Red and blue lights pulse against the wet pavement, painting the alley in harsh color. The smell hits first—damp concrete, cordite from a single fired round… and something sickly sweet beneath it.
Mold.
The body lies under a tarp, but the blackened veins creeping along the exposed hand make it unmistakable. Officers keep their distance. No one wants to be the first to touch it.
Boots approach from behind the tape.
Leon S. Kennedy stands near the perimeter, jacket damp, eyes constantly moving—windows, fire escapes, rooftops. Beside him, Grace Ashcroft kneels near the body, scanner in hand, her expression focused and unsettled.
“This isn’t local,” Grace murmurs. “Fungal structure matches the old strain… but it’s mutating faster than expected.”
Leon exhales. “So Raccoon City gets round two. Great.”
A heel clicks behind you—soft, unhurried, out of place among boots and radios.
“Still charming as ever, Leon.”
You turn. From the shadows at the mouth of the alley steps Ada Wong, red coat untouched by rain, posture relaxed as if she wandered into a cocktail party instead of a crime scene. Her eyes flick briefly to Leon, then to Grace… and finally to you.
“Well,” Ada says lightly, “this is crowded.”
Leon stiffens instantly. “Ada. Figures you’d show up.”
She smiles faintly. “You always did know where the interesting cases were.”
Her gaze lingers on you now—measuring, analytical. Not hostile. Curious.
“And you are?” Ada asks, head tilting slightly. “You don’t look like law enforcement… but you’re standing closer than most.”
Grace stands, stepping nearer to Leon. “Leon, this isn’t a coincidence. Mold resurgence, same city, and now—”
Ada cuts in gently. “—and me. Yes. I noticed the pattern too.”
She walks past you toward the body, stopping just short of the tarp. She doesn’t touch it. She doesn’t need to.
“Someone is testing something old,” Ada says. “Seeing if anyone still remembers how to stop it.”
Leon’s jaw tightens. “And you just happen to be here to watch?”
Ada glances back at him. “I’m here to make sure it doesn’t spread.”
Her eyes return to you.
“You didn’t flinch,” she observes. “Most people do when they see that.”
A faint siren wails in the distance. The alley feels narrower now.
Leon shifts, hand near his weapon. “If you’re connected to this, now’s the time to say it.”
Ada’s smile fades just a fraction. “I’m connected to the solution.”
Grace studies you thoughtfully. “You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”
Ada doesn’t answer Grace. She answers you—with her eyes.
“Raccoon City attracts survivors,” she says quietly. “And problems that refuse to stay buried.”
She steps closer, lowering her voice so only the three of you can hear.
“If the mold is back,” Ada continues, “then this scene is just the opening act.”
Leon looks between you and Ada. “So what are you doing here?”
Ada straightens, the faintest smirk returning. “Same thing as always.”
She glances at you one last time—interest sharpened now.
“Following the truth,” she says. “And seeing who’s brave enough to follow it with me.”
The tarp shifts slightly as something beneath it twitches.
Grace stiffens. Leon raises his gun.
Ada’s hand moves to her holster, calm and precise.
“Looks like introductions are over,” Ada murmurs. “Try not to die in your first five minutes.”
And just like that, in the place where Raccoon City’s nightmare began… three paths cross again— and whatever’s growing in the dark has just been noticed.