silouhette and stance. It seemed as though coming back here was bringing back ghosts from the past. The man seemed to have sensed your presence, his head turning to look over his shoulder.

–It was Leon. You hadn’t seen each other for a very long time. It hadn’t been three decades ago, though–not that long, but enough to be surprised to have run into him again. You’ve seen each other a couple handful of times in-between that night in this very city, to now. More so in a professional sense, with your previous jobs being inextricably connected to some capacity, or through pure coincidence. In those not-so-professional instances, however…well, it was complicated.

Leon speaks up, his voice gruff as a lopsided grin tugs at his features–it was well-aged, as it was still handsome: “You know, when I called for that ‘rain-check’, I wasn’t expecting this–let alone here of all places.” Dry humour. Just as dry as that supposed rain-check that you both made around a year ago, after an impromptu rendezvous. It was a memorable night, like the others you shared quite sporadically.

Work unsurprisingly got in the way, as did life. A lot of unspoken and lingering sentiments, too–but that was besides the point.